tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79160735237452617482024-02-18T21:00:11.184-08:00James and Tim's World Tour 2012Kinetic77http://www.blogger.com/profile/17700207633660422355noreply@blogger.comBlogger191125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916073523745261748.post-10941512661533379722012-12-20T16:43:00.000-08:002014-02-01T04:52:20.118-08:00Farewell and goodnight<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Thursday, 20/12/2012 - 190 A.D.</i><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">So…this is
the…end! The end of the world as we know it? Nope, just the end of this blog. I
could keep it going and publish details of my mundane English life – what I did
at work each day, trips to Morrisons at the weekends, dusting down the surfaces
when I have a spare moment. Sadly, that’s not going to happen (I don’t do
dusting, as you well know). Instead I’ll sign off and leave the record of this
trip eternally preserved online for all to see, providing Google doesn’t decide
to pull the plug on it. I’d like to think that one day my great-great
grandchildren will tune in to read about where I went and what I did all those
years ago, but by then technology will be so far advanced that they won’t be
bothered with having to physically read words and use their eyes to look at
pictures, no matter how many megapixels they contain. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">I have thoroughly
enjoyed writing this blog, and I get the impression that some amongst you have
gained some pleasure from reading it. Good. Although it was a lot of fun to
write <i>every single night</i>, there were
points when completing the entries became a little laboured, particularly in
the latter stages. How many times can you write about what you had for
breakfast, let alone still make it sound interesting? Probably this blog
sounded quite self-indulgent at times, for which I apologise, but when it’s
just you and one other person for such a long period of time you cannot help
but zone into your own little universe. Anyway, I send a thousand thanks to
every single person who has tuned in to read about my exploits. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">This trip took a
lot of planning, a lot of saving up, a lot of sacrificing (not of the human
kind) and ultimately a lot of guts…more than I knew I had. If anyone out there
is reading this and wanting to do the same thing, then all I can say is do it. Make
the leap, take the chance. I won’t go as far as to say if you don’t do it now then
you never will, because that’s not true....but just do it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">And as for those
we met along the way, well, it’s a big thank you to the following: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Chaz, Nina, Heidi,
Junior, Giselle, Josh, Golden Boy, Roma, Ukranian Office Worker, Kyle and
Betsy, Swedish Anna, Hannah and Mike, Joey Florida, Berghaus Girl, Canadian
Ghandi, German Anneka, Jack Osborne Lookalike, Greek Girl, Chicago guy with the
wife from Scarborough, Mexican Grandma, Grad school guy from Wyoming, the
Nashville Kingpin, Little Johnny Vegas, Don, Jonathon the Barman, the Alabama
Waitresses, Zoe the Shots Girl, Susan, Bluto and Smiler, The Vietnam Vet, Amazing
Grace, Kwan, Grabriele, Bible Mary, Seattle Steve, Tyler, Rhonda, Johnathon the
Gangbanger, Swedish Greyhound Girl, Slingshot Mosher, Arthur, Dwight, Rahul,
Pankaj, Terry and Bob, Marhsall, Simon, Carsten, Lars, Coco, Dan, Mitch, The
Uno Family, Annalise, Happy Camper Rob, Happy Camper Dorothy, Keith and Kay,
Malcolm, Senior Techy Steve, Kate from Southport, Chunkz, The Utah Saints, Nice
Guy Eddie, Danish Blue, Colorado Kyle, Anthony Darlo, Stoner Mackay, Anni,
Elise, Benjamin, Southport Barber, Scouse Jess, Cass, Tim, Two Japanese Girls,
Swiss Simon, The Canberra Quiz Master, Svitlana, Chloe, Laura, Sam, Zoe, Cat,
Julian, Colinda, Beatrice, Justine, Boonsilly Germans, Thavy, Bohpa, Phi, Ngan,
Kendo, Kim The Tailor, Flower Tour Girl, Yoshi, Nina, Chinese Riddler, Sunny,
Haven, Neville, Sujan and the Peak Point Family, Bikesh, the Cozy Cafe Lads, every single one of the Greyhound drivers…and
anyone else I have left out. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">[Now <i>that </i>was self-indulgent!]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">And no thanks to
the Shanghai tea scammers and the cow that stepped out in front of our train in
Thailand. Well…that’s not strictly fair, as without them we wouldn’t have been
able to tell the tales, so it’s a begrudging thanks. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">I was going to do
a big numeric countdown involving all the things we’ve been through, e.g. 5,202
kilometres travelled in New Zealand, $16 to cross Cambodia, 2 toilets repaired,
etc….but I just couldn’t be bothered. So I’ll simply give you the abridged
version:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">3 pairs of jeans<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">2 pairs of shorts<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">1 absolutely
amazing experience<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">0 regrets<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;"><b>Epilogue</b></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Plane landed fine.
Met mum and dad at the airport. Not telling you if there were tears or not.
Driven back home across a frozen, but welcoming England. Am now back in the
bedroom in which I spent my teenage years. Reflecting. Did it really happen?
Yes. Was it really that amazing? Yes. Will I be a different person because of
it? Too early to say. All I <i>can</i> say
is thank you, but at this point I don’t know who exactly I’m directing those
thanks towards. Possibly to everyone in this world, a world that I have spent the last
six months circumnavigating. I just luvs you all! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">And for now…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">…all is well. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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Kinetic77http://www.blogger.com/profile/17700207633660422355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916073523745261748.post-88206245655665500802012-12-19T08:28:00.000-08:002014-02-01T01:45:04.673-08:00Been around the world<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>Wednesday, 19/12/2012 - 189 A.D.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>First off, sorry for naming this post after a Lisa Stansfield song, but the title is oh-so appropriate. It was yet another quiet day today, so I'll spend most of this post writing in summary of the trip, rather than focusing on what we did this Wednesday. The only real highlight (or <i>low</i>light) was when we went to the nearby Dadar railway station - AKA the most ker-azy place on Earth - to hire a taxi. A couple of likely lads approached and agreed to take us downtown for 200 rupees. But when we got in the taxi, both of them got in, which seemed odd. Plus they seemed a bit young to be taxi drivers. And we drove for about 15 metres before the car was stopped and they turned round and produced a 1,000 rupee note, which they asked us to take in exchange for two 500 rupee notes from our wallets. They didn't even give an explanation as to why they wanted it changed. Are you effin` serious, lads? Do you really think we believe for one second that the note is genuine? It was enough to make me get straight out of the car in a huff and I would have called them some choice names had they pursued us, but they didn't, probably fearing we might call the law if they pushed it. A new scam to add to the Wikitravel website and warn my fellow travellers? It was a new one on me.<br />
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It's a shame that's going to be my last recollection of India (pending something going horribly wrong tomorrow!) It's really not India's fault, coming so late in this trip as it has. We've had fun here, there's been plenty of laughs, and the curries have been loads better than you get in Britain. Would I like to come back? Yes, I think I probably would, but in a fresher state, and I'd steer clear of the bigger cities. And I'd steer clear of the hotter curries, just to be safe. I love my madras's, but I wasn't willing to risk it on these fiery shores!<br />
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So, The Real World now beckons, and how shall I cope? I suppose the easiest way is to make myself a new Sanity Sheet within this blog, which I can refer to any time I feel a little down in the near future. So here goes...<br />
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I will no longer need to be concerned with the following:<br />
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* Using a sink to wash my clothes in, including my underwear, then hanging the damp clothes close to where the extractor fan is located and waiting days for them to dry, sometimes using a hairdryer to help the process.<br />
* Using a sink that my brother has washed his clothes in, including his underwear.<br />
* Packing up a suitcase every few days and wondering whether it's going to fall off or out of a bus / train / plane.<br />
* Having a wardrobe consisting of essentially three different outfits.<br />
* Leaving town just as I am starting to make friends with people.<br />
* A lack of decent bacon and mayonnaise sandwiches just like Jimmy makes back home.<br />
* Going months at a time without a bath, and dealing with showers that flow hot and cold, soft and strong whenever they bloody-well feel like it.<br />
* Trying to figure out whether amount A of new foreign currency is a fair price for item B, and whether it will fall apart in my hands as soon as I touch it.<br />
* Watching TV channels with the news in a different language, no decent films, and at least 25 karaoke shows on at any one time.<br />
* A fear of stroking dogs and cats, even if they have the cutest-wutest little "Stroke me!" eyes.<br />
* Remembering to take a little green anti-malarial pill each morning (actually I'll have to keep doing that until the end of January).<br />
* Taking a chance on brand names that I've never heard of and hoping, in the case of, say, deodorant, that it won't burn the skin and come with a Government health warning.<br />
* Getting bitten by bedbugs every time I reckon the hotel bedding is clean enough not to warrant using my sleep sheet.<br />
* Having to plan the next leg of a journey after only having just arrived in a new place.<br />
* Generally only having a bathroom as a place in which I can be alone with my thoughts...and some of those bathrooms would have made Satan himself weep.<br />
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I'm such a moaner, aren't I? Well for now it's necessary, because I know that none of the above will be able to make up for the fantastic time I've had on the road. And Tim and I are still just about speaking to each other, which is also good.<br />
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So tomorrow it's a flight from Mumbai to Heathrow, then another from Heathrow to Manchester. We'll be travelling all day, but that's how it's often been. That's how we like it...especially when it's my turn for the window seat - bwahahahahar!<br />
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Kinetic77http://www.blogger.com/profile/17700207633660422355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916073523745261748.post-71772479479765092452012-12-18T08:51:00.001-08:002014-01-31T11:00:41.274-08:00Ain't misbehavin`<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Monday,
17/12/2012 – 187 A.D.</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-size: 15px;">A quiet day today. The again, our philosophy at the moment is that it's going to be so manic for the first few days when we get back to England that it's best to keep things quiet for now. This is the calm before the Christmas storm. The only reminder that it's Christmas that we get in Mumbai is the awful instrumental CD of festive songs they play in the hotel restaurant. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px;">The main thing I did today was to go and get myself fitted for a leather jacket. I always have trouble finding off-the-rack jackets to fit me, so I thought I'd take advantage of the decent local prices that I'd read about. However, to get the jacket I had to do a 45 minute brisk walk up to Dharavi, which was until recently the second largest slum in Asia. Have you seen the film <i>Slumdog Millionaire</i>? `Course you have, and Dharavi is where they filmed a lot of that movie, particularly the earlier parts in which the main characters are very young. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px;">I was quite pleased with myself that I managed to find my way there using the map I'd hastily sketched out in my jotter, especially as most of the road names were in Hindi. Or Urdu. Or Punjabi. Let's just say that they weren't in English. Unfortunately I found myself really needing to go to the Gents shortly after leaving the hotel, and there's nothing worse than entering price negotiations when you really need to relive yourself. As I entered the squalor of Dharavi I figured there must be public restrooms somewhere nearby, no matter how revolting. Then I spotted a small child defecating by the side of the road and realised that it wasn't going to happen. I'd just have to hold it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px;">I stuck to the main roads through the slum, which was a good thing. It's everything you expect - chaos, rubbish, small shacks that house huge families and look like they'll collapse if someone sneezes. Curiously I got less attention than I normally get when walking the streets - the occasional wave and the odd, "Hello, Sir!" - but nothing compared to what I thought I'd receive in such a densely-populated place. Dharavi Main Street is where there are said to be a couple hundred leather goods shops, but after walking down it for about 20 minutes I'd given up hope that I'd find any. But eventually they appeared before my eyes and I went inside to try my luck. I had to try three places before I found a good enough deal and left for the long walk back, still needing a squirt, but happy that my mission was successful...so far! Will be going back tomorrow to see what the master leather tailors have come up with. I doubt the sleeves will fit. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px;">There are official companies that do tours through the Dharavi slums, but I felt as if I'd unofficially done my own, even though I hadn't seen the world's largest outdoor laundry. And I didn't take pictures out of respect for the people who lived in this place, which is the rule on the official tour. Nah stuff that, I simply didn't take my camera with me for safety reasons. So, there are no photos, but I shall leave you with a selection from me and Tim's afternoon walk along the western coast of Mumbai...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px;">UPDATE - having looked on Wikipedia, Dharavi apparently has one toilet for every 1,440 residents. Eeek! </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px;"><i style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Tuesday, 18/12/2012 – 188 A.D.</span></i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 15px;">Today I headed back into the slums of Dharavi to pick up my leather jacket. When I arrived at the "shop" (basically a tiny, illegal structure, just like 90% of the shops in Dharavi) the gits kept me waiting for an hour before it was ready. I had my iPod with me and had various podcasts I could listen to and pass the time, all I needed was a quiet spot (preferably in the shade) where I could sit and wait. But where do you find a quiet spot in what was until recently Asia's second largest slum? You don't. I lent beside a small stone wall for a while, but a load of little slum kids came up and started talking to me, so I moved on. Eventually I just aped the pose of several other people and pretended I was waiting for a bus. Cometh the hour, cometh the jacket. I had expected it to need plenty of alterations, like the suit I bought back in Vietnam. But no, everything seemed to fit just fine - even the arms were the right length. Result!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 15px;">Later that afternoon we jumped into a cab and headed downtown, getting caught up in the traffic jams on the flyover. The cheeky cab driver wanted extra money for being caught in the hold-up, despite the fare we'd initially agreed. He got a compromise of a couple of notes. We got him to drop us outside of the Chatrapati Shiavji Terminus - trying saying that after...a rather strong popadom. CTS is the busiest railway station in India and is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. It was originally called the Victoria Terminus and was built in 1887 to commemorate the golden jubilee of the queen that it's named after. It was also just around the corner from the Macdonalds that we needed to hit. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 15px;">We were only down in this part of town to check out a few more markets, use up those last few rupees and pick up any souvenirs. I think our days of sightseeing are well and truly over now! We're winding down big time, though that's not an easy thing to do in a city like Mumbai. People are everywhere in most parts of Asia, but they seem to be twice as everywhere here.</span><br />
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["Fashion Street" AKA the market along Mahatma Gandhi Road.]</div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px;">For a while we stopped in a nearby park that was essentially one giant sports field full of youngsters playing cricket, which is the national sport over here. It's kind of sweet that England recently beat India in some sort of international test. We bring that up whenever we are approached by people and have a good laugh about it. No-one in these parts really seems to follow football - ask them about English soccer and the only player they seem to know is Rooney. At least there are a lot less M*n Un*ted shirts on display! Mind you, as an LFC fan I really shouldn't talk about football, given how this season's gone for us so far!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 15px;">I am currently going through my luggage and making room for those extra souvenirs, taking out and binning items that are no longer necessary, such as little tub of washing powder, superglue and makeshift sickbag. Before I set out on this journey I wrote out a "sanity sheet", a document listing reasons for why I was embarking on the trip and which reminded me of the mundane things I would no longer have to worry about while on a break from my regular life. It was basically designed to pick me up if I ever got sufficiently down. I'm pleased to say that I maybe glanced at it twice the whole time I was away, and that was only because it fell out of my bag while I was reaching for something that was stuck down at the bottom. And what is included on this sanity sheet of mine? Ha! That will never be made public. But doing the dusting is on there, I'll give you that much. Thing is, I never actually did the dusting when I wasn't travelling...</span><br />
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[Christmas finally comes to Mumbai!]</div>
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Kinetic77http://www.blogger.com/profile/17700207633660422355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916073523745261748.post-4338839569153786972012-12-16T12:01:00.000-08:002014-01-31T10:51:22.491-08:00The last time<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Saturday,
15/12/2012 – 185 A.D.</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-size: 15px;">Time to leave yet another hotel room, but next time we pack up our stuff it'll be for good. I'm already getting to the point of thinking, "Last time to do...[insert thing we'll do for the last time]". We would be getting the night train from Jaipur to Mumbai, running from 14:20 until 07:30 the next morning. Therefore we needed grub, but we were loathe to trust virtually anything that didn't come in a sealed packet. Even homemade sandwiches wrapped in clingfilm and on display on the counters of the shops across the road from the hotel made us think twice. Therefore we asked the hotel kitchen to specially prepare some sandwiches for us to take as a packed lunch. They were fine with my request for cheese, but when it came to Tim's they had never heard of putting jam between two slices of bread before. We took the sealed package they provided and wondered just what lurked inside...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px;">Because of the mix-up with the driver greeting us when we first arrived, the hotel got their driver to take us to the station free of charge. Indian railway stations are ker-azy places and waiting around on one for over an hour is an experience. We were booked into a second class sleeper carriage, grateful that it wasn't third class as it could so easily have been. Still, there were no curtains for privacy and we'd be sharing our "berth" with two other people. I say "berth" but the carriage was open with no real way to close yourself off from those who wandered along the corridor selling their wares, including the chain kids - "Wanna buy a chain for your luggage?" "No thanks, I already have one." </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px;">The train was just about to get going when a young lad approached us and asked if we'd be willing to swap our seats for two at the end of the aisle. At first I thought it was some kind of scam, but it turned out he did genuinely want to exchange seats so that his two aunties and uncles could sit together in a foursome. And this meant that Tim and I would be able to sit in our own little private bunks with curtains to draw across and keep the rest of the world away. So we swapped. And behind our curtains the bunks were a bit dirty and uncomfortable, but come on, its the last ever train journey we'll have to make in Asia, so who the heck cares?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px;"><span id="goog_250762833"></span><span id="goog_250762834"></span>Fortunately the journey passed without incident - can't have any nasty surprises at this late stage, can we? I got a bit annoyed as people walked past my bunk and brushed whole body parts against my curtain, often catching my knee as I sat behind that curtain, munching on my cheese sandwiches. They were okay, but far too much bread and not enough cheese. And I need to ask this, as the question has occurred many times - why do people come on huge train journeys without any mental stimuli whatsoever? They just sit there for the whole darn journey! Why not bring a book or a magazine? I just can't fathom it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px;"><i style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Sunday, 16/12/2012 – 186 A.D.</span></i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 15px;">The above photo is of the suburbs of Mumbai at dawn. Not great, is it? Well, neither was the state of the window - it hadn't been raining, that water was permanently caught between the two layers of glass. Mumbai is a metropolis of about 21 million people and we'd found it hard to find decent accommodation in a downtown location (for the right price, of course). Therefore we were booked into the Hotel Pritam in the midtown area, which meant a taxi ride in the standard Mumbai taxi that is a 1956 model Fiat (produced sometime after 1956, but goodness knows when exactly. Don't want to know either!) The guy had no idea where exactly our hotel was and he had to get out and ask people on no less than four occasions.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 15px;">Our hotel is okay, but we've stayed in better, and for much less money. But as I said earlier, what does it matter at this stage? Though we're both phyiscally fit and still mentally strong, there's an intangible part of us deep down that is very tired. That part of us needs to go home shortly. However, if we <i>were </i>going to be on the road a few months longer, we'd be able to adjust and keep going. But once that finishing line rolls around it becomes time to relax all those faculties that you've kept tough because you had to and just let go. Still, that doesn't mean we won't try and enjoy our time here in Mumbai, but we knew that the last country before returning home was always going to be a lesser-experience than those that came before it. I'm just glad we didn't leave the USA until the end! Yep, if you're going to travel round the world in the latter half of the calendar year then anti-clockwise is definitely the way to do it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px;">Most things touristy tend to be in the southern part of the city, so we had to get another taxi ride down to where the former British influence is strongest. This part of Mumbai is actually very pleasant to stroll around, particularly on a Sunday. Less crowds, less traffic, less hassle. And the 30 degree heat wasn't a problem, given that we'd switched back to shorts - sorry, sorry, sorry to all you Winter shiverers out there! </span><br />
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[Note the 1956 Fiat taxi in the foreground.]</div>
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Down by the waterfront is the Gateway to India, arguably the biggest draw in the city. It was built by the British Raj between 1911 and 1924, primarily to honour a visit from King George V. Tellingly, it was also the place from where the last British troops left India when the country gained its independence. Today it was very crowded with people and populated with all kinds of hawkers flogging their wares. As our hotel did not provide us with a map, we bought one from a particularly persistent hawker. He continued to be persistent after the purchase had gone through by offering one of his "special maps" in addition to the one we'd just bought. And what was so special about them? They contained drugs between the folds. <br />
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After hanging out under the blazing sun for a while, we headed to a nearby market and I was able to replace the watch that stopped on me this morning - great timing, huh? Mind you, the replacement doesn't exactly come with a certificate of authentication and I can see it conking out before I even get on the plane back to England! As for us, we got in a taxi back to midtown and hit the chill out zone. It's never easy sleeping on an overnight train, but guess what? We won't have to do it again.<br />
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Oh dear, I'd better quit before I start getting too emotional...</div>
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Kinetic77http://www.blogger.com/profile/17700207633660422355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916073523745261748.post-4164221811909187542012-12-14T21:14:00.004-08:002014-01-30T10:50:23.784-08:00Sick again<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Thursday,
13/12/2012 – 182 A.D.</span></i><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">We have another
faller, and this time it isn’t me. Our Kid was caught out with a touch of the
old Ghandi’s Revenge at around 4 a.m. He made numerous visits back and forth to
the bathroom, but that’s as much detail as I will go into. Somehow I managed to
sleep through the whole thing – must be in Winter deep sleep mode already.
Therefore I was initially surprised why he reacted so strongly to me drawing
back the curtains at what I believed to be first thing in the morning. I was
even more surprised to hear the news of his distress as he turned over and went
back to sleep. Outside on the ledge of our window two pigeons were having
scrap. I interpreted that as a bad omen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">So, just me
downstairs for the vegetarian breakfast. I picked and prodded at the
“Continental” cuisine, but was too hungry not to get stuck in. Tim had asked
for some fruit if they had any, so I ordered the Fruit Salad from the menu,
which turned out to be a banana and an apple chopped up on a plate. I took it
upstairs for him, but it was still too soon for his tum-tum, so I ate the
apple. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">After a while it
was mutually concluded that Tim wasn’t going anywhere for the morning, possibly
for the rest of the day. I got my stuff together and headed out into the city
of Jaipur, capital of all Rajasthan. First impressions? Sh*thole. Then again, I
wasn’t anywhere near the tourist areas and was on the outskirts of the fabled
“Pink City”. I was a bit wary about going anywhere too touristy without my partner
in crime, but being stuck in the modern part of town was not pleasing to the
eye. In an attempt to please the stomach I settled on a supposedly trustworthy
source for lunch – Macdonalds. Didn’t fancy their chicken burgers again, so had
fillet-o-fish for the first time ever. Not bad. </span><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">[The local
Bollywood cinema. Curried popcorn is optional.]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">I returned to the
hotel to check on Timbo, making an observation that tuk-tuk drivers are a real
pain in the arse in this town. They pull up beside you, get politely told no
once, get less politely told no a second time, yet they’re still there. One guy
even got in a bit of a strop when I angrily waved him away and he protested
that he was simply saying, “Welcome to India!” Come on, mate, I’ve done six
months round the world, to the day, as it happens. In my experience there’s no
such thing as a free lunch…errr, or a free friendly stranger. Fortunately Tim was
doing okay, though still bed-bound and not in the mood for food or rising. He
tried to go back to sleep while I discovered my bed sheets were sopping wet.
No, it wasn’t due to a nocturnal accident or overly-pleasant dream, I’d simply
put my day bag down on the bed which contained a bottle of water with the top
not properly on. Was this another bad omen? Oh who cares!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">I went back out
into town after that, taking a different route and passing into the edge of the
Pink City, which is essentially the old part of town where all of the buildings
are painted a shade of pink (though it looked more like creamy-orange from
where I was standing – does “creamy orange” have its own shade?) I entered at
the Chand Pol Gate and proceeded down the road known as Chand Pol Bazaar. I was
searching for some cabin luggage that we could take back to England with us,
stuffed with souvenirs and cheap Indian goods – we’ve run out of backpack
space. I could get rid of some clothes, but you know what I’m like for being
sentimental with my garments – remember White Shirt’s funeral??? Chand Pol
Bazaar consisted of endless tiny shops where you could buy pretty much
everything, but not souvenirs. No, this was a place for locals to buy their
cheap market goods, so the vast majority of it was of no use to me, but there
were some luggage shops. I went into a couple, just to get a feel for the
prices and realised I’d have to pay a bit more than I’d hoped. Maybe I was
getting charged the extortionate rate, but the thing about haggling is that
it’s much more fun if you don’t care either way if you walk out with the item.
If you really want it, then you’re prone to making mistakes. In fact, I was
lucky to get out of the second shop without buying anything, given how many
suitcases I made them take out of their wrapping. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Eventually I came
to a place where the guy showing me the goods stated that he collected foreign
money. Seeing that I had a couple of Chinese coins in my wallet, I chucked one
his way and he was made up. And eventually we found a suitcase that I was happy
with, but I had to go through the hardcore haggling process with the manager,
who I liked, but who knew his stuff. He knew I wanted the case more than he
cared about letting it go. I used all the tricks in the book, e.g. claiming
that the original discount he offered was for American shoppers, but I needed
the Englishman’s discount; suggesting that Thursday was my lucky day, then
claiming it was my unlucky day when he didn’t offer enough of a drop down in
price. Finally, with things hanging on a knife-edge and neither of us prepared
to move, I told him that I’d been fair and given his man a Chinese coin. “Where
is mine?” he asked, trying to hide his smile. So I reached in my wallet and
gave him a yuan, claiming that his was bigger than that which I gave his
employee. “Because of my size?” he asked, pointing to his pot belly. “Because
of your importance!” I countered. He gestured to the luggage with a smile,
“Take it!” and shook my hand. I think that during our time in Asia Tim and I
have both enjoyed haggling, but it’s so much easier when it’s over a tiny
little trinket. There comes a time when you just want to see a fixed price for
something! I can see me doing my Chirstmas shopping in just over a week’s time
and trying to barter with the shop assistant in Curry’s Digital for a better
price on some headphones!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">[Here it’s a holy
symbol.]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Back at the hotel,
Tim was up and walking (gingerly) around the room, which was great. The tough
guy is getting over his food poisoning ten times quicker than I did. But he
obviously did not want an evening meal, so I checked the internet for somewhere
good to eat in the area. Vegetarian, vegetarian, vegetarian…why so many
vegetarian places in Jaipur? I asked the guy at the front desk and he confirmed
that it was a caste-based religious thing. He suggested a place where I could
go and eat meat – Jeez, I felt like a vampire!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">The talk of the town </span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">was the place he recommended, but when I arrived it
looked like a glorified burger bar. Come on, man, with one week to go of this
trip I want to take advantage of being able to eat a comfortable meal out! And
I ain’t risking anything that doesn’t come from a proper kitchen. I kept
walking and tried a hotel bar, but – surprise, surprise – despite very generous
beer prices, they only served vegetarian cuisine. Eventually I ended up at a
place called <i>Copper Chimney</i> – a bit
more swanky than where I’d usually hang my faded sneakers, but it served as a
“comfortable meal out”. Plus it served meat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">On my way home I
could not find anywhere selling the tube of sour cream and onion Pringles that
Tim had requested, so I settled for a pack of sour cream Walkers crisps, known
everywhere outside the UK as <i>Lays</i>.
Unfortunately the rough `n` ready beer shop just across from the hotel which
I’d hope to hit had closed and the darkened streets didn’t look like they contained
many off-licences. I sidled up to a nearby “shop” (read cross between a
newsagent stand and a cave) and the owner shrugged his shoulders and repeated
that the beer shop was closed. His elderly friend mumbled something about going
to some bar somewhere, but it sounded like a plug-your-mate’s-place thing so I
ignored him and walked off. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Finding nothing
but darkness down one road, I had to double back on myself and Newsagent Guy beckoned me over with a bony finger. He told me that he <i>did </i>have beer, but the elderly man in his shop would be going soon
and he would sort me out then. I asked him why he couldn’t just come out and
sell me the beers and he mumbled something about it not being allowed. I was
past asking further questions by this point. And, sure enough, the old guy
whizzed away on his moped and the newsagent paid a small boy a few rupees
(???), then pulled out two ice cold Kingfishers and wrapped them in newspaper.
He’d wanted 220 rupees for them, but I only had two one hundred rupee notes in
my wallet, so I handed them over, and gave him my last Chinese coin which I
said would bring good luck. And that I’d come and buy my bottled water from him
tomorrow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Half an hour after
returning to the room, I was drinking that beer and Tim was eating those
crisps. Result. I just love this semi-teetotal vegetarian town! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Friday,
14/12/2012 – 184 A.D.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Tim was feeling
better today and was able to eat the fruit salad provided for breakfast. I, on
the other hand, found the mango juice to taste extremely odd (it repeated on me
all morning!) and had to leave the omelette that had been stuffed with onions
and tomatoes, which hadn’t been the case yesterday. Ah, such trivial gripes!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">We walked into
town, taking the same route I had done solo the day before. We entered the Pink
City and strolled along the bazaar-lined streets until we came to the Royal
Palace of the Maharajas of Rajasthan (try saying that after several large
bottles of Kingfisher!) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">We hadn’t done too
much background reading on the palace, and if truth be told, it wasn’t up to
the standards of others that we’ve seen. And I suppose I should include the
photo below because the guy demanded a tip for it – should have seen it coming,
<i>did </i>see it coming from then onwards
when each of his buddies also tried the same trick. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Unfortunately the
exhibits on display were mostly to do with the traditional royal fashions from
bygone days, which isn’t really my bag. But there was an interesting bit about
polo – the game, not the sweet – and how it was huge over here. Possibly still
is. Anyway, the Maharaja himself used to play it back in the 1930s, even
competing at the World Championships and winning – take that, Princess Anne! Plus
there was a “night ball” AKA a “fiery ball” which was a rounded metal grid with
a lit candle in the centre. The force of gravity as this ball moved along meant
that the candle always remained upright and lit. This meant that polo could
still be played at night, though why they didn’t just paint a normal ball in
bright orange is beyond me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">After a quick
lunch at the Palace Café (best cheese sandwich I’ve had in India so far), we
went looking for a tuk-tuk driver to take us up to Narhargarh Fort. Come on,
there had to be at least one fort, didn’t there? Be grateful – it could have
been three! It did not take long to find a willing driver, but the guy kept
pulling over and querying the price with us, trying to get it back up to his
original offer after we’d bartered him down. In a once-in-a-lifetime move, we
did actually concede to his terms, but only once we saw how far up in the hills
it was to the fort. Still, he didn’t tell us about the 10 rupee “parking
charge” when we got there, the little so-and-so! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">The fort wasn’t
dear to get into, which was good, because the guidebook had claimed it was
disappearing under a twin layer of graffiti and pigeon poo. In both cases, I
agreed. Still, there were some excellent views over Jaipur to be had. While
exploring the rooms we really started to get fed-up of groups of young Indians
dashing up to have their picture taken with us, before shaking our hands and
dashing off again. I hate to admit it, but I’ll be glad when I can get lost in
the crowd again! I’ve got used to being stared at like I’m some kind of freak,
and I’ve had to do the same thing while I’ve been away from England
(boom-boom!) If you set your mind to it, you can quite easily ignore the
constant stares and cries of, “Hello, Sir!” followed by laughter at having
conversed with such a strange specimen of the human race. It’s best to just
laugh it off yourself, but should you not happen to be in the right mood for
it, for whatever reason, it can become extremely annoying. Fortunately I have a
high tolerance level for life’s many little annoyances, given that I’m a middle
manager at Smedley Hydro (second boom-boom!) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">One the way back
down from the fort, with the same tuk-tuk driver, he suddenly pulled over and
asked if we minded sharing our vehicle with a couple of other young people who
were seemingly stranded on the road. By this point Tim was starting to feel
pretty knackered and just wanted to get back to the hotel, so to avoid a fuss
we agreed. And so five girls got into the boot, and one lad sat up front with
the driver – nine people in a tuk-tuk, ladies and gentlemen! It would never
have happened had we been going up the hill. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">[The palace on the
lake will have to wait for another visit, possibly another incarnation.]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Once we’d been
dropped off we strolled back along the bazaar streets, but there wasn’t
anything that caught our eye. So much for Jaipur’s souvenir stands! In fact,
it’s not been the greatest of visits, though our time here wasn’t helped by
Tim’s illness. Maybe if we had more time…but we don’t. Only one more place
remains on this ker-azy round the world trip of ours. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">It’s Mumbai or
bust, baby! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Kinetic77http://www.blogger.com/profile/17700207633660422355noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916073523745261748.post-10139651842959314022012-12-13T04:56:00.001-08:002014-01-29T11:25:00.869-08:00More songs about buildings and food<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Wednesday,
12/12/2012 – 181 A.D.</span></i><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">It’s a good job
Tim is doing this round the world trip with me, because I didn’t hear the alarm
go off this morning. Twice. Mind you, it went off at 05:45, so who can blame
me? There wasn’t time for much upon getting up, simply pulling on clothes and
scraping the hair straight. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">The plan was to
see the Taj Mahal at sunrise, which was officially at 07:00, but we wanted to
make sure we were there nice and early. It was rather strange walking down
blacked-out backstreets with all of the shutters down on the shops and cows
asleep at the side of the road – hardly the kind of approach worthy of such a
world-renowned monument. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">The West Gate (one
of three) is the one they open first and there were already a few tourists. There is clear separation between foreigners and Indians, in terms of
price, queuing, and route through security. It was still dark when we arrived
at the queue, but unfortunately they did not open the ticket office until
06:30, as the first shades of dark blue started to mix with the blackened sky.
Next we had to queue outside the gate proper and the spoilsports didn’t open
that until 07:00 which was officially sunrise. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Never mind,
because nothing can spoil the effect of turning the corner and coming
face-to-face (albeit from a distance) with the Taj Mahal. If you don’t
already know, this was constructed from 1632 - 1653 by Mughal emperor Shah Jahan as a mausoleum for his
beloved wife, Mumtaz Mahal. Not sure how many he had, but she was definitely his favourite.
And judging by the scale and beauty of her tomb, he must have really fancied
her! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">We had our video
camera temporarily confiscated soon after crossing the no-“videography”
threshold, but we could still get some sneaky footage on the camera-camera.
There were plenty of professional snappers around taking high quality pictures
for the tourists, but we don’t need that when we’ve got Our Kid (I’m almost as
good as him, if it weren’t for my shaky hands. And total lack of eye for
detail). Even at this early hour, there was great demand to sit on the same
bench that Diana famously draped herself across, and we were able to do an exchange shot with
a couple of English lads. Or they might have been Australian – can’t really
remember what English people sound like anymore. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">After that
historic moment we headed closer to the Taj, cursing our luck that we were an
hour and a half too early to enter the museum. To enter the area of the Taj
Mahal proper, you need to put shoe covers on, which are provided when you buy
your ticket, along with a litre bottle of water – nice thought, but not really
necessary at this time in this season. The shoe covers are easy to slip on and
feel pretty funky on the floor as you take in this great building devoted to lurve.
In the past we just removed our shoes before entering these sacred places, but
I guess there’s such huge demand here that the staff are sick of shoes going
missing, especially as there is always the odd monkey hanging around nearby. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">There was not a
great deal inside the mausoleum (photos are banned), but it was at least warm –
the sun not having totally risen yet, outside I’d been wishing I’d put my
Genuine Fred Perry jumper on. In the centre of the room, beneath the nesting
pigeons, was the coffin of the woman this whole place was designed and built for. Next to her was the coffin of the man
who’d had it built. For his own resting place he’d allegedly wanted an exact copy of the
TaJ Mahal constructed facing the original from the other side of the river,
only built out of black marble. Unfortunately they only got as far as the
foundation before his son gained power, couldn’t be bothered with all that and
simply dumped his dad next to his wife. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Although we hadn’t
seen the Taj Mahal go from darkness into light, nor caught the supposed orange
glow that it displays when the sun is in the right position, I was glad we came
out to see it so early. It really is a spectacular sight to behold and there’s a powerful aura about the place, particularly when you’re up close to the
building itself. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">We returned to the
hotel for breakfast, which wasn’t complimentary and I chose cornflakes and
French toast. The menu said two slices, but I received three. Have they heard
it on the grapevine that I’m supposedly an excellent tipper? Anyway, I could
barely manage two of them, given they were thick wholemeal bread. Still, it’s
good to see that I have once again tackled eggs at breakfast time since my
possible salmonella poisoning. Tim just had cornflakes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">So, what else is
there to do in Agra if you’ve been to the Taj Mahal? There’s Fort Agra, which
is another of those red forts from the Mughal period, just like the kind we saw
in Delhi. This was a 15 minute stroll down the road north, though you can add
on another couple of minutes for the breath you lose and subsequent slowdowns
from telling passing tuk-tuk drivers that you do not need their services.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">I liked Fort Agra
more than Delhi’s Red Fort. It’s in a much more dramatic spot with wider moat
and better defensive walls. Plus there’s a fraction of the number of people,
while still being a popular tourist draw. But the main thing that has given
this leg of the trip the best boost is the Indian weather in December – still absolutely
bang-on. If you’re ever going to come to this country, come ye in December. It
may not be very Christmassy, but you won’t get wet or burnt. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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[As if you haven't seen enough shots of the Taj Mahal!]</div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Loads of chipmunks
were hanging around the fort, plus the odd ferret. As ever, monkeys made their
presence felt, and there was an amusing incident when Tim got a little too
close to one of them and it darted forward and slapped him on the leg. We
definitely kept our distance from then on. The best creature feature of the day
though was when we peeped through an old doorway that was gated-off, but behind
which was a whole colony of bats hanging from the walls. They were nowhere near
the size of the fruitbats of Cairns, but hanging there silently, one or two of
them twitching occasionally, they presented a creepy spectacle. I would have
loved to be around at sunset when this lot flew out for the evening!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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After walking back from the fort we decided to get lunch in the hotel’s restaurant, which would complete the set – dinner, breakfast, lunch – got to be a first. I had chicken chow mein, if ya care. A Chinese dish in an Indian place? Well I’m missing that MSG from the late November leg of the trip across the Orient. After that it was time to check out and tuk-tuk it all the way down to Agra Fort station to hang around for a short while before boarding our train to Jaipur. This was a far superior train to that of yesterday and today we were in “Chair Class”, which isn’t that far removed from any long distance train you’d get in the UK. Unfortunately there was a youngster sitting across from us, who fidgeted constantly, but was quiet. The only trouble he gave me was insisting on putting his feet on the table as soon as I got my netbook out. Behind us was another infant who screamed occasionally, but this wound Tim up more than me. We even got a free tray of snacks provided, though I reckon I tackled about 35% of them, not wanting to risk too much. I have eight days left before it’s roast beef and bacon sarnies all the way – I do not want another round of the Bangalore Belly!<br />
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[The obligatory shot of James and Tim having just got on the train.]</div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">In stark contrast
to yesterday, the train arrived bang on time. In email correspondence with our
hotel, I’d made it very clear that we really did want twin beds this time, and
not a double room. From the responses I received, it looked like the message
had got through. However, today’s problem-with-hotel was the driver they sent
to pick us up at the station…he wasn’t there. We walked up and down platforms 1
and 2 several times and hung around outside the <i>Refresh Restaurant </i>where we were inclined to believe him to be, but
no one anywhere was holding a piece of paper with my name on it. After about 30
minutes we shuffled out of the station and were immediately met by a barrage of
slick young guys asking us where we wanted to go. We told them someone was
picking us up and that we did not require their services, although after
another 10 minutes of waiting we realised that our ride wasn’t coming and we
needed a tuk-tuk one way or the other.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">One young lad
looking far too well-dressed (and far too young) to be a tuk-tuk driver swore
blind that he had said vehicle and could take us to our hotel for 50 rupees. We
followed him to the dark, far end of the car park with caution as he told us
how much he liked English people and that he would be honest with us from the
very bottom of his heart, or some other such rubbish. He led us to a tuk-tuk
that was already occupied by several young lads, laughing and joking. Their
exact business in the tiny cab was obscured by the darkness, but I assumed they
were either drinking or getting high off something else. “Did you not get
picked up then?” one of them said from within the cab in a mocking
tone. “That make me so sad for you,” said another in equally condescending
fashion. “Which is your tuk-tuk?” I asked, ignoring his idiot friends, as some
other tall guy looking like a warped version of Neil from <i>The Inbetweeners </i>appeared from out of nowehere and started speaking
gibberish to us. Our so-called driver calmly said, “We wait a while,” but there
was no way that was going to happen. On the way over there I’d already said to
Tim that we should keep our wits about ourselves, but I’d said it in my finest
Scouse accent – Tim and I always speak in Scouse when we don’t want the natives
to know what we’re thinking. On this occasion we both telepathically said a
great big, “Sod it!” and turned around to walk away, back to the part of the
car park that was lit. Our driver came after us, imploring us to come back
because of X, Y and Z, but we didn’t want X, Y or Z, just wanted to get from A
to B. A minute or so later we’d found a more bonefide tuk-tuk where you book
your ticket up front, much to the disappointment of our original driver. He may
have lost a 50 rupee fare, but at least now he could go and get p*ssed with the
rest of his mates. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Upon arriving at the hotel the driver was hovering around the desk, claiming he had been there waiting, but hadn’t seen us. We were too tired and hungry to bother arguing and simply gave him the benefit of the doubt, though I get the feeling the manager was a little suspicious of the guy, especially when I later showed him a photo I’d taken of me and bro standing outside the rendez-vous point. But we were hungry, so we went to the hotel’s restaurant, only to find it was vegetarian! What’s the back up plan in this situation? Cheese, please!<br />
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Kinetic77http://www.blogger.com/profile/17700207633660422355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916073523745261748.post-7865620329177463092012-12-11T21:18:00.001-08:002014-01-27T10:36:18.902-08:00Go west<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Monday,
10/12/2012 – 179 A.D.</span></i><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">We were going to
have a better day today than yesterday. `Tis rare for a Grayboy to do anything
before breakfast, but on this Monday morning we made sure of it. We were up at
07.30 and down that Foreign Tourists Ticket Booking Office just after the doors
opened…and straight into a big, long queue that stretched all around the room.
Seems plenty of people had got up even before 07:30. Still, at least we had
couches to sit on as we waited for the three (count `em) attendants to process
people’s ticket requests on what may well have been a Windows 3.0 operating
platform. 90 minutes later, our moment arrived. We came, we saw, we booked three
train tickets and walked away with a relief that we would never have to do it
again. Well, at least until we go on our three month trek around South America
next year, but that’s another story.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">We made it back in
time for breakfast with a couple of minutes to spare, then got down to business
and booked our last couple of hotels ever. Or at least until we go travelling
round the Middle East for several weeks in a couple of years’ time. Then it was
off out across the havoc-strewn metropolis that is the city of Delhi. Getting
the Metro down to Connaught Place again, we investigated the street market at
Janpath from a distance, not stepping too close to the stalls in case we got
called in to check out the items. Are the old hearts not in it anymore?
Possibly. In truth, we were simply looking for a cash machine, as we were a bit
low after paying for our train tickets in hard currency. One of Tim’s ploys
when bargaining for items is to stash the bulk of his dosh somewhere about his
person and to only keep a few notes in his wallet so that when he’s haggling at
ludicrously low prices he can take out his wallet and show the trader that the price
he quoted is genuinely all he has. It sounds like a cheap trick, but it’s
actually worked more times than it's failed. But like I said, our hearts weren’t in
it this morning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">After finding an
ATM for the Standard & Chartered Bank (who do the best rates – it’s not
just because they sponsor The Mighty Reds) we headed deeper into New Delhi and
gradually came upon <i>India Gate</i>. This
is a national monument for the country which has been standing since 1931 and is based on the Arc De Triomphe. There were plenty of people here and we suspected
they’d come from far and wide across India. A few of the younger ones wanted
their picture with us, but we’re <i>really </i>tiring
of that now, maaaan! That’s probably why we didn’t stick around for long,
simply bought an ice cream each and pushed off. Yeah, you read that right, ice
cream in December – get in!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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[Downtown traffic, Delhi-style.]</div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">We walked quite a
way to <i>Humayun’s Tomb</i>. This was
commissioned in the year 1562 by the wife of the eponymous Mughal Emperor and
was the first garden-tomb on the Indian subcontinent. It’s been a UNESCO World
Heritage Site since 1993, but then if you’ve read this blog for a while you’ve
seen more UNESCO World Heritage Sites than you’ve had hot dinners. The tomb is
also the forerunner for the Taj Mahal in terms of a structure this size built
from sandstone. And for all Taj Mahal-related-stuff, stay tuned to this blog
for a couple of days. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">I liked being at
Humayun’s Tomb. There was a real calm in the grounds, particularly away from
the main building. Coupled with the absolutely perfect weather, I could have lazed
there all afternoon. And to be fair, we didn’t really have any pressing
engagements to rush off to, nor did we have anything of particular note to see.
But it’s not our way to just sit there and do nothing, especially when our days
travelling the world are numbered. And so we left this calm realm and tried to
walk to the nearest metro station and promptly failed by following an underpass
that didn’t go anywhere except into the kind of horrific slum area that they
are too afraid to even show on a BBC World News report. Therefore we jumped in
a tuk-tuk and headed back across town. The journey took half an hour and cost
less than a pound. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;"><br /></span>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">And that was it
for the day, which for all intents and purposes was a much more successful day
than that which preceded it. I even managed a chicken tikka masala in the rooftop
restaurant. Things are looking up, oh yes indeedy they are, and I’ve just
tempted fate in a big, big way… <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;"><i>Tuesday,
11/12/2012 – 180 A.D.</i></span></div>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;"><br /></span>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfzIwyPnKqBrtujZDTL_ystP3UXDe8oXnuMQzjHe4uSm28SFgW1ZUaq5yAUspuernkvJs1LluXfSwb0XFVPjKlYJ0YczYoIgT7bOmpWkgIwGa4Y-cUgC4l9Z8J-sUPiZrnRQgFfg08SG8/s1600/P1060870.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfzIwyPnKqBrtujZDTL_ystP3UXDe8oXnuMQzjHe4uSm28SFgW1ZUaq5yAUspuernkvJs1LluXfSwb0XFVPjKlYJ0YczYoIgT7bOmpWkgIwGa4Y-cUgC4l9Z8J-sUPiZrnRQgFfg08SG8/s400/P1060870.JPG" height="400" width="266" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Raining in Delhi
today! Who’d have thunk it? No matter, as pretty much all we’d be doing was catching a train to Agra. We’d had some difficulties with the Hotel Aura,
and were amused to see that their feedback form allowed the customer to give
ratings only of Very Good, Good and Average. What about P*ss Poor? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">It was a short
walk to New Delhi station, which we’d done every day we’d been in the city, so
that was no great hardship, even with our backpacks on. Our train went at
14:00, but we were a little dismayed to see it was already delayed by an hour.
Still, we’d read online to be wary of the electronic screens giving duff
information and instead to ask an official. Any officials about? Nope. We knew
we had at least two hours to wait, so we just found a quiet spot out of the way
and played – you guessed it – cards. </span></div>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">After several
defeats at the hands of my brother, I decreed we should head to Platform 1 and
await our locomotive. The rain was still coming down hard as a big, long train
pulled in, seemingly too early to be ours, but on closer inspection it <i>was</i>
actually meant for us, just it had a different name on the station scoreboard
compared to what was on the ticket. The clincher was when we saw the printouts
from a dodgy dot matrix attached to the side of the carriage with pritt-stick.
The names of all of the passengers sitting in the glamourous ‘3 AC’ were
listed, included Yours Truly and His Brotherly. And the reason for us both
having ‘FT’ listed beside our names? We assume it stands for ‘Foreign Tourist’,
but have no idea why it should be present on the manifest. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZz6HE-G421986XHrp1Qs28EcqFOhaxYJrQ8k33TDBAUO9DJbH-2ya_H4nr-LhMU7GUm8vN7uSn-q58VNxyXKlJNQfMkXMynbfVRY96ms8X4giGiXrKK7E4xKJ0CKWR6F3SM9bqAtHU8g/s1600/P1060881.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZz6HE-G421986XHrp1Qs28EcqFOhaxYJrQ8k33TDBAUO9DJbH-2ya_H4nr-LhMU7GUm8vN7uSn-q58VNxyXKlJNQfMkXMynbfVRY96ms8X4giGiXrKK7E4xKJ0CKWR6F3SM9bqAtHU8g/s400/P1060881.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnh-o3gLg5_Tq7y0qwuVrthFQ8oqkW9uHuBLDB9HvVPzVCAo0FWhA9bLfYnFSnVVjzTnLisQca4_PF2U7-e5GJNuhNYvNT2SRBoOfgo5JyiaTfqXR2_LAmm7s5y7JqG1-aRneQUuMTWZ4/s1600/P1060882.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnh-o3gLg5_Tq7y0qwuVrthFQ8oqkW9uHuBLDB9HvVPzVCAo0FWhA9bLfYnFSnVVjzTnLisQca4_PF2U7-e5GJNuhNYvNT2SRBoOfgo5JyiaTfqXR2_LAmm7s5y7JqG1-aRneQUuMTWZ4/s400/P1060882.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">We stood on the
platform staring at that list for an hour before we were let onto the train. We
figured we’d be in some cheap and cheerful three-seats-in-a-row set-up, but oddly
enough we were booked into sleeper class, just not actually sleeping in it.
True to form, we were sharing our little berth with a family comprising of a
mummy, a daddy and two loud kids. The boy, the youngest, was particularly vocal
and the little so-and-so barely shut up or stopped moving for the entire time
we were on the train. His older sister kept niggling to wind him up, which
brought back many happy memories as I remembered doing the exact same thing to
Our Kid when we were growing up. And here he was now, 32 years old, and sitting
next to me in the corner of the berth and pretending to be asleep so the kids
wouldn’t bother him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
Picture taken just after boarding...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAu5TwhYo63m13LgzHIDTvwIXwY_49AIqEDx3d3h4orpTwpGb3uBSTpjGCoHYwsEnsnJcUmX6hgqxI9nOlgarv1yxlDEc-FlrZ7Q0sCYQqZZUrLFhLedH8hg8zAhJ0rizniNZeD6pNDXk/s1600/P1060883.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAu5TwhYo63m13LgzHIDTvwIXwY_49AIqEDx3d3h4orpTwpGb3uBSTpjGCoHYwsEnsnJcUmX6hgqxI9nOlgarv1yxlDEc-FlrZ7Q0sCYQqZZUrLFhLedH8hg8zAhJ0rizniNZeD6pNDXk/s400/P1060883.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
And four hours later...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGwNuxXiTKvAqzNq5_ZIfg8SnbslAsed1-qGb6SR7TARAtYB9XwQjNKw4-1PfXqaqZVFCiPxGZK2_tV1W3bA5MgInbWLLzNrBgmG3AvIHyIzIRXXeZmRPYeDu4L3cYj5aXXk2ZAxu77o8/s1600/P1060885.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGwNuxXiTKvAqzNq5_ZIfg8SnbslAsed1-qGb6SR7TARAtYB9XwQjNKw4-1PfXqaqZVFCiPxGZK2_tV1W3bA5MgInbWLLzNrBgmG3AvIHyIzIRXXeZmRPYeDu4L3cYj5aXXk2ZAxu77o8/s400/P1060885.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">The train pulled
out at 15:00 and stopped dead in its tracks at about 15:10. We would have to
get used to these prolonged stationery moments (no pun intended!) Already the
young lad had been given a mug of tea which he’d spilt all over the floor and
nearly soaked my big bag that I’d thought was safely stashed under the seats. We
hadn’t left Delhi before the train stopped at one of the stations in the suburbs
and more people got on, including another family who knew that which already
occupied our berth. They joined us in the berth and, hunched up between my
brother and the patriarch of one of these clans, I wondered why there were
three seats clearly marked on this sofa-type thing, yet four adults and one
child were sitting on it. I’ve done Chinese trains and been woken in the night
by old men slurping noodles; I’ve done Vietnamese trains and shared my bed with
baby cockroaches; I knew Indian trains would be bad, but I really shouldn’t be
bothered by this. Good job the journey to Agra is only three hours! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">The train ends up
being two and a half hours late and that sodding kid does not stop shouting the
whole time! Correction, he quietens down for a bit, which is mother’s cue to
pick him up, tip him back to rub his face and set him off again! The other
annoying thing is that pretty much every station we pass through is using
emergency batteries. Looks like there’s a powercut across the whole of
Rajasthan and I really don’t fancy alighting this train into a busy Indian
station bathed in darkness. But cometh the moment, I have bigger problems.
Fortunately there is power in Agra station, but as the train trundles to a stop
I don’t get my big bag out from under the seat in time and as I try to
manoeuvre my way down the corridor I meet people coming the other way with food
trays, having just jumped on board to flog their wares. I step to one side into
another berth, figuring they’ll have soon passed, but then more people come on
board, this time with suitcases. There is not enough room for two people to get
down the aisle and I am twisting and turning in the berth, realising that I
could be in serious trouble if I cannot get off in time before the train starts up again. Suddenly I hear the angry shout of, “Excuse me! Excuse me! Excuse
me!” from behind and when I look round there is Tim steaming down the aisle
with his big bag held on his head like a man possessed. “I need to get off!” he
demands and miraculously the recent arrivals get out of his way. Me? I heave my
big bag onto my head and jump into his slipstream all the way until we’re
safely onto that platform. What a good lad! He said to me afterwards that as
he’d been in the berth dilly-dallying like I was, one of the matriarchs who’d
up until that point slept most of the journey told him that he really should
get off quickly or he might not manage it all. Thanks for that one, Missus! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">The hotel we’re
staying at does railway pick-ups, and the tuk-tuk driver who’d been sent
clearly expressed that he’d been waiting three hours (yeah right, two at the
most!) We’re staying at the hotel Tim stayed at last time he came to India and
saw the Taj Mahal. It’s a functional little place that does the job, with no
frills, but with an authentic Indian accommodation feel. Once again we were
offered a double room instead of the twin we’d booked, but at least on this
occasion they were able to switch us to a room with separate beds, and some pretty
funky decor. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYhUvX_F4Xujunn4H9leoSC8VYGXp8dId48G0whsqlHI56JkuI_zQOLQ8BvWPJWXaLXiuQPE4fUIeCV4R3T74v0ZybcAocUpoQDYoHYBXhbI0u6JTZl2gNdUAInnvvsGo87eHK-eV8riE/s1600/P1060892.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYhUvX_F4Xujunn4H9leoSC8VYGXp8dId48G0whsqlHI56JkuI_zQOLQ8BvWPJWXaLXiuQPE4fUIeCV4R3T74v0ZybcAocUpoQDYoHYBXhbI0u6JTZl2gNdUAInnvvsGo87eHK-eV8riE/s400/P1060892.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">That just left
time to go up to the rooftop restaurant for some tandoori chicken by the smouldering
fire…<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;"><br /></span>
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Kinetic77http://www.blogger.com/profile/17700207633660422355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916073523745261748.post-80268535931457898912012-12-10T19:57:00.000-08:002014-01-24T10:45:40.447-08:00Pictures at an exhibition - final part<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Ont `rain...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi3yduvJoYZxCIXCeTFLgX9aFaoNW5_jUbG23rGPjET39js0xgjKfMvbzeB2kzh96Eq4uWIUONlHG2wCotH6DRgq1NRQL9FJq5lXpiQnN7N0ZSnYREp4ov-vqZ3mWXpYm6Jd7_x0yMM58/s1600/P1040535.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi3yduvJoYZxCIXCeTFLgX9aFaoNW5_jUbG23rGPjET39js0xgjKfMvbzeB2kzh96Eq4uWIUONlHG2wCotH6DRgq1NRQL9FJq5lXpiQnN7N0ZSnYREp4ov-vqZ3mWXpYm6Jd7_x0yMM58/s400/P1040535.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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["Mirror, Mirror, on the wall, who is the biggest wally of them all?"]</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYYrxjXBqtzzHuC3F6auf7s_qoXnUZJBEzL3ETHSavDqtTwY08BI4MIbHj1rSRiWdFIruidglH0AyfJFndGn_8XqHxIUG-pXi4g_XRhT1n0TFUJgsiqjG7v7p_v-jAj2iYaRsx7QgVcpk/s1600/P1040542.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYYrxjXBqtzzHuC3F6auf7s_qoXnUZJBEzL3ETHSavDqtTwY08BI4MIbHj1rSRiWdFIruidglH0AyfJFndGn_8XqHxIUG-pXi4g_XRhT1n0TFUJgsiqjG7v7p_v-jAj2iYaRsx7QgVcpk/s400/P1040542.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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[Just before the car drove off...]</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAcGxU5KekA4g9GhdCvlZKZwxq7xw0cYLpHH8yqIbyMq8UxK6EAKATbL97-LltqJZ5UePfQFSJ6cugGBJW59Ulyo_4t27RlEm5wjoAvdsHDPXsDWikfp-pPGyDYU5nwkaT1KBQpjiWquk/s1600/P1040634.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAcGxU5KekA4g9GhdCvlZKZwxq7xw0cYLpHH8yqIbyMq8UxK6EAKATbL97-LltqJZ5UePfQFSJ6cugGBJW59Ulyo_4t27RlEm5wjoAvdsHDPXsDWikfp-pPGyDYU5nwkaT1KBQpjiWquk/s400/P1040634.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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[Prolonged exposure to high humidity can lead to severe finger expansion.]</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVGkTV20_YmxxqngYnPsdVilOpMdP2n6zhgYKsdPzlxCCAufnTvzFyBOuYmAzJRotrxxMG6WXoGNFj8T-j34AaCwG670Fb191-WFH930czI0plE9rjk2bYyhmgDSM6OIB2hXl4lHSuoLw/s1600/P1040836.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVGkTV20_YmxxqngYnPsdVilOpMdP2n6zhgYKsdPzlxCCAufnTvzFyBOuYmAzJRotrxxMG6WXoGNFj8T-j34AaCwG670Fb191-WFH930czI0plE9rjk2bYyhmgDSM6OIB2hXl4lHSuoLw/s400/P1040836.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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[Well that's a relief, isn't it?]</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs9WRJdOrKSy0ZrHRRDRkf9mQfDhWE7FNm7tvSjTLCTo-fqZ4aaLAgeuwON1s404f32T0ZKSB8O47X4XcK2x12oa0fJEDc6SVZ1D7mht2JpkffFY_9Ci0g9b83fLfI3pGHyYPvYmc3am8/s1600/P1050054.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs9WRJdOrKSy0ZrHRRDRkf9mQfDhWE7FNm7tvSjTLCTo-fqZ4aaLAgeuwON1s404f32T0ZKSB8O47X4XcK2x12oa0fJEDc6SVZ1D7mht2JpkffFY_9Ci0g9b83fLfI3pGHyYPvYmc3am8/s400/P1050054.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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[Rapid River Response, Cambodian-style.]</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYlGLglvq1EgX8h2bvSVm6SdsMzyVZhG_MP58DV22ScZCRnUbfG_OFn89CUfu26pvm5_7GvRmbHZ0U-ptAvfxMCyBnB7S1jN9b98iNDON1zdchd_j44GAuk2XHWHxsip_5T5LnSQerNwQ/s1600/P1050918.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYlGLglvq1EgX8h2bvSVm6SdsMzyVZhG_MP58DV22ScZCRnUbfG_OFn89CUfu26pvm5_7GvRmbHZ0U-ptAvfxMCyBnB7S1jN9b98iNDON1zdchd_j44GAuk2XHWHxsip_5T5LnSQerNwQ/s400/P1050918.JPG" height="400" width="266" /></a></div>
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[Tim: If I look afraid maybe it will leave me alone!</div>
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Big Scary Monster: If I look afraid maybe it will leave me alone!]</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTiFf6Q719jq98VL8i_pMjK2rG4wdGPumNRUpCz4UB6AfghvFLgiuQKeLM36eysB1UraN_Cv-Dz1w64cnvAA1wuWdAOPVEJ_0ZVFwCuk4XPvl2QjTRkwilqak72Cqbu-5VOhlLdUvVcXM/s1600/P1050139.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTiFf6Q719jq98VL8i_pMjK2rG4wdGPumNRUpCz4UB6AfghvFLgiuQKeLM36eysB1UraN_Cv-Dz1w64cnvAA1wuWdAOPVEJ_0ZVFwCuk4XPvl2QjTRkwilqak72Cqbu-5VOhlLdUvVcXM/s400/P1050139.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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[You make your own entertainment after six months on the road.]</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmkHViMeVlDroac6pb4FeMCykSOuTAaSTHyuQf05GeVOBMoCYilc25UVspBSTUUccsrD9kEiBFeAwPSgAx_TxZXbrdSLzbrtLawvwHyuzMhSdcdSw2zGfSut3ahshhCqcibmOYrwTm0gs/s1600/P1050161.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmkHViMeVlDroac6pb4FeMCykSOuTAaSTHyuQf05GeVOBMoCYilc25UVspBSTUUccsrD9kEiBFeAwPSgAx_TxZXbrdSLzbrtLawvwHyuzMhSdcdSw2zGfSut3ahshhCqcibmOYrwTm0gs/s400/P1050161.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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[When you've just bought a new watering hole, but can't for the life of you think of something to call it.]</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggj8epLJpUJgGbd9lCvrpxJue5rlprh26boQIxnx9teDNJHaS-jtIe7M48NJ8xKFP9kEGxjH16l9NQYhzOARKdZrI1lPDngHRM_11h9T716hw7Xlk-Wp1qLlCfxuf98FmmscElJtwTE1E/s1600/P1050347.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggj8epLJpUJgGbd9lCvrpxJue5rlprh26boQIxnx9teDNJHaS-jtIe7M48NJ8xKFP9kEGxjH16l9NQYhzOARKdZrI1lPDngHRM_11h9T716hw7Xlk-Wp1qLlCfxuf98FmmscElJtwTE1E/s400/P1050347.JPG" height="400" width="266" /></a></div>
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[A hard-nosed left-wing revolutionary meets...Vladimir Lenin.]</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWpyyshitSxW-bJy9U05p78JmlupqIpmSKA2qZhguM813CcIVivgI-5I-IoHkynza7ftg3JQWtQPtb1bABcMS4jX-7ffpppGQV6Zp9a3w-kp9zOldf9EdryHf_yZsnj0evOIBSAe4Zh-M/s1600/P1050462.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWpyyshitSxW-bJy9U05p78JmlupqIpmSKA2qZhguM813CcIVivgI-5I-IoHkynza7ftg3JQWtQPtb1bABcMS4jX-7ffpppGQV6Zp9a3w-kp9zOldf9EdryHf_yZsnj0evOIBSAe4Zh-M/s400/P1050462.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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[How could anyone put these words together?]</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_QgucVAxykwClqDiZ9Z-lZX5IxuFyp7QlF2u9-YaGpi16P3QAbFg8j3zMCCai9k0rfcBboeIlyO4vPDl127y4p6I19Mna8y1105bFVLhMsD2Ntn7TFSnEyRevUy0O_bEkMLb8Qdpqvl4/s1600/P1050629.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_QgucVAxykwClqDiZ9Z-lZX5IxuFyp7QlF2u9-YaGpi16P3QAbFg8j3zMCCai9k0rfcBboeIlyO4vPDl127y4p6I19Mna8y1105bFVLhMsD2Ntn7TFSnEyRevUy0O_bEkMLb8Qdpqvl4/s400/P1050629.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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[Might as well continue the theme...]</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMr7l92463_uFN7TjUe19n_76-OsovFYQ3ZORO2FUfE0dW2B85rPGNtuX_x5KOB1eXpKYBGjjHqUn6PlnztDs4qGmGVlhuYwDnTPqUWgkMjkqz41yUudKgoeg_rEc9rBNR-70yk4E2lyg/s1600/P1050419.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMr7l92463_uFN7TjUe19n_76-OsovFYQ3ZORO2FUfE0dW2B85rPGNtuX_x5KOB1eXpKYBGjjHqUn6PlnztDs4qGmGVlhuYwDnTPqUWgkMjkqz41yUudKgoeg_rEc9rBNR-70yk4E2lyg/s400/P1050419.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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[Don't you just love it when these shots actually work out?]</div>
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Kinetic77http://www.blogger.com/profile/17700207633660422355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916073523745261748.post-16031227402331259852012-12-10T03:41:00.002-08:002014-01-23T10:58:15.298-08:00Indian summer<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Saturday,
08/12/2012 – 177 A.D.</span></i><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">So, after
surviving a nightmare six hour journey over dangerous roads next to lethal
ravines while crammed into the back of a small minibus with 19 other blokes,
what do we decide? Why, to do it all again!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">We had to really,
it was the only way to be sure. Our flight out of Kathmandu was at 18:40 and we
had to be there two hours before for check-in. Okay, so maybe we had a bit of
leeway, but the document we had said the gate would definitely be closed
one hour prior to take off. The Tourist Bus leaves at 07:00, but it takes 9 hours…<i>if </i>everything goes okay and there are no
delays! No, it was microbus or bust for us. “But, James!” I hear you cry, “What
if there is some kind of problem with the microbus?” I hear you, but some things
are best just not thinking about. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">So, we were up at
7 for breakfast, which for me consisted of a slice of toast. I was feeling lots
better this morning, but still a little lacking and taking it easy. Just before
9 we were squashed into one of the Suzuki taxis, which gave me a mysterious
brown stain on the knee of my freshly-washed jeans. A little after that we were
back in Microbus Town and being herded towards the nearest available vehicle.
Actually the Pokhara stand was a lot less crowded and crazy than that in Kathmandu,
so our stress levels remained at manageable levels.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH94NL03lsumKtr7xIvwtiERFmDcGr1pDtRPuGV_Zxh5DzhluOU2Zm0-JPhyphenhyphenOH0D-7_o3NDaJyCDUW-CGanMy8YAGGLUnDLhA6rnVtp4i3z2K4ipnQY98tYQuaTMGVFx-meuBgC0evFeU/s1600/P1060763.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH94NL03lsumKtr7xIvwtiERFmDcGr1pDtRPuGV_Zxh5DzhluOU2Zm0-JPhyphenhyphenOH0D-7_o3NDaJyCDUW-CGanMy8YAGGLUnDLhA6rnVtp4i3z2K4ipnQY98tYQuaTMGVFx-meuBgC0evFeU/s400/P1060763.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Notice the
presence of the lady on the right. We had four of them in the contingent for this
trip, and it makes a big difference, not that I said anything to any of them.
Nope, I was going to take my turn on the window seat and keep cool, calm and
collected all of the way, sick bag in my jacket’s inside pocket if needed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWEPnN3AO4uIEF-f5n6FXGj5WZropm0HUjPKKzSOOalJ7PgtaLtR4WmDyEvQafAaD5wvVXFyopZtmjvdkcgZyxahdhlQVFIed0_IoZYxpE_zHtKrG3EZ4rKCdusER_WTNO-Lb1dBBjBDw/s1600/P1060767.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWEPnN3AO4uIEF-f5n6FXGj5WZropm0HUjPKKzSOOalJ7PgtaLtR4WmDyEvQafAaD5wvVXFyopZtmjvdkcgZyxahdhlQVFIed0_IoZYxpE_zHtKrG3EZ4rKCdusER_WTNO-Lb1dBBjBDw/s400/P1060767.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">The journey got
under way and was smooth enough. The continuous bhangra music was a bit loud,
but I had my iPod to hand and The Sex Pistols can drown out anything. The first
rest stop came about any hour into the journey and I noticed the guy who’d been
sitting in front of me strolling around and knocking back an extra large can of
beer, which was a bit fresh for 10 o`clock in the morning. However, come the
proper rest stop for lunch an hour later Tim was unfortunate enough to witness
the guy making himself sick in a watering hole. Boy, was I looking forward to
the next leg sitting behind him! Another curious sight that we saw was a Western
woman braving the microbuses like us. I suddenly didn’t feel so brave, until I
saw she was with a Nepalese bloke, so that doesn’t count<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">The rest of the
journey went fine, sorry to disappoint all you fans of exciting blog posts (I
could make something up if you like?) Kathmandu was not a place I really wanted
to see again so soon, but at least we’d arrived in plenty of time before our
flight and it was still daylight. In the taxi to the airport my appetite
returned with a vengeance. All I wanted was some greased-up stodge a la
Macdonalds. In any other city I would have got it, but not here. This is
Kathmandu, where fast food restaurants don’t show their neon signs, even at the
airport. A cheese sandwich constructed of wooden bread from the snack bar had
to suffice. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">[Tim opts for the type of snack that food poisoned people tend to avoid.]</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Despite having the
least high tech facilities in any airport I have ever been to, the security
staff at Kathmandu certainly knew how to pile on the security checks. We must
have been patted down on about six separate occasions by the time we set foot
on our plane. The airline we’d be flying with was <i>Spicejet</i>. An Indian carrier, they name every one of their planes after a spice. Ours was named “Dill”. Anyone who remembers early 90s playground
slang from North West England will now have a wry smile on their face. In fact,
speaking of flying out of places, for all its lack of size and antiquated
facilities, Kathmandu is the only airport on this trip that we fly both into and out
of. Err, unless you count Heathrow and Manchester, which we don’t.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">The flight lasted barely an hour, yet the Aussie
in the seat next to me knocked back two cans of beer. A fine way to use up the
last of one’s Nepalese notes! I intended to give mine to the guy from the hotel
who was picking us up at the airport, hoping to do it subtly enough so that all
his fellow staff didn’t see and falsely suppose I’m this great big tipper. The
new terminal at Delhi airport is a dream to experience – modern, efficient,
spacious, with no chaos. The guy drove us back through streets which again
seemed remarkably devoid of bedlam – were we really in the Indian capital or had
we been on the wrong flight? He also had some pretty funky music playing on his
stereo, and I came close to asking him where I could pick up the CD.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">We’re staying
three nights at the <i>Hotel Aura</i>. It’s
down a dusty, crowded street with lots of similar-looking hotels, but at least
it does look nice from the outside. Should you trust a hotel based on how good
its lobby looks? In my experience, it’s sometimes yes, sometimes no. Check-in
was fine and everything seemed to go smoothly, though out of the corner of my
eye I could see our driver talking to one of the other staff about the tatty
Nepalese notes I’d just given him, presumably wondering if anyone in the whole
city would bother to exchange them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">We were shown to
our room on the third floor. I always like to be high up in hotels, but they’d
allocated us a double room, and we specifically said in our booking that we
required two beds. Okay, so it’s probably the widest double bed that I’ve seen
on this trip so far, but I’d still have to share it with my brother. The porter
tells us there are no twin rooms free tonight, but there will be one available
tomorrow which we can move to. Given that we’ve spent the whole day travelling,
we’re not going to stamp our feet and argue the toss. We’ll just call them
tossers when they’re not listening. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">There was just
time for us to head up to the rooftop restaurant for a belated dinner.
Reasonably hungry, but not willing to chance anything, I was going to adopt the line from the classic <i>Goodness Gracious Me </i>sketch and ask for “the blandest thing on the menu”. As soon as
we were seated, however, the waiter told us that there was only Indian food
available. Oh well, I still had an apple back down in the double room, even
though I’d already had one today. Still, if one keeps the doctor away, two must
make you super-healthy, right? Who cares, just so long as there’s a distinct
lack of 'lacto fun'! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Sunday,
09/12/2012 – 178 A.D.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Sunday on the
Indian sub-continent – hurrah! We’d slept okay on our wide double bed, but the
room is next to some strange pipes and there are constant trickling, gushing
and dripping sounds behind the walls. It sounds a little like people are
washing themselves like we saw them doing out in the Nepalese countryside, i.e.
with water, a bucket and the open air. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Breakfast was
okay, but for me there was only cornflakes, and who takes them with warm milk?
Ugh! Speaking of warm, the temperature was heading for about 20 degrees today –
second hurrah of the morning! Could consider getting the shorts out again! I’d
already packed them away for next year and those three days of heat we get in
an English summer. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">The porter turned
up at our room, hoping to collect some laundry (and make a tidy commission out
of it), but we had none for him. Instead we asked about moving to a twin room
and he </span><span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">started to make
out that the twin rooms were very cramped and less space than the doubles and
blah-blah-blah. Eventually he agreed to show us one when it became available at
12 o`clock. We would not see him again for the rest of the day.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">The hotel has a small
desk close to reception where you can organise tours, transport, etc. We wanted
to get our three Indian train journeys booked, and the manager had assured us
the previous evening that their man would be able to assist. Currently he was
busy helping a young couple sort something, so we went to Plan B which was to find
an ATM somewhere close by. That went smoothly, but by the time we got back Travel
Guy was still dealing with the couple. Then began a strange time for me in
which I didn’t quite know what to do with myself. On the one hand I wanted to
wait for our turn with Travel Guy, but the couple were taking ages. It wasn’t
quite 12:00 so we couldn’t move to our twin room, yet my stuff was all packed
up so there wasn’t any point going to the room. And so I sat waiting around in
the lobby, aware that my sightseeing time in the great city of Delhi was
dwindling.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">A game of chess
later, we were still in the lobby. Gawd knows what that couple were doing –
planning their wedding maybe – but they were bloody ages! To make matters
worse, a dodgy guy who lingered about the lobby and referred to himself as a
travel agent kept coming up to us and asking if we wanted to come down the
street to his place because he could sort our journeys out for us. Not wanting
to walk into high commission rates (but not wanting to tell him this either) we
kept having to make excuses as to why we wanted to sit and wait for Travel Guy,
even though he was taking ages. Eventually I broke the cycle by getting up and
asking if our twin room was ready, seeing as it had gone midday. The man in the
suit manning the desk had no idea what I was talking about. Explanation occurs and
he barks things at various members of staff, who bark things back. In amongst
all this another guest comes down to check out, which in my experience takes
two minutes maximum, yet the guy ends up being there for nearly half an hour! For
my part, I stand around like a spare part at a wedding, wondering if the man in
the suit has forgotten about me. Eventually I give him a verbal nudge and he
says that there are no twin rooms available, but there is a guest checking out
at 17:00 and if I can wait until then I can have that room. Biting my lip to
conceal my seething rage, I agree to this crappy offer. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Fortunately Travel
Guy has just become free, so Tim and I sit down with him, even though both of
us are ready for our lunch. We will be at that desk for an hour and achieve
absolutely zilch. You see, all we wanted this guy to do for us was to log in to
the Indian Railways website and book seats for us on three trains, but oh no,
that would not make him any commission. Should have seen it coming, but we were
keen to avoid having to book them at the bedlam of a Delhi station. So for all
that time he farted about trying to make us take minibuses over trains (no more
minibuses!) and saying that so-and-so train was full and blah-blah-blah. That
was annoying enough, but his phone kept going off and he kept answering what
sounded like extremely trivial calls. Then his fellow travel agent kept coming
up and asking him things which disturbed proceedings. By the time he asked us how much we were paying for our room at the
hotel here I very nearly blurted out, “What the bloody hell has
that got to do with anything?” All I could see were the hands on my watch
ticking away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">At least Travel
Guy was also conscious of the time and, having realised we weren’t going to pay
inflated minibus charges, he came up with a cock and bull story that he couldn’t
book our final train journey down to Mumbai because rhubarb-rhubarb-rhubarb and
we should hotfoot it down to New Delhi station and do it ourselves in person.
Why now? Because it’s Sunday and it closes at 14:00 – half an hour’s time.
Thanks, mate, you could have told us that an hour ago and saved us all the
trouble! What a wally!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">The day hadn’t been
going well, and it didn’t get any better as we rushed up to the door of the New
Delhi Foreigners Ticket Desk to find it closed slightly before time. Instead we
decided to start sightseeing…right after lunch! But we weren’t in the right
sort of area so we jumped on the metro and went a couple of stops to <i>Connaught Place. </i>This is the heart of
New Delhi, the area where the British built their capital. There are malls and
lots of trendy clothes shops, and where you get these you tend to get fast food
chains. Sure enough, a Macdonalds came our way and we ducked inside, though I
was dismayed to see no beef was on offer, given that we’re in a Hindu country
and the cow is sacred. The McChicken burger I ate was not the spicy kind which
Tim got, but it wasn’t really what I was after. Plus it was difficult to eat,
given we had to sit outside due to lack of seating, then had to keep moving on every
time a group of beggars approached us. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />
We would only get to see one attraction in Delhi today, but it is arguably the main one to see, The Red Fort Complex (Lal Qila). This was built in the 17th century by the Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan. It’s an old residential and governmental complex, which reminded me very much of The Forbidden City in Beijing. In fact, it got me thinking that both these places were being built on opposite sides of Asia round about the same time. And I’ve been to both of them!<br />
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<span lang="EN-GB"><br />I’m afraid there’s not a great deal I can tell you about the place that Wikipedia can’t, but we arrived in late afternoon just as the weather hit that absolutely perfect point when it’s warm, but not too hot and you can see long shadows from the slowly sinking sun. We’d read up that foreigners had to pay considerably more than locals to enter (though not an extortionate sum), so no surprise there, but we were pleasantly shocked to see that we were entitled to jump the extensive queue on account of us shelling out more. </span><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">By the time we
left the Red Fort we were ready to head back on the metro and check into our
twin room. Upon arriving at the hotel, the manager had not received our message
that we would be changing to a twin room. Again, we explained the situation.
Again, there was more barking at staff and conversations that we were not privy
to. Eventually the manager sent us off with a member of staff who took us to a
room down the corridor. He opened the door to show us what was still a room
full of other people’s belongings, rubbish, and which stank of ale. He said
that they were a family who would have come back at 17:00, but were still away,
but they would definitely be back by 20:00, at which point the staff would move
them to a different room and we could have this one. We asked if the room would
be cleaned before we got it – sounds like a stupid question, but the way things
have been going, you never know! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">In the end we didn’t
take the room. Sure it had two beds, but we didn’t want the guilt of having
some other people hassled into a different living space because the hotel had
ballsed-up our booking. Besides, it was on the ground floor and we’d probably
hear every single word that got barked from reception. Instead I told Tim to
try and imagine the pipes in our double room were like those relaxing water
sounds from those electric powered fountains you can get for your lounge.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">It had been a crap
day. Although I’m not quite 100% yet (pretty much though), I hope my readers won’t begrudge me a
drink at the end of it. We hadn’t found anywhere near the hotel that sold ale
apart from a highly dodgy “Beer and Wine Shop” that was for the most part a
hole in the wall where customers and the shopkeeper exchanged bottles and
notes. Upon fighting our way inside through the crush of raving alcoholics shouting
for their cravings, we saw that virtually everything sold here was super
strength, including the beer. Now, I have been in some off-licences in my time,
but I’d never experienced anything like this. Upon barging my way out again I
was treated to the sights and sounds of an Indian wedding band striking up a
tune before some kind of march took place. That was kinda cool, but also a little ker-azy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Welcome to Delhi?
Welcome to hell-i!</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">(Sorry!)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br /></div>
Kinetic77http://www.blogger.com/profile/17700207633660422355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916073523745261748.post-27304563708298831042012-12-08T11:15:00.000-08:002014-01-23T10:46:05.153-08:00Get up, stand up<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Friday,
07/12/2012 – 176 A.D.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Woke up after a
good, long sleep, but still not with much of an appetite. Did a bit of research
online as to what foods you should not eat when recovering from food poisoning –
protein foods, no; meat, no; spicy stuff, no. Therefore the Nepali chicken was
a mistake! I shall try and be more careful in future. Jeez, talk about a slow
process! I’ve even had to stop boozing!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">It was a new day
and I was b*ggered if I was going to spend it a prisoner in the hotel room,
just like the day before. I’m British, after all, with the roar of an English
lion inside me (or maybe a Merseyside squeak) and I felt that getting myself
outside and being shaken about in the fresh air would do me some good. And so
we went to the lake. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Here it was
possible to hire boats for various rates, 700 NPR giving you full use of one
for the whole day. Other less robust and lazy tourists could pay a fare that
included a local to do the paddling, but we were up for sticking our oars in.
The early cloudy weather from first thing had cleared and the lake was now as
enchanting as ever, despite the occasional bits of crap floating past. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Tim made the right
choice and went at the back of the boat, which is the bit where it’s easiest to
paddle with least effort. Smart fellow. I was sitting in the middle and putting
my lack of skill down to the fact that I’d had three pringles to eat all day
(and those were simply to help the anti-malarial go down). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">We met various
other boats of people coming past, saying hello, though secretly we called them
wimps for wearing lifejackets (not that we’d been offered any when we picked up
our vessel!) We were also offered all kinds of illegal narcotics by local
boaters, though nothing as useful as a life belt. Out in the middle of the lake
was the temple pictured below, but being out of action I hadn’t been able to do
my research on it and given how busy it was, we decided not to stop.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Our disembarking
on the other side of the lake went pretty well, not a ten out of ten, but we
got the job done and got the boat tied up. Then we left the oars with the local
restaurant so that no one would steal our pride of the seas, and started up the
long path to the grandly-titled World Peace Pagoda.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">It was a pretty
steep hike, but we did it slowly and stopped for plenty of rests and water
glugs. Then we saw a sign saying that people should only go up there in a group
or with a guide because there had been robberies. Hmmm. Only that morning I had
been thinking that we’d encountered pretty much everything so far on this trip,
except for violence (despite Tim giving me a dead arm when I get too surreal).
Nor had we been mugged. However, we had both brought our multi-tools, so we
were reassured sufficiently. Besides, the state of me in recovery from food
poisoning is enough to scare off any would-be brigand! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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We didn’t meet anyone, bar the odd fellow tourist on the way down and considerably less out of breath than us. And while we didn’t see anyone lurking in the bushes, what we did see beyond those bushes were some excellent views of the lakes and the Annapurna mountains. <br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">The World Peace
Pagoda was built in 1996. There are several routes up to it, our water-based
route seemingly one of the least popular. Coming up from the other side of the
mountain taxis can get 15 minutes walk from the stupa and after that it’s
walking all the way. It’s great being up there in the mountains and I would have
loved to have kept on along the trail and done some more exploring, but Body
said no. So instead I sat down and ate an apple. I was wondering yesterday…throughout
America and Australasia I was religiously on an apple a day, but when I hit
Indochina they became a lot more scarce and, with so many hotels providing
breakfast, I got out of the habit of eating them. Could that be the reason for
me being more susceptible to the poisoning? After all, they do keep the doctor
away. It is also ironic that Nepal is the only Asian country in which I did not
brush my teeth using water out of the tap…and look what happened!</span></div>
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The hike back down the way we’d come wasn’t too much trouble, a bit heavy on the knees, but we’ve done worse in recent memory. Apart from stopping to photograph grasshoppers and a gigantic spider’s web, we didn’t need to take five and were soon back at HMS Grayboy and ready to launch her onto the ocean waves again. This time I ended up sitting at the rear of the boat (stern? Bow?) and boy was it a lot easier than before!<br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">We took it slower
on the way back across the lake and moored up without a hitch. There was time
left to stroll down the main street and buy any of the 1001 trinkets that we
had not yet purchased on our trip. I even bought some beads to hang around my
neck, re-opening the ongoing debate as to whether they can ever look macho on a
bloke. But hey, I’m a traveller (for the next two weeks at least) and it’s
what we wear! I’ve stopped short at the baggy cotton pants, straw fedora and out
of tune guitar. Oh, and aren’t you impressed that I got through this whole post
without mentioning how much fun there is in messing about on boats? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">It may be time for
some closing observations on my time in Nepal, or even to say a few things
about Pokhara. Unfortunately for obvious reasons I did not get to truly
experience this “small” town (the second largest city in the country!) If you
come here, you tend to do two things – stay by the lake, and go trekking. We’re
here in the off-season and to be honest I prefer this time as there aren’t too many tourists around and the weather is just right. It would have been nice to
sit out on the balcony and watch the summer sun set with a few beers, but that’s
for another visit. I’d definitely come to Pokhara again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">As for Nepal,
well, the guidebook states that if the endless powercuts and awful
infrastructure are the type of thing that wind you up then you will not enjoy
your time here. But if you are prepared to look on these shortcomings with a
smile and a shrug, and you keep in mind that you are in a third world country,
Nepal provides a vibrant and exciting cultural experience. I agree with this. The
second leg may have been marred by food poisoning, and the powercuts are an
absolute pain in the backside when you want to charge your netbook, but overall
it’s a pretty good place to visit. Maybe fresh from home though, and not after
nearly six months on the road!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Kinetic77http://www.blogger.com/profile/17700207633660422355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916073523745261748.post-30336708743704539462012-12-06T15:38:00.000-08:002014-01-22T11:09:50.537-08:00The road to hell<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Tuesday,
04/12/2012 – 173 A.D.</span></i><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">We had to get to Pokhara today. There were three
ways in which we could do this:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">1.<span style="font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Local bus. Mobile death traps that we’d
have to share with people who travel with livestock. Luggage bound to go missing. Definitely not an option.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">2.<span style="font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Tourist Bus. So named because tourists
do tend to take it. More like a coach than a bus, but not the most modern in
the world. Leaves at 7 a.m. and takes 9 hours. Probably not an option.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">3.<span style="font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Microbus. A Toyota Hiace minibus with
about 12 seats. More modern than the above two, but the drivers have a reputation
for tearing along the roads, though the vehicles at least have good brakes.
Leaves every 20 minutes or until they are full. An option. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">In fact, we’d decided a couple of days ago that we’d
take the microbus as we’d seen them get better reviews than the other choices.
And if you stay in a hotel where breakfast is provided then you want to take
advantage of it, right? At breakfast this morning I decided to have the
cornflakes, not just to keep the cook happy, but also because I genuinely
fancied them. Tim gave them a miss. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 15px;">There was still one dilemma to be sorted - hard cash. We'd tried to get money out of a couple of ATMs the previous evening, but hadn't been able to. We put it down to the powercut. But this morning we were still not able to because the power was still off. However, Sujan seemed to think that it wasn't due to power, just that the ATM's themselves weren't working. He said he tried to get cash out the previous day and had to try three different machines. Time was running out for us and the last thing we wanted to do was go on a wild goose chase around Thamel looking for an ATM that actually worked. We had some money left, which we hoped was enough to get us to Pokhara, but if there were any unexpected "charges" along the way we'd be stuffed.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Check these bad boys out. All of the taxis here are
these little Suzuki’s. I think they are the only model of car that can get
along the narrow Kathmandu streets. We said goodbye to the gang at the Peak Point
Hotel and got them to hail one of these. I climbed into the front seat and
found the seatbelt, but it was tied in a knot. The driver looked at it and just
shook his head. Naturally there were no seatbelts in the back. Then what
followed was a hairy ride through streets that really should be
pedestrian-only, with the driver using his horn as if a nervous habit. He must
have pressed it 300 times on the 20 minute journey. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">The taxi pulled up at the bus park, which was
essentially just a chaotic length of pavement to park against. Before the
vehicle had even stopped moving we had people shouting through the window about
where we wanted to go. “Sunauli? Sunauli?” “Pokhara.” We were pointed a few
metres along the pavement, but none of the minibuses had signs next to them.
The whole scene was one of shouting and pointing and engines revving. I was
already starting to wonder whether I should have skipped the breakfast and gone
for the Tourist Bus! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">It didn’t take long for us to find a guy going to
Pokhara and he quoted his price of 465 NPR each. We could only haggle him down
to 450, but for a change I really didn’t feel like bartering, just wanted to
get my bum on a seat. Our luggage was immediately heaved up onto the roof and
we asked the guy several times if it would be strapped down. What do you think –
does that look safe to you, given the disastrous state of Nepal’s highways?</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">The guy coming
down the ladder we referred to as “Bag Man”. He works in partnership with the
driver, obviously loading and unloading the luggage, but he would also spend a
large amount of the trip hanging out of the window shouting, “Pokhara-Pokhara?”
to anyone who might want to get on. Tim and I felt rather pleased with
ourselves getting a two person seat one row in front of the back. There were
only a couple more people on when we boarded, so we thought we’d done alright
if the minibus pulled away shortly. Ha! Did the website not say they leave “when
they’re full”? That’s exactly the case. Driver had the engine running, but he
wasn’t going anywhere as Bag Man darted amongst the crowd to find more would-be
passengers. When we did finally get going, we simply drove round to the next
street, couldn’t find anyone there, then came back to where we’d started. About
20 minutes after we first got on, the Microbus was full and finally we could
get going. Gawd knows how long they would have hung around until they'd filled the vehicle! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">The journey wasn’t
actually that bad to start with, considering there were 14 blokes crammed into
a minibus. The mountainous sights were spectacular and I put on my iPod to tune
out, then fell asleep in the unorthodox leaning-on-hand position. Tim then fell
asleep once I’d woken up and during that time I witnessed a lorry overturned
onto its side, as well as one of the local buses perched halfway over the edge
of a ravine. I didn’t tell him of these sights until later, and he said he’d
decided not to tell me of the amount of broken crash barriers he’d seen while I’d
been asleep. Driver seemed to be handling things okay, but one wrong manoeuvre over
the wrong pothole and we could have been in big trouble! Listen to your iPod,
James, pretend everything is fine…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">A couple of hours
into the drive we stopped off at the halfway house where there was the option
of buying lunch, which we decided against, instead sticking with our healthy mix
of biscuits, chocolate and crisps. It was a half hour break in a very dramatic
spot, though naturally we had no idea where the hell we were. We were just glad
to have made it that far! And it was reassuring to see that our luggage was
still fixed firmly in position.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Things got a
little more wacky on the second leg of the journey. Despite
the bus being supposedly full, Bag Man kept on shouting, “Pokhara-</span><span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Pokhara?”
out of the window at every village we went through. Eventually he got some
takers. But where would they sit? No problem, he either put a length of wood down across
the aisle between two seats, or pulled out a stool for someone to sit on. Of
course, passengers were alighting along the route, but mostly getting on. At one
point there were 20 men packed into this MICRObus! And why was it just men?
Were no women travelling that day? </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">At one point a guy
got on with some kind of traditional Nepalese instrument – a bit like a viola,
but played in the same manner as a cello. He was only going to the next village
along the road, but paid for his passage by standing at the front of the bus
and knocking out a few traditional tunes. As far as authentic experiences go,
it was great, and the tunes weren’t that bad, though they didn’t really have
choruses, just sounded like the same verse repeated over and over, or maybe just
improvised. Either way it was a break from the incessant local radio that
Driver insisted on having on. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">At another point
along the way, high up in the hills, Driver stopped the bus beside a group of
large fellows who were sitting at a table. One of them came over to the window
to talk to him. It looked like some kind of impromptu checkpoint, which made us
a little nervous. Surely this wasn’t a Maoist thing? It didn’t help that most
of the other passengers were looking on with some confusion. Hmmm, was it time for some of those unexpected charges that I'd been worried about back when we couldn't get any cash out of the ATMs? Eventually Bag Man
got out and handed a piece of paper over to the men at the table and that was
that. As we pulled away I looked back to see that the vehicle behind us had
also been stopped.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;"></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Towards the end of
the ride, I started to feel a bit hot, which is unsurprising with so many bods
in a smallish bus. I was also rather lethargic, which I put down to falling asleep
several times. I needed to get out and move around freely! We arrived at
Pokhara about six hours after setting off, including the break for lunch. That
wasn’t bad and the Microbus had lived up to its reputation as the fastest public
transport for crossing the Prithvi Highway, even though the distance between
the two towns is only 108 miles! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">We were booked
into the Wild Orchid Hotel, just a couple of minutes walk outside the centre of
town. After such a crazy journey it was a relief to find it was a nice place – recently-built
and clean and modern. And there was a tranquillity in the air, which we got the
full benefit of when we got to our room on the fourth floor. Out on the balcony
we were treated to wonderful views of the surrounding hills.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Despite this
amazing view, I wasn’t feeling too amazing. I was still rather warm and my
fatigue wasn’t shifting. Figuring it was due to not having eaten much, I
checked my email and shoved a few sweets down my throat, for sugar energy and
all that. Bad, bad idea. You know that feeling when you think you’re hungry,
but in effect you’re not? That was me, and soon I was starting to feel very
ropey indeed. The warmth suddenly gave way to shivering as the nauseous
sensation in my belly became worse. As Tim sat out on the balcony drinking in
the view, I lay on the bed with the horrible sensation that there was some very
bad mail on its way to me in the post.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">And then it
arrived. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Food poisoning, in
all its terrifying glory! Did it have to happen now, so close to the end of
this fantastic voyage? Oh man, it hurt! I trust I need say not too much about
what I went through – if you’ve been there, you know, and if you haven’t then
you’re a lucky little blighter. Time and space took on no meaning for me from
that point onwards. Tim was about to go out for his tea, with no doubt at all as to whether
I would be joining him. I asked him, nay begged him, to return with some more
water and toilet roll. And then for the next few hours I was in that bathroom,
at one point taking the duvet in with me so I could try and sleep between “moments”.
Upon waking, and feeling like absolute crap, I’d purposely groan so that Tim in
the next room knew I was still alive. Bless him for not putting his iPod on to
drown out my wailings!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">So, how did this
happen? There are a couple of theories:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">* Breakfast at
Peak Point. I had the cornflakes, Tim didn’t. Then again, it could have been my
plate of eggs, you just don’t know.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">* A dodgy tub of
Pringles or a bad batch of chocolate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">* Or not drying my
hands when washing them at the facilities at the halfway house, then eating
some of the Pringles in the bus some time later. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">It’s no fun being
ill when you’re abroad. You just want to be back in your own bed, not lying semi-wrapped
in a duvet on the floor of a hotel bathroom. That said, if this was going to
happen then I am so grateful that it happened in one of the best hotels we’ve
been in! As mentioned earlier, the place is clean and modern, and the bathroom
is very spacious – it has to be if I can “comfortably” lie down in it. And just imagine if I'd come down with it in the microbus with 19 other blokes? Sometimes in life you really do have to be thankful!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Anyhow, there came
a point when I couldn’t go anymore, so I stumbled and shivered my way back into
the bedroom and collapsed under the duvet, hoping for some kind of mercy – <i>any </i>kind of mercy – from the coming night…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Wednesday,
05/12/2012 – 174 A.D.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">I made it through
okay. I had those weird, incomprehensible dreams you get when you’re ill, but I
didn’t have to get up to go back to that bathroom. I just felt knackered from
lack of food, had a pounding headache and was still a bit spaced out. Plus the
old guts were still churning away, but at least I didn’t feel sick anymore –
thank The Road! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Tim went down for
breakfast, I didn’t. I think it’s only happened once before when only one of us
attended – after the infamous night out in Bangkok. Instead I had a lukewarm
shower, remembering how we’d ignored the Tripadvisor comment from a former
guest that there was no hot water in the shower. After that I just convalesced
with the best of them. Tim found some very cheap flights from Kathmandu to
Delhi, so that solved our logistical problem of how to get from Nepal to India,
which was one less thing to worry about. What a star – not only did he supply
me with essentials the previous evening, but he also sorted our transport
headache! I quite like having him around. Plus he’s had a couple of bouts of
food poisoning in his time, so he’s well aware of the score.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Another less thing
to worry about was dirty clothes – I ventured outside of the room to take my
laundry down to the front desk. It was a big, wide world out there! And I
reckon I can get away with that being the last big wash I’ll have to do before
returning to the family washing machine. Keen to see the sights, despite not
having eaten anything, we ventured outside proper come 12.30, taking it very
slowly. Pokhara looks a very nice place, maybe not “the most beautiful place on
Earth” as some of the websites say, but it’ll sure do as somewhere to recuperate. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">The lake was good
to chill out beside, but I was still pretty knackered so headed back to the
hotel and ate half of the complimentary apple. Not sure if it was low grade or
the kickback from the previous night, but it tasted yucky. Still, it had to be done, despite Tim’s tale of the time he had a “double dip recession” after
eating something in India when he thought he’d recovered. Fortunately I kept it
down and went back to sleep as Tim went out for a wander. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">I woke up in total
blackness – powercut, but even the emergency lighting was out! For once I was
glad – better for snoozing! Tim came back later and I decided I should make the
effort to go with him to dinner, undecided on whether to have something. After
two paracetemols, a dioralyte satchet, another apple and two immodiums, I was
gradually getting there. Knocking back a can of Mountain Dew didn’t help though
– bloated after that one! Fortunately there was chicken soup on the menu at the
place we went to, that time-honoured food for sickies. I managed half a bowl,
then watched Tim devour a plate of chilli chips with hot peppers, followed by a
pizza. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">So, bit of a crap
day, but at least by the end of it I was writing the blog, which is the most
important thing of all.</span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
Kinetic77http://www.blogger.com/profile/17700207633660422355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916073523745261748.post-65201633972390943062012-12-05T20:04:00.000-08:002014-01-20T14:19:38.441-08:00Unfinished monkey business<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.5pt;">Monday,
03/12/2012 – 172 A.D.</span></i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">This morning I
stepped out into the corridor and asked a fellow guest for some toilet roll. I didn’t
know he was a fellow guest when I asked him, but he was milling around in the
corridor saying, “Good morning,” and all that, so how was I to know? I don’t think
he was too offended, but he did walk away. So, we did not get our bogroll,
which is lacking because the maids have not been in to clean our deluxe twin
room since we’ve occupied it. At breakfast we were told that the cook was
currently out of Cornflakes, but not to worry because some had been ordered and
would be arriving shortly. We weren’t that hungry this morning, so weren’t
really bothered. But when they arrived the staff virtually insisted that we
have those damn Cornflakes, “…because they are ready.” No thank you, we are not
hungry!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">We have a dilemma –
how we’re going to get from Nepal to India. Crossing the border isn’t a
problem, we’ve got our visas, but at this stage it’s not as simple as hopping
on a high speed train. For one, Nepal doesn’t have trains, and if it did, they
would certainly not be high speed. And the electrics would go down at every
station. We are heading to the Nepalese town of Pokhara tomorrow, and three
days later we’ll be bound for Delhi. These are our Pokhara-Delhi options:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">1.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Get the bus from Pokhara to Delhi. It takes
36 hours!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">2.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Get a private car to take us 6 hours to the
border. Cross border. Get a 3 hour “jeep” journey from the border to Gorkaphor.
Take the train from Gorkaphor to Delhi, which takes about 16 hours.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">3.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Return to Kathmandu and fly to Delhi.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">In terms of cost,
and the Grayboys ethos that you should never go back, we’re trying to ignore option
3. For obvious reasons we’re not keen on option 1. That leaves option 2, which
looks like a lot of faffing about, but it’s the type of faffing that we’re used
to. It would all be so much easier if everyone in the world had a personal rocket-powered
backpack! But until those days come, we’re stuck with jeeps and the like. So, unfortunately
we spent a lot of the morning surfing the web and trying to work out how we
could pull off option 2. At some point during these proceedings the door to our
room was opened by an old man holding a curtain rail. He stood there staring
blankly for a few seconds as we both looked up at him, before walking away
without a single word of explanation. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Next order of the
day was for Tim to get on the phone to Barclays, tell them what idiots they’d
been for stopping his card, and get it operational again. Our efforts to find
a. a payphone, and b. someone who understood the concept of an English-speaking
operator, had failed, so Our Kid bit the bullet and headed to an Internet Café where
he could dial his bank on an international line. And he was able to get through
and get the job done. He even made the clerk in the place write him out a
receipt for his time on the phone so he could scan it in and bill it to
Barclays. I suggested he add an extra nought or two to the total.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">[Tim returns to the 1930s to make his call in a private wooden booth.]</span></div>
<br />
Upon returning to the hotel room (power out, surprise-surprise!), the view from the balcony hit an all time low when we went out to see a guy wiping his arse in the allotment. Yet they still grow crops there! Our research had turned up an agency in Kathmandu that seemed to have an official link to the Indian Railways booking system, meaning we could go down there and book tickets on the Friday sleeper train from Gorkaphor to Delhi without running the risk of turning up on the day and finding them all gone. Remember that terrible trip we had in the overnight seats from Nanning to Guangzhou in China? We might not even get that! And so out we went, into the T-shirt weather of mid-afternoon Kathmandu in December…<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">
</span><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">
</span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">…did we find the
place? Did we heck! Instead we came across another travel agency in the vague
vicinity of the one we wanted, so we thought we’d take our chances with them.
After giving them the details of the train we wanted, they looked on the
computer and told us there were no seats available. Oh dear. Now, we know that
sometimes agencies only get a certain number of tickets to play with, so if
they say that no tickets are available, it may just mean that they have no
tickets available themselves, not that all the tickets have gone completely.
But you never know, it might mean there really are no tickets, and if that’s
the case then our plan for Option 2 is severely screwed. Hmmm…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">
</span>
<br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">
</span>
<br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">We tried not to
worry about that, instead continuing our long walk east across town to
Pashupatinath Temple. Bikesh had told us about this place and it is one of the most
significant sites dedicated to Shiva in the whole world. Upon arriving we were
asked for 500 NPR to get in, which seemed a bit steep, but we had to mark this
day with some kind of productive visit. So we paid, and were stopped about
ten metres later saying that only Hindus cold go into the temple. I said to the
guard that I <i>could </i>be a Hindu. He
replied, “Maybe in another life”. Well what did that leave us with? A 500 NPR
stroll around a courtyard? There were plenty of monkeys kicking around, but we’d
already been there and done that.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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[The gate at which we were turned back - yellow Hindus-only boards.] </div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Just when we
thought we’d been swizzed, we found a proper route through the complex, one
which took us down to the banks of the Bagmati river. Once upon a time you
could drink the waters of this river, coming down from mountain valleys as it
does, but now it is far too polluted. We ignored “pilgrims” coming up and telling
us bits of information about the place (and then asking us for money for acting
as a guide) and saw what looked like two bonfires by the waterside. Not so,
these were in fact the remains of bodies that had been cremated earlier in the
day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Bikesh told us
that tradition states ten bodies must be burnt every day, and if they do not
have ten recently-deceased people, they will use fake bodies. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">The one who was about to be lowered into the water above was definitely not fake as a zoom from Tim’s camera showed a face (the guy with his hands crossed behind his back got in the way for me!) People would come down to the edge of the water and wash their feet and hands, paying their last respects to the departed. I’m sure there was a lot more involved than simply that, but we were too far away to see up close, despite the zoom, and once again it was Hindus-only on that side of the river. Guess we should have gone with those unofficial tour guides after all!</span><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">The ceremony was
taking a long time and, not knowing how long it would last, we went higher up
the site. Sitting up here was a sadhu, roughly translated as a wandering holy
man who has eschewed material possessions in favour of spiritual devotion. Kinda
like me. Anyway, I used to joke with Asha in the office that I was a sort-of
Sadhu, and it was one of my missions on this trip to have my picture taken with
one. I decided I would offer him 50 NPR and see if he was up for it, but as
soon as I approached he simply said, “Photo?” It’s like he knew beforehand,
maybe having seen into the future! Or maybe he just has his picture taken with tourists all the time. So I gave him the 50 NPR and posed for a
couple of pictures as the sadhu blessed me and wished me long life, happiness,
etc. It’s funny, but I felt a strange moment of calm as I was sitting next to
this guy – would his blessing change our luck on this difficult day?</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">After the photo
the sadhu reached behind him and held out a handful of 20 cent coins (Euro). He
told me to take the change in my own currency because the price for a photo was
10 NPR. Having no use for cents, I told him to keep the 50. Then I realised
that I could get a photo of Tim with the guy, kind of like a
buy-one-get-one-free sadhu shot. And so I did, but Tim told me that as he went
to walk away the sadhu said to him that the price was 100 NPR! Why should it
cost him ten times that which it cost me? Let’s just put it down to some
mystical spiritual logic…or else the fact that the guy could see we were happy
to pay over the odds and would chance it with Our Kid. Tim gave him 20 NPR and
kept walking. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">We walked to
Durbar Square, hoping to time our arrival with sunset, from which point onward
the square is free to enter. And it was, yet because it was after dark it wasn’t
easy to see the sights, given the lack of Kathmandu street lighting. Oh well,
some things just aren’t meant to be! We entered the square via the small road
known informally as <i>Freak Street</i>.
This is where the hippies first came when they arrived here seeking enlightenment
and/or cheap dope, but now there’s only a few restaurants and none of the
original funky shops. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">There have been
many moments on this trip when I felt as if I live on Freak Street, despite
technically being of no fixed abode! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Kinetic77http://www.blogger.com/profile/17700207633660422355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916073523745261748.post-41124232785144699132012-12-04T20:00:00.001-08:002014-01-20T11:42:29.526-08:00Over the hills and far away<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.5pt;">Sunday,
02/12/2012 – 171 A.D.</span></i><br />
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Namaste!<br />
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This morning we were up at 08:00 and down for breakfast shortly afterwards. A table was free for us to sit at, but there was also a floods-worth of water on the floor, which the cleaning ladies were doing their best to brush out of the room and into the street. Had there been some kind of pipe leakage or was this just routine cleaning? We weren't sure, but the door was open again, though this time I had worn an extra layer.<br />
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Come 10:00 we were down in the lobby again and ready to get go on our day of trekking in the Kathmandu Valley! Sujan briefly introduced us to our guide (i.e. "Here is your guide." No name or anything). The driver was there as well, giving it the old bowed head greeting. Jeez, will I have to tip him as well? I hate to be cruel, but his motor was not in the best shape and did not look like it could cope with the kind of potholes you get in Kathmandu - so deep they go right to the Earth's core. Sujan had described the car that picked us up from the airport as "the worst car in the world", and assured us our own private car today would be better, but in all honesty...it weren't. </div>
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The drive is supposed to take an hour, and it does, though 40 minutes of that is spent navigating our way out of the capital. Our guide's name is Bikesh and he makes smalltalk as we go and naturally tales of our round the world trip come out. I am ashamed to admit it, but I tell the one about the train in Thailand hitting the cow. I have that nagging feeling that anything could happen today...<br />
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So, after an hour we are out in rural Nepal. The car pulls up at the village of Sankhu, famous for nothing in particular, but a decent place to begin the trek we've booked onto. Actually, Sankhu has some excellent examples of traditional architecture and we stroll through the village to look at the buildings. With the clear blue sky overhead, I am already back on the suncream - who'd have thought I would be applying it in December?<br />
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<span lang="EN-GB">In his leather jacket and casual shirt, Bikesh looks dressed to go to a club, in
stark comparison to Tim and I in our four layers...make that three...make that two - they're rapidly coming off! Bikesh assures us he doesn't need to eat lunch and buys only a bottle of water. How tough a
trek will this be? I've done overnight in the Forest of Bowland in a November frost and I need a challenge! </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">The unnamed driver leaves us and we go off on foot along the dusty road. We decide to get our money's-worth and waste no time in questioning our local guide about all things Nepalese. Some of the things we learn about Bikesh are:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">- Age unknown, semes to get older as the day goes on, but then again, I probably do as well! And he sweats more than I do early on, which I take as a source of pride, but it's mainly because he was on the sauce the night before, belatedly celebrating the country's second largest festival.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">- He is Hindu b</span>y birth, but is an atheist by choice.</div>
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- He is a professional guide who used to be an exporter. Sorry, that's ex-porter, he didn't transport goods out of his country - geddit???</div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">- He is of the magar caste and could've been a Gurkha if he wanted to (five of the numerous Nepalese castes can). But he didn't want to be and left the army after six months after something to do with his commanding officer ordering him to uproot a tree with his bare hands.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">- He has a wife and one son who always loses his pencils in school.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">- Before he had a wife and one son he went on
a trek for 92 continuous days. He did this with two German men (ouch!)</span></div>
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Some of the things we discuss throughout the trek:</div>
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English football (of course!), Nepalese football, the price of a quarter bottle of whisky locally, Maoist revolutionaries, the assassination of the previous Nepalese royal family, why Chinese tourists are not adventurous, what religion means for the average person, why you never see cats in Kathmandu, snakes that aren't venomous, tigers that aren't fierce, gangnam style (must have been number one in the UK by now?), how to pass the time over 92 days with two German men, and cheese. </div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">At first the trek was pretty much what I am used to back in England. I didn't expect to be up in the mountains with crampons, but I kinda wished the scenery looked a little less like New Zealand in the warmth - been there, done that. Seeing rural Nepalese going about their daily business made it a little more authentic though. Bikesh reckoned about 25% of people in Nepal can speak English, but give it a few years and this percentage will be a lot higher. However, when walking through Thamel it seems like everyone can speak English, probably because most of them are - bloody tourists! But there were none of them out here.</span><br />
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[At a rest stop to nosh some choccy, Bikesh tells us of the time he chased away a tiger that was going to eat his goat by throwing his radio at it (which he never found afterwards).]</div>
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Bikesh is a cheery fellow who's done pretty much every trek you can do in the countries of Nepal and Tibet (let's not get into the debate on whether it's part of China or not!) He seemed a bit surprised that we were doing our walk so late in the day and not early in the morning when the views are better. We admitted that we fancied laying in a little and not getting up at the crack of dawn, but he still couldn't comprehend the logic. </div>
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The road up into the hills got higher and higher, and the sun overhead got hotter and hotter. Now it was starting to feel like a proper trek, even though Bikesh kept telling us to slow down and relax. I had to explain to him that being a lanky boy I naturally walk fast, and when I'm camping up in the hills I'm often engaged in a race against the failing sunlight to pitch my tent, so it's natural for me to rush. Once again, he didn't comprehend the logic. Still, at least he seemed over his hangover. And come early afternoon we reached the summit of the road and looked out over yonder...</div>
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The mountains in the distance are the Himalayas themselves, right on the border between Nepal and Tibet. It was a fantastic sight to see, especially because I'd always wanted to visit Tibet, but been logistically denied on this trip - to get so close was a real bonus. It's the kind of sight you can stand there and talk at and not feel any embarrassment at all. And I would have sat down and meditated for a bit, maybe even said a prayer to The Road for future safekeeping, but with Bikesh being an atheist I didn't want to make him feel uneasy. Or think of me as a nutcase - England's honour to uphold, and all that. </div>
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After staring at our glorious view for sufficient time, we checked our watches again and realised that we were well ahead of schedule. Just nearby was a steep route up a nearby hillside that Bikesh said he had never been up, so we suggested we take it and see what was up there. It turned out to be a small temple to the Hindu deity Ganesh, presumably worshipped at by people from the local village at the bottom of the hill. I have seen many places of worship on my travels, but to find a little concealed place like this that our guide had not seen before gave me a real buzz.</div>
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A short walk away from the tiny temple we found a load of grey bunting hanging in the trees, which Bikesh said indicated a burial ground. Immediately I checked my footing in case i was walking over someone's graves, but he pointed out the small pits in the earth where bodies are burned and ashes are left. He did tell me which type of tradition this is, performed by which castes, but by this point my head's Daily Informtion Holder was full and starting to leak a little. But again I was happy to have stumbled across a sacred place so high up in the hills that was deserted and accidentally discovered by random trekkers like us. Chinese tour people would never have ventured this far up the hillside!</div>
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[Everest is not far away...]</div>
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[Back at the bottom of the hill, at a conveniently-provided resting place.]</div>
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Despite our little detour up the hill, we were still ahead of schedule and I was trying desperately to shorten my strides. One thing we discussed with Bikesh was the Moaist revolution that they had here recently. Effectively, a civil war, Moaist guerrillas waged a war of terror until the government were forced to integrate them politically, and things died down. Bikesh told us that when he would be taking people on treks he would run into Maoist soldiers everywhere and would have to pay, usually 5,000 NPR, to be allowed to go on the trek. He'd also be given some kind of badge so that he wasn't charged again at a later checkpoint. </div>
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We made our way through the outskirts of what was effectively our final destination, the village of Nagarkot. Didn't seem like anything special, apart from the presence of lots of hotels on the top of the hill that provide spectacular views of the `Imalayas for the tourist who wants to wake up with them outside their bedroom window, just like Bikesh did when he was growing up (Everest first thing in the morning? Didn't mind if he did!) Things got a bit strange when Bikesh suggested we have some tea or coffee in one of the hotels (relax, not a scam), but instead we climbed up to the top and went and sat out on the roof. It seemed our contract with our guide was to provide us with views at sunset, which as at 17:15, but it was only quarter to 4. Although the views were indeed spectacular, was I willing to sit up on this chilly rooftop for the next hour and a half to wait for the sun to go down? No way, Limbu! Instead I told Bikesh the joke about the guy at the world cup final who has an empty seat next to him (he nearly wet himself at the punchline) and suggested we keep walking a bit longer. </div>
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Down the hill we descended, looking for somewhere a little less expensive than the hotels in which we could drink coffee. We tried the <i>Cafe At The End Of The Universe</i>, but there was only a small child inside, no adults who could serve us drinks. Next along the windy road was the <i>Chill Out Restaurant</i> where we had three black coffees for 70 pence (altogether). This was much better than being in a stuffy hotel - chilling out in a proper locals' place and throwing a bit of trade their way. Obviously the facilities were pretty basic...</div>
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...and the toilet-cum-shed out the back left a lot to be desired...</div>
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...but that's hardcore travelling, isn't it? </div>
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17:15 was approaching and the sun was setting. Bikesh led us past the havoc that was the locals going about their daily business in Nagarkot and up to a small hill to observe the sunset. A great end to a great day's daylight on our trek, it was pretty chilly, but also pretty cool.</div>
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It wasn't long after the sun went down that our car came to collect us - different vehicle, different driver. This car was at least a lot more modern than the last, and it coped ably with the winding roads in the pitch darkness, avoiding the fires lit by the local people by the roadside for goodness-knows-what. However, once in Kathmandu and maybe 15 minutes from our hotel, the driver pulled over due to "engine heat". So we sat there for a while as he poured in some water and gave it some revs. I decided that I wasn't going to tip Bikesh the 5 US dollars that I'd planned (supposedly the going rate), I'd instead give him the 50 yuan note I still had from China - hey, he goes to Tibet all the time so he can spend it there (he was very grateful for it). If you fancy checking out his website and going on some treks with him next time your're in these parts, check out www.tripstonepal.com</div>
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And eventually our driver got the car going going, getting back to our hotel room a little later than we thought we would, but that's not surprising. And guess what else wasn't surprising? That's right, the power was off. </div>
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Kinetic77http://www.blogger.com/profile/17700207633660422355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916073523745261748.post-87945626863203837102012-12-03T06:54:00.002-08:002014-01-19T11:05:51.299-08:00Too much monkey business<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.5pt;">Saturday,
01/12/2012 – 170 A.D.</span></i><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">We both slept fine
in our shared bed and coped with the antique shower pretty well. This is the
first place where I am not using the water from the sink to clean my teeth as
apparently the water in this country is near lethal. Let’s hope they don’t use
it in cooking our breakfasts! I ordered up an American breakfast (complimentary
with the hotel booking), which was okay, despite the inclusion of curried potatoes
with my toast and eggs. One thing I’ve picked up on is that all of the staff
keep coming up to me and chatting away, for example, the cook came out of his
kitchen to have a word. I only realised later that they’re probably doing this
because I tipped the airport pick-up driver, and they reckon that if they hang
around me I’ll bung a few Chinese notes their way. Oh how they don’t know me at
all! I should point out that it’s only the male members of staff who come to
chat; the females, i.e. the cleaners, move around like frightened rabbits. In China
I was pleased to realise that women are on an equal footing with men in
society, and are often in charge of the households. Here it’s a different
story, and I get the impression that if women do happen to be seen then they
definitely don't get heard. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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[Tim prepares to enjoy breakfast with the door wide open.]</div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Sujan is the
manager of Peak Point Hotel, and he’s the biggest smiley-face of them all. From
the minute I entered the place he was on at me to come and sit down with him to
discuss trekking options. He seems a nice bloke, but I can’t help wondering if
it’s all a front and he’ll turn nasty if something doesn’t go his way. Or if he
doesn’t get tipped. After breakfast we sit down in his office and discuss our
options – we’re contemplating a one day trek in the local area, no more than
that. He comes up with what seems like a suitable plan for tomorrow and we go
with it. After all, it would be rude to come to Nepal and not do a trek, wouldn’t
it? I imagine that’s what the large numbers of tourists have mainly come here
for.</span><br />
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The next order of business is to shift our gear from the deluxe double room on the fourth floor down to the deluxe twin room on the first floor (the word “deluxe” should still be taken with a pinch of salt). It’s no great improvement on what we had – there’s now an armchair instead of a sofa – but at least we have two single beds. The weather outside feels warm and the sun is blazing down. The balcony has bars around it so we can hang the handwashing out. Yes, all in all, the world is right again. <br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">We would treat the
day as one for seeing the sights and we left the hotel heading west through the
narrow, crowded streets where car horn honking is the national sport. There are
a huge amount of souvenir stalls, as you’d expect, but the owners are not quite
as demanding that you come and look at their goods as we’re used to. I think
the beggar count is up though. One thing we were also keeping an (unsuccessful)
eye out for was a payphone. </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11.5pt;">Unfortunately the previous evening Tim had
fallen victim to the same anti-fraud system as I had – he’d gone to withdraw
money from the ATM, only to find his card was declined. Barclays Bank being
over-zealous or just doing their job? They’d also tried to call him on his
mobile and when he’d answered he’d gone through some kind of automated fraud
prevention menu, but the call cut out after about a minute. Why? Because it
costs money to receive calls when you’re abroad – surely Barclays are aware of
this???</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;">[Nepal - where herds of seemingly wild cattle roam free on the main roads.]</span></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Swayambhu </span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">is a large stupa at the top of hill to the west of
Thamel, a 20 minute walk across the “river”. I say river, but it looked and
smelt more like a load of liquid sewage with pigs picking their way through the
litter. The quality of the roads reminded me of Cambodia, but the major
difference was that in Cambodia there was at least ample room for the traffic
to get down, but here everyone has to breathe in when a car goes past. Swayambhu
is one of the most sacred Buddhist sites in the country and there were plenty
of visitors making their way up the hill. We knew we would get great views from
the top, but first we had to get up there without being distracted by the
beggars, the trinket sellers or…the resident monkeys!</span></div>
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These little blighters were everywhere, constantly trying to steal anything they could, forever chasing each other around the sacred site, sometimes in anger, sometimes in play. The guidebook had warned us not to get too close to them as they can carry rabies and all kinds of other nasty diseases, but even the bigger ones were apprehensive when approached by people, often running away. But fortunately some of them would stay where they were and pose for our pictures. It was like going to a safari park for free!<br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">The climb up to
the stupa was steep and, with the sun beating down, I removed layer after layer
of clothing and cursed myself for packing my suncream right at the bottom of my
bag, supposedly never to be needed again. After almost climbing to the top of
the steep steps we were collared by a security guard and told we needed to pay
200 Nepalese Rupees (NPR) to enter. Locals only had to pay 50, but that’s the
way it goes in these places and there’s absolutely no point in complaining. It
was worth it at the top though, despite being very crowded – worshippers,
tourists, salespeople, baboons, whatever. The views across the city were
superb.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">After a while the monkeys started to get a bit boisterous, maybe because they didn't like being filmed, bashful little creatures that they are. Many a time we had to move to a safer spot for fear of being caught up in one of their constant social scraps. That said, some of them were more chilled-out than others, engaging in the flea-picking rituals that bring them closer together, monkey-to-monkey. Also there was a shady-looking bloke who kept lingering too close who we figured might be a pickpocket. My wallet is attached to my trousers on a chain, but even so I can do without the sensation of being pulled violently along if someone does try to snaffle it.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11.5pt;">[These two were actually on the job seconds before I took this photo - definitely camera shy!]</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px;">The walk back down to the bottom of the hill was steep, with primates watching us every inch of the way from within the bushes. Also watching us were the hawkers and beggars who we constantly had to bat away without losing our balance. </span><br />
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We returned to the hotel for one our our special noodle lunches, but because the power was out again we couldn't use the kettle, so had to get one of the staff to do it on the gas. I am starting to wonder how people here can get anything done with the constant powercuts! </div>
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[Kids play cricket on the street outside the temple - enduring image, etc.]</div>
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Modern Maoist message on one corner...</div>
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Next street has traditional temple going back hundreds of years...</div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">The </span><span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">afternoon was getting on so we headed out again, but got caught up in some seriously slow moving pedestrian traffic down a street that really should have been blocked off to vehicles. We'd forgotten that it was Saturday, but how many of these people will have 9 to 5 jobs anyway? Walking directly into the sun didn't help, but eventually we arrived at the majestic Durbar Square...</span><br />
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...it's a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and all that...</div>
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...but unfortunately they charge foreigners 750 rupees to enter when locals get in for free! Screw down my Nepals and call me Frank! It wasn't happening. We'd try and find some other way to sneak into the square, but that would have to wait for another time. For now we were behind schedule and had to head back up north, but that meant going through that hideously overcrowded street again. I have been to many Asian cities, and pretty much all of them are chaotic, but so far I think Kathmandu pips it for being the most difficult place in which to get anywhere. When we eventually did get somewhere it was to the Narayanhiti Museum, which used to be a royal palace. We'd read that fruitbats hang from the trees and they all fly away at sunset. Unfortunately the place closed to visitors at 15:00. Errr, so how are we supposed to see the fruitbats at sunset then? Oh well, guess we've had our fill of them in other countries.</div>
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Come early evening we skyped our parents to discover who we've got to get presents for in the now regular family Secret Santa event. Ooooh, Christmas is coming to Nepal! Still hard to tell though, it may be cold in the evenings, but the days remain warm. And for dinner that night we went to a place called the <i>Cozy Restaurant</i>. Cozy? Not really, seeing as the power was off and they were using the battery to generate the emergency lighting. But shortly after we arrived that failed as well, and we were reliant upon candles. It was a most romantic moment...had I not been with my brother! Yes, I may share a bed with him, but I draw the line at a candlelit dinner. Harrumph!</div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">[Why is it so hard to pose a wink and not look like something is stuck in your eye?]</span></div>
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The Cozy Restaurant was actually a pretty funky little place, despite the blackout. The owner, dressed in his black Liverpool FC jumper and looking a little like the Hindi version of Alexi Sayle, was a good laugh. Halfway through our meal two girls came in to take a table. Alexi said, "They are also English - maybe we intorduce you and boom-boom?" Not after a stronger-than-usual tikka masala, Alexei! Besides, Tim and I are getting to the point where we really don't need to meet anyone else on our travels. Haven't we met enough bods along the way? I am tired of hearing the usual tales, of endlessly re-telling the story about how our train in Thailand hit a cow and was delayed an extra four hours! Yawn!</div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">When we got back
to the hotel the power was off. We weren’t surprised.</span></div>
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Kinetic77http://www.blogger.com/profile/17700207633660422355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916073523745261748.post-72971661829579321442012-12-01T08:01:00.000-08:002014-01-18T06:08:56.299-08:00Higher than the sun<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.5pt;">Thursday, 29/11/2012 – 168 A.D.</span></i><span lang="EN-GB"></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Last day in China.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Today was notable for the fact that I did not take a single picture all day. That’s the first time this has happened in 168 days!<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB">[A piccy from another day - the maid actually knocked on the door especially to thrust a copy of a Chinese-only newspaper into my hand!]</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">The only other incident that occurred was when I went to withdraw 300 yuan from the ATM and my card was refused. Not again! Last time this happened (way back in Sydney airport) I wrote a snotty email to Barclays, but the best advice I got from them was to reverse the charges and call their debit card hotline. Well, reverse the charges I damn-well would! I phoned the operator on the phone in our hotel room, but got told that the rate was 10 yuan a minute. They did not understand what I meant by a reverse charge call. So, I went down to reception and tried the same line on the lady behind the desk. She didn’t know what I meant by a reverse charge call. Neither did she know what I meant by a payphone. Eventually I think she just got fed of my lingering by her desk and let me call the UK via the hotel phone. 14 and a half minutes I was on there, going through various queues, passed through three departments, and going through security clearance twice. After all that I discovered that the fraud department had stopped my card because on the one hand it was being used to withdraw cash from ATMs in China, but it was also being used to order things from Amazon, which is registered in Luxembourg. Uh, hello guys, it’s Christmas! Do you not think people will be ordering Chrimbo prezzies online??? [Sigh!] I just hope they don’t block it again – there’s only three weeks to go! And I hope the hotel don’t charge the duration of that conversation to my card. At 10 yuan per minute that’s £14.50, and we only paid £88 for the room for the four nights!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">So, that’s China done and dusted. I think Tim’s pretty glad really, because he’s become totally fed-up of the constant spitting. We even have marble spittoons provided in the corridors of the hotel for people to hock up their lungs as they stroll past. Personally I feel like this land of the dragon has been a hell of an experience, positive overall, with a couple of negative undertones here and there. We’ve done Shanghai, Beijing and Xi`an, plus visited Nanning and passed through Guangzhou – that’s enough for anyone to get a feel for the country. We’ve met lovely people, and we’ve met complete kn*bheads. And we’ve had lots and lots of delicious food and drink, which doesn’t seem to have done any lasting damage, no matter how spicy. We said today that we’d like to have got out into the rural areas a bit more, but that pretty much goes for every country we’ve been to, New Zealand aside. Yep, if you want to experience the ways of the east, you can’t go far wrong with China - just bring some earplugs to mask the sound of the phlegming and keep your elbows extra bony to help you barge your way to the front of the queue.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span lang="EN-GB"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Up at 04:00, out at 05:00, that was us today. We’d pre-booked a taxi to take us the half hour drive to the airport, but we had to wake up the poor sleeping girl at the reception desk to check out. She may have tried to charge us the higher room rate as revenge, but I’ll put it down to her being sleepy. Xi`an airport was pretty quiet that morning as we went through the usual procedures for getting on a plane. There was an amusing moment just before check-in when we were all queued up and then the stewardness went and sat at a different seat, which meant the line had to shift one desk over. Immediately some cheeky chappy came bombing along from out of nowhere with suitcase in tow in a desperate attempt to jump the queue. Tim is never great first thing in the morning (though neither am I) and he practically leant in the guy’s ear to loudly exclaim, “Ahem-ahem!” I had to laugh as the guy was sent packing back to the end of the line where he belonged.</span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span lang="EN-GB"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Our ultimate destination was to reach Kathmandu, capital city of Nepal, where we would be staying four nights. But there ain’t that many places that fly direct to Kathmandu, so first we had to board an internal Chinese flight to the city of Kunming – yet another place that I had never heard of until recently, yet by most country’s standards it’s a virtual metropolis. Our two hour flight from Xi`an to Kunming was uneventful, almost like catching a bus really. Normally people can get a bit anxious about going through the strict airport security procedures, but because we’ve had bags and bits scanned several times a day every day while being in China, we no longer bat an eyelid. Like I said earlier, you won’t get any trouble from the authorities as a tourist in China, it’s just the permanent residents who seem to get the hard end of the stick!<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span lang="EN-GB"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Kunming is a city in the south west of China with what felt like a decent climate, for the brief amount of time I was out in the open air. We only had a few hours to lay over and it was all we could do to order a meal from a hamburger chain whose name we will never know, and play a few games of cards with a fresh deck that we discovered discarded nearby. Our original cards have been used that much that pretty much every one of them is marked!<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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Hindsight is a wonderful thing. Weeks ago when we booked our flight to Nepal we were able to look online and choose which seats we wanted. It would be my turn for the window seat, but apart from that we had no real preference, so just picked whatever looked okay – 46A and 46B on the left side of the plane. It was only weeks later, i.e. yesterday, when after doing some research we realised that when flying to Nepal you get the fantastic views if you sit on the RIGHT side of the plane. B*gger! Plus the sun is not quite so bright and frying you to a crisp, meaning you have to pull down the shutters on the both the windows and get no view whatsoever! Still, after a while the plane did a bit of a hard-left manoeuvre and we were able to at least get some vaguely decent snaps…<br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">So, what do we know about Nepal? It’s a third world country with the Himalayas in its backyard. The population is 90% Hindu with most of the remainder being Buddhist, which represents its geographical location halfway between India and Tibet. Kathmandu is the capital city, Pokhara is another town, and that’s about it for me in terms of known locations. I won’t be climbing Everest while I’m here, but I may get to go on a one day trek. Coincidentally, Kathmandua has a quaint little airport with factual signs greeting you as you arrive, such as stating that the country does indeed have the highest mountain in the world, and also the smallest person in the world. You lives and learns, eh?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">I found there to be one big problem with Kathmandua airport – it is quaint and little. Roughly translated as there’s a system in place for passengers which works badly at best. The problem is that virtually everyone entering the country has to buy a visa (remember them???) but fortunately you can buy them on arrival at the airport. Although convenient, this is a double-edged sword because it means that pretty much everyone who gets off the planes needs to get themselves a visa. If several planes have arrived, there are several loads of passengers clogging up the system. We already knew it was 25 US dollars for a visa (some people hadn’t bothered researching it), so we had our money ready, along with the passport photo, and it didn’t take long to fill out the application. But then it all went wrong. You had to queue up to pay your visa fee at one desk, then instead of moving to the next desk to get your visa, you had to move to the end of a different line and queue up for that second desk. I am probably making an already-complicated process sound even more complicated to you, but suffice to say that because most visa-seekers were milling around like guppy fish at feeding time, the process took a lot longer than expected.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">I blame the huge amount of Western travellers in the airport, but then I usually blame Western travellers for everything. After being in China for two weeks and barely getting a sniff of another European, to see so many in one place was both startling and disappointing, No longer do I feel like the lone star English warrior braving a strange land alone (albeit with brother by my side), now I’m just another one of the travelling herd again. The only consolation is that none of this lot have come here for fish and chips in the sunshine, they’ve come to trek. And getting back to my original point, I didn’t mind waiting in the lines so much, but my concern was that I couldn’t get to my luggage until I had been though immigration control with visa in place. After 45 minutes standing in line, I was starting to wonder whether my luggage would still be there when I finally got through…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">…it wasn’t.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Well, it wasn’t beside conveyor belt 1 where the luggage from Kunming was supposed to have ended up. Fortunately it was sitting patiently besides conveyor 2 and I was able to unclench. Lost luggage is one of those things that you often hear about, but so far it’s one of the few things that has not happened to me on my travels, and I kinda rather it didn’t! Besides, when we tried to walk away with our bags an attendant came running up to make sure we had the correct tags for them on our boarding pass, so fair play to quaint little Kathmandu airport.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Our hotel had sent someone to pick us up at the airport, free of charge. That was nice. I felt a bit bad that we’d kept them waiting for so long, though I supposed they must be used to delays for people getting visas. And so, upon leaving the terminal building for the first time on this trip I saw someone holding a tatty piece of paper with my name scrawled upon it in red felt pen. This is how the stars must feel! There were two blokes there and they each grabbed our big bags and took them off across the car park. All part of the service, I guess. Not really. We arrived at a ropey-looking saloon car with driver already inside. The guy who greeted me said that this guy would drive us to the hotel and that I personally should sit in the front sit. Erm, okay. Then they loaded our luggage into the boot and held open the passenger door for the following:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">“James, we work here at the airport and we work for tips.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">In my mind I thought three things:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;"> - ‘Already they are hustling me!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;"> - ‘He wants a tip for holding up some paper and carrying a bag a few metres!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;"> - ‘I am hungry and tired. He is not getting a tip.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">I said a load of stuff about how I didn’t have any local money and could they direct me to the ATM. He said that I could pay in my own currency and it would be fine. Bear in mind that he is still holding the door to the car open, yet the driver has already started the engine and the vehicle is moving. Eventually the hustler realises that I am a hard-headed git who isn’t going to cave and he lets go of the door. The driver seems a bit more merry, until he goes straight into a traffic jam heading up a hill, beside the type of street that looks like the Apocalypse has already been and gone. For the best part of an hour we are there climbing that hill, moving a millimetre a minute. I ask the driver is this is normal, he says that it is. It has not taken me long to realise that everything I read about Nepal is true. You can’t get angry with this sort of stuff, just have to sit back and accept it. That way you might even smile, maybe even enjoy it!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">The roads are chaotic here. We’ve seen such traffic madness in Cambodia and similar such places, but here you really do need nerves of steel and the patience of a saint to get down the road. Even after the traffic jam subsides our driver pulls the kind of manoeuvres that would make the Dukes of Hazzard shrink away in fear. The guy drives down streets that even I couldn’t fit down when I’m walking side-on! Come the end of the ride, I’m that thankful for him getting us here that I even give him a tip. Okay, so it’s Chinese money (he’s not getting US dollars, I need them), but it’s a decent amount whereas the exchange rate is concerned (one English pound goes a long way here). I just hope he knows someone who can change it for him!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">The Peak Point Hotel is on the bottom ride hand corner of <i>Thamel</i> – an area in the centre of Nepal where all of the backpackers and tourists stay. It’s an area with plenty of charm, but unfortunately the hotel doesn’t have a great deal of that, though the staff are certainly friendly. In fact, the manager hassles us from the start about sitting down and discussing possible trekking trips, but all we want to do is kick back in our room and unload our gear The manager gets a minion to show us to our place on the fourth floor, but upon entering we see something we haven’t come across since Melbourne – a double bed. Due to some sort of complication that is not delved too deeply into, it seems we have to take the double bed tonight, then tomorrow we’ll be moved to a twin room for the next three nights. We aren’t in a mood to argue and simply agree to the terms, but we insist that we do need twin beds after tonight – the days of us lying so close together were supposedly finished in Australasia!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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[Our room, literally two minutes after stepping foot inside.]</div>
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[The highly dangerous "balcony", lacking any kind of safety precautions (or view).]</div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">The room is supposed to be a “deluxe double”, but there’s nothing deluxe about it. The walls are peeling, the phone doesn’t work and there are none of those little soaps and shampoos that we’ve come to depend upon. Oh well, everything looks better after a meal and a beer, so we headed out into downtown Thamel, ending up at a place that we’d researched on Tripadvisor. <i>The Roadhouse Café </i>wasn’t too bad – a little more expensive than we’d normally go for – but that’s First Night Syndrome for you. Most of the streets are pitch black when there is no traffic along them, so last thing we want to do is scout around for somewhere in the darkness. Speaking of which, we had read that Kathmandu is prone to regular black-outs, and no sooner had my ham and pineapple pizza arrived than all of the lights in the cafe went out. For some reason, the largely foreign crowd that made up the clientele whooped and cheered, though they shut up once the emergency lights came on a minute later and I could see what I was eating.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Walking back along the streets I was nearly taken out in a collision from the side by a bloke whizzing past on a bike. I’m going to have to be even more careful than normal – Nepal is a crazy place, Kathmandu being the insane heart of that crazy place! Back at the hotel we watched the lights go through the occasional brown out, but the power remained on until we switched off for the night. Nepal really is a land of adventure, even though the greatest adventure for me tonight would be sharing a bed with my brother again after such a long time!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Kinetic77http://www.blogger.com/profile/17700207633660422355noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916073523745261748.post-44801707607349088672012-11-30T08:08:00.002-08:002014-01-18T05:46:13.596-08:00Going underground<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.5pt;">Wednesday,
28/11/2012 – 167 A.D.</span></i><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Hotel rooms with
thick dark curtains are confusing. You can never be sure what the daylight is
doing outside. I was awoken from my slumbers by the following:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">[Knock-knock.]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">[Unintelligible
word from behind door.]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">[Knock-knock.]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">[Unintelligible
word from behind door.]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">[Knock-knock.]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">[Unintelligible
word from behind door.]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Etc.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">I should point out
that it was the same unintelligible word that was repeated over and over. I
went to answer it dressed only in my sleep shorts and my quiff and opened the
door to find one of the maids there. She repeated the same unintelligible word
and I grunted back in confusion, still half-asleep and wondering what the heck
was so important in the middle of the night. Eventually I reached for the Do
Not Disturb sign and hung it on the handle. She understood and walked away,
and I walked back to bed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">But I couldn’t
drop off again, and I must have lain there for a good while, trying to ignore
the weird Chinese music that was drifting in from the street outside. Why were
they playing it so early in the morning? It seemed to come and it seemed to go,
but I just couldn’t drop off again. It was as if my brain and body were working
together to tell me something…check the time, dufus! Okay then…sh*t! It’s ten
to eleven! Or, as I put it to my still-slumbering brother, “F*ckin` `ell, Tim,
it’s ten ta f*ckin` eleven!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">How did we manage
to oversleep so much? Immediately my accusative eyes looked to Tim, given that
it’s his responsibility to set the alarm, but upon checking his watch he was
convinced it had gone off. So that means we both slept well and truly through
it. Or it went off, he turned it off and neither of us batted an eyelid until
the maid started frantically knocking to rouse us before breakfast finished at
09:30, bless her. On the negative side of things, we were up late, we’d missed
a perfectly good brekkie, and we’d have to make contingency plans that the
situation did not occur again. But on the positive side, if this had to happen
then we did pretty well to go this far before having to deal with it. Prior to
this, the latest we’ve slept in is `til 09:45 – talk about record breakers! If
only that maid had known the English for “breakfast”, or even, “Get up and out
of bed you slothful English idiots, it’s bacon time!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">So that was a bit
of a downer and we had to get ready in double-quick time, but we did okay, and
brisk-walked it north to the train station. Today we were off to see the terracotta
army, about an hour’s drive from the city. The easiest (and cheapest) way to
get there is to jump on the number 306 bus and get off at the last stop. We
found the bus just about to go at its stop just outside the train station and
hopped on by 12:00 – not bad considering that 70 minutes earlier we’d both been
in sleep shorts and under duvets. And for 70 pence you cannot go wrong – take that,
Southport “what’s a return ticket?” buses!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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[Beware of the boys who sit at the back of the bus.]</div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Here’s a bit about
the terracotta army – it was constructed over a period of about 30 years and
completed in 209 B.C. (that’s B.C., man, not A.D.!) Current estimates reckon it
contains over 8,000 soldiers, 130 chariots with 520 horses, and 150 cavalry
horses. There are also non-military figures, such as acrobats and musicians.
And every single one of these LIFE-SIZE figures was buried close to the
mausoleum of Qin Shi Huang, the first emperor of China, to protect him in the
afterlife. The belief if that to exist in the afterlife you need to be buried
with everything that you had when you were alive. So, by that rationale if I
was to pop my clogs tomorrow my grave would contain a terracotta Samsung
netbook, Apple Ipod and a cracked bottle of Tsingtao beer. Actually, make it a
crate of Tsingtao – the afterlife is eternal, after all. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">The terracotta
army lay there under the earth for over 2,000 years until it was discovered in
1974 by a group of farmers trying to dig a well. There was evidence of some
previous disturbances at the site, such as a local graveyard, but it seemed as
though any terracotta that had come up through the ground had been discarded as
worthless. Not so! How can it be worthless if it attracts the Grayboys to visit
from halfway across the world? Upon alighting the bus we realised that winter
really was heading to Xi`an and it was a good job that we’d be clearing off in
a couple of days’ time! Brrrrrrr!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">After buying our
tickets and politely sending away multiple requests for an English tour guide,
we made our way up to the entrance. The site as a whole is known as the
Terracotta Army Museum and it is built upon the three pits that have so far
been excavated (okay, so there’s also a fourth pit, but it didn’t contain any warriors
– guess the B.C. builders had clocked off and gone down the pub by that point!)
All of the pits are enclosed under buildings, but because they are so large the
museum owners weren’t willing to put the heating on, which was a bit of a
downer, but not enough to detract from the spectacle. I give you, Pit 1…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">..this is by far
the largest of the excavated sites. The warriors were built from local clay and
assembled piece by piece, i.e. legs, torso, arms, head. They all originally held
(mostly) bronze weapons, but virtually all of these were looted or wasted away
over the centuries. You’ll notice that most of them face the same direction –
east – because the states that the emperor conquered were all east of Qin. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">The sites are
still being excavated. The 8,000 soldiers mentioned in an earlier paragraph is
only an estimate because the work is ongoing. This whole army is guarding the
mausoleum of the emperor, which is essentially a massive necropolis that
represents all of the buildings that he would have used when alive – remember that
when he’s dead, he needs what he had when he lived. The actual tomb of the
emperor (close by, pyramid shaped) remains unopened. Legend has it that there
are 100 rivers of mercury flowing inside and contains Indiana Jones-style
traps like automatically-firing crossbows to keep would-be thieves from
entering. But the real reason it has not been excavated is the dry Xi`an air – the
fear is that artefacts within the tomb will quickly disintegrate if exposed to
it. The terracotta army was originally painted, but most of it wore away while
they were buried for two millennia. However, some figures retained traces of
paint when dug up, but by some accounts, when exposed to the air, the paint curled off in
15 seconds and after four minutes it had flaked away completely. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Here’s the thing
that really left me gobsmacked by the terracotta army – every single one of
those fugues is UNIQUE. Yep, they were all individually created, not like some
kind of production line similar to the toy figures of today. Every single one
of those faces, uniforms and feet is different from the rest. The effort
involved must have been huge, though the original account of 700,000 people to
create the whole complex has been denounced in recent times as being slightly
far-fetched. But by how much? If the first emperor of China tells you to do
something, you drop whatever you are doing and do it! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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[James meekly adopts the victory sign that all Japanese people make when being photographed.]</div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Pit 2 is not quite
as large as Pit 1, but looks a lot more like a museum from the inside, rather
than a big warehouse. There weren’t that many figures down in the clay, but instead
there were selected warriors housed behind glass that visitors could observe up
close. The rule is that the larger the figure, the higher their rank. Below we
have, respectively, a kneeling archer and a general. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Pit 3 is the
smallest and contains what was assumed to be the command post for the entire
terracotta army. Made of clay, just like the rest of the battalions, I’m not sure
how it was supposed to give orders in the afterlife, but let’s not get all
metaphysical in this blog! Here you could go a bit crazy if you fancied it and
have your photo taken professionally with the whole army as a backdrop, or get
your own face personalised in the form of a terracotta warrior... </span><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">...we didn’t fancy
either of those. Instead we headed to the exhibition hall, which was basically
a museum-within-a-museum giving some background information to everything. The
whole terracotta army, coupled with the extensive mausoleum of the first emperor,
is one of those things that I could get quite spaced-out contemplating if I
thought about it enough. Fortunately it was too cold for that much
contemplation, so we tipped our hats to the terracotta generals and headed back
to the bus stop for the number 306.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Back in Xi`an we
barely had time to nip across to a Japanese noodle bar over the road for our
first proper meal of the day - a meal in which, I might add, not one word of English was spoken. They hadn’t turned the heating on, despite the
frost coming down outside, so we were forced to sit out the entire meal in our
coats. I ordered some kind of noodles with steamed duck. It was very nice, but
again they only provided me with chopsticks and when I asked for something else
I was given a pair of elongated spoons. Okay, so I can <i>try </i>to scoop up noodles with these (and fail!) but how am I
supposed to chop up the pieces of duck which are about two inches long and an
inch wide? Swallow them whole like the noisy slurper enjoying the same meal at
the next table to us? Oh well, when in Xi`an, I guess the Xi`an man can</span><br />
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Kinetic77http://www.blogger.com/profile/17700207633660422355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916073523745261748.post-4209454181453272962012-11-29T04:37:00.000-08:002014-01-18T05:16:23.619-08:00Bicycle race<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.5pt;">Tuesday,
27/11/2012 – 166 A.D.</span></i><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Hotel rooms with
thick dark curtains are confusing. You can never be sure what the daylight is
doing outside. Tim’s alarm went off at 08:00 this morning, but I refused to
trust it. I think I have some ulcers coming on, but I’ll take them over any
other kind of local ailment. And I didn’t notice them as I chewed my way
through a hearty breakfast, the first I’ve had on this tour when I could have
eaten as much bacon as I liked, or until I burst in a big streaky explosion. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Here is the rule –
the better quality hotel it is, the more they will charge for laundry services.
It’s not even worth me quoting what the Days Inn charge to do a pair of jeans,
you won’t believe me. And so a teeny-weeny bit of hand washing was all that
held us back this morning before we got out into the Xi`an sunshine. This was
indeed a bright, sunny bonus, as the forecast had said it would be cloudy for
the rest of our time here. But what do forecasts know? Predictions are just
predictions and not guarantees. And I'm rambling already.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">We headed to the
South Gate of the city. As explained in the previous post, the ancient heart of
Xi`an has a wall running around it, which is, on average, 18 metres high and 15
metres deep. They hold a marathon up there on 3<sup>rd</sup> November each
year. But we’d come to do this classic rectangular circuit on bicycles, the <i>only</i> way to travel on ancient
Chinese masonry! </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">It cost us 40 yuan
to get on the walls themselves, then another 40 to hire the bikes, leaving a
100 yuan deposit in case we rode off into the sunset. The bikes
actually looked pretty well maintained and definitely worth more than a tenner,
but where was I going to store it in my luggage? Earlier we’d toyed with the
idea of getting a tandem between us, but realised we wouldn’t be able to
get very good video footage. Plus one of us would have the other’s arse in
their face, which kinda sealed the deal. And looking at people who <i>were </i>riding the tandems, they were
situated very close together indeed! Yep, only appropriate for couples who regularly get
that close anyway. Tim and I only get that close under protest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">For our 40 yuan we
got 100 minutes of biking time. That seemed like an enormous amount. The
saddles weren’t the most comfortable (are they ever?), but the bikes were easy
to ride. They only had the one gear, which I’d say was akin to gear number 5 on
a 15 gear cycle. And then it was time for PEDAL POWER!!! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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[The view from the handlebars!]</div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">We headed west
along the southern wall, trying to do endo’s and wheelies and the kind of skids
I could pull off with ease when I was a kid who was surgically attached to his
BMX for every single day of the school summer holidays. Every now and then one
of us dismounted to take some piccies or video footage of the other engaged in
a fancy move, such as riding cross-legged, or just happily riding along
without a care in the world, i.e. before the saddle-soreness kicked in.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">By the time we got
to the halfway point along the north wall, we realised we were only just above schedule, but then again we had been messing about a lot. Was
it not Ernest Hemingway who claimed that, “Nothing is so much fun in life as
messing about on bikes?” Then again it might have been boats, not bikes, and it
might not have been Hemingway who said it, but you get the idea. We peddled
harder and increased our pace, zooming along the east wall like a couple of
Lance Armstrongs (minus performance-enhancing drugs, plus complimentary hotel
fruit).</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">In the end we
returned to the drop-off point for our trusty steads with about 25 minutes to
spare. It had been a great ride and no mistake, made all the more easier by
there only being a smattering of other riders to avoid – probably a very different
story during peak tourist season. And some sections of the wall were less
well-maintained than others, particularly bumpy was the area around the south
eastern corner. I found myself walking rather gingerly for the first ten
minutes after dismounting for good. Great fun through, and I’d recommend it to
anyone (just remember to wear your thickest underwear). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">The afternoon
passed in the blink of an eye, with a bit of wandering here and there, though
we stumbled upon nothing much of note. Maybe four months ago the things we saw
in the park would have made it into this blog post, but not now. These days it
needs to be something different, something dynamic, something…dangerous!
Otherwise I don’t write about it. But that’s what journalism’s all about, isn’t
it? Sensationalism!</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Nothing sensational happened in the evening either – we trekked a long way across town
to find a restaurant called <i>The
Small World Café</i>. Owned by a Dutch woman, it came recommended by Wikitravel
and though the décor was fine, the menu was sparse. I was disappointed to
find almost a complete lack of Chinese food on offer – only two more days in
this country, need to nosh it while I can! Strange to find me going on about
food so much these days? The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach – that’s
something that means the same thing the world over!</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">[Tim demonstrates
the typical Chinese pose of draping oneself against a building with slightly
saucy look upon the face.]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Kinetic77http://www.blogger.com/profile/17700207633660422355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916073523745261748.post-34402215402666277532012-11-28T05:15:00.000-08:002014-01-17T10:58:53.749-08:00Keep talking<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.5pt;">Monday,
26/11/2012 – 165 A.D.</span></i><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Xi`an (pronounced “<i>shee-an</i>”) is ancient city with a history
going back 3,000 years. It is the Eastern end of the silk road and has been the
seat of about 30 Chinese emperors over the centuries. The saying goes that
until you’ve been to Xi`an, you haven’t really been to China. The original city
is surrounded by a wall that is the largest of its kind, the foundation of
which was built under the Tang dynasty, but which was enlarged under the rule
of the M…M…come on, you know this…four letters…last one is ‘G’…you’ve read
enough about them already…M…M…that’s it…MING dynasty! They’re everywhere, those
Mings. And which is my favourite Chinese dynasty? Umm, don’t really have one. I preferred the Chinese Dallas instead. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Xi`an is roughly
in the centre of China, and on the north-south scale it’s about halfway between
Beijing and Shanghai. It was chilly, but nowhere near as cold as “The Jing”. We
had a bit of trouble finding the hotel, mainly due to Google Map’s continued reluctance to work on Tim’s phone while in China, but after a bit of reconnaissance
we got lucky. And how lucky we are! The Days Inn is a well-known chain in
various parts of the world and in Xi`an it equates to four star accommodation.
And we’re not really paying any more than we have in The Jing and The Hai. Okay,
so the place has little charm and zero character, but it’s nice to be back in a place that is Comfortable with a capital
‘C’. I almost feel like I’m here on business!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">[Complimentary fruit - I can understand the apple, oranges, tomatoes, but what's with the pickles?]</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">It was important
to take a shower upon arriving. I’ve been having a bit of trouble finding some deodorant.
You may remember that I had my two sprays confiscated by the Shanghai metro,
but as it’s been so cold I didn’t think there much point in replacing them.
Yesterday morning I got to the bottom of my roll-on, but after scooting around
the streets of Beijing I couldn’t find a new one anywhere. Oh well, it’s not as if I’ve perspired
much recently! I figured I’d try Beijing West station, but despite plenty of identical
shops selling the exact same sort of stuff, said stuff did not include deodorants.
So, I guess it was quite lucky that we had the soft sleeper to ourselves last
night! Now I was in a new town and determined to get as fresh as normal. Watch
this space. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">We are staying
right in the centre of Xi`an, and it’s a modern, urban centre. The city wall is
about fifteen minutes away, with a gate at its north, south, east and west
points. From each of these gates is a road, name of North Road, South Road,
East…you get the idea, and they all meet in the very centre of the city where a
large structure called the Bell Tower stands. Besides the obvious, I’m not sure
what function the Bell Tower has, but there was scaffolding either just
starting to go up or in the final stages of coming down, so we didn’t try and
get inside. Instead we headed for tourist info and got ourselves a decent map.
You’re never in trouble when you’ve got a decent map. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">The afternoon was
mainly spent strolling around and getting a feel for the place. There’s no
point trying to do too much in the first 24 hours. We took a trip through The
Muslim Quarter which features outdoor food of any kind you’d like, plus some
glaring health and safety violations that would put most European cafes out of
business. And I had no luck finding my deodorant, even stooping so low in one
shop as to make the gesture of rubbing something under my arms. She had no idea
what I meant. Come on, what else would you rub beneath your armpits other than
deodorant???<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">The language
barrier presented further complications come the evening when we went out for
dinner. In true First Night Syndrome style, we tried to find two restaurants
and failed on both counts. We left the hotel at 19:00, but it was at least
20:30 by the time we were seated, on the sixth floor of a shopping mall, in a restaurant
in a food court that didn’t contain a sniff of another westerner. One thing we
are fast-learning about Xi`an is that there are a lot less signs in English
than the other two Chinese cities we’ve visited. At least this eatery had a
menu translated into (very rough) English. When we arrived it was like we were
visiting dignitaries from a far-off land and the staff didn’t know what they
should do. They took us right to the far end of the place (get us out of the
way???) and gave us what was almost our own little semi-walled-off section.
Quite cosy really, though there were chairs for eight people and just two of
us dining. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">We assumed the
waitress we got was chosen because she had a smattering of English, and I do
mean “smattering”. She spoke reasonably okay, but understood zilch. Tim
ordering his dish along with a portion of rice would have been hilarious to
watch had I not been so hungry! And I really should learn the phrase, “Can you
give us five minutes, please?” because it winds me up something chronic when
the waitress is hovering over me while I’m trying to choose something from the
menu. In the end I panicked and chose a dish called something like, “Cottage
country meat” (the picture looked like it was beef with green peppers). It was
only when she left with the order taken down that I realised I had no idea what
type of meat I would be eating. Sure, it <i>looked
like </i>beef, but what did that mean in central China? Holy cow! My brother’s
words of, “As long as it tastes nice,” were of little reassurance. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">I’m pretty damn
sure it was beef, and pretty damn tasty it was too. Pretty spicy as well, but a
rush of heat endorphins isn’t a problem on a cold Xi`an night. One recurring
problem is that I’m always provided with chopsticks as standard. Fair enough,
that’s what they use in China, but I’m not Chinese, and it would be nice to be offered an alternative. Normally I just have to ask and they bring a fork,
spoon, knife, etc., but this time I had to make spoonish scooping motions to
communicate and the waitress brought the type of plastic spoon that you eat
your crab and sweetcorn soup with. Oh what the hell, I can manage, I’ll just
use one of the chopsticks for some extra grip. Halfway through the meal the
manageress must have seen my plight because she shouted something at the
waitress, then brought a knife and fork along with a humble, “Sorry!” In other
news, Tim realised what his nonsensical conversation when ordering had been about
– how hot do you want your chicken? Now, that boy can take a bit of heat in his
food, but tonight he got it full-on Chinese strength and had to admit defeat
early on. Never mind, he’ll be back, but probably not in that place. As we went
to leave, the waitress gave us a big grin and said, “Please walk slowly!” I
think she may have meant, “Take care,” or “mind how you go”. That’s the kind of
lost-in-translation that I can cope with! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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[Chillis, chillis and more chillis!]</div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">[Ironic that the restaurant bin has an English word upon it!]</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">On the way home,
as well as buying a beer for the road, I also</span><span style="font-size: 11.5pt;"> bought some deodorant
(finally!) It may not have been a power stick anti-perspirant of the kind I’m used to
back home, but at least I now smell as sweet as….that sweet and sour chicken
that Tim fought against. But I’m not half as hot, despite the five layers.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Deodorant...can he find one? The
Xi`an man can!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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Kinetic77http://www.blogger.com/profile/17700207633660422355noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916073523745261748.post-992075672295828242012-11-27T05:40:00.000-08:002014-11-25T08:58:38.615-08:00Goin` out west<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.5pt;">Sunday,
25/11/2012 – 164 A.D.</span></i><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">`Twas a very sad
morning, and not just because `tis one month exactly until Christmas. White
Shirt has finally gone to the great wardrobe in the sky. He was on borrowed
time and had become extremely tatty. Nor was he actually that white anymore,
rather a kind of yellowy-cream. He could have got the boot even halfway through
America, but he hung in there, playing on my loyalty. Still, now that I have Teacher
Coat, there just isn’t room for White Shirt in my luggage. But I held an
appropriately solemn ritual of parting for him and I. In the absence of a bugle
to play, I just hummed quietly, hoping that Tim wouldn’t hear in the next room.
Then I put him in a ceremonial cloak, i.e. chocolate bun multipack wrapper, and
put that in a sacred coffin, i.e. grey plastic bin in the corner. And that was
that. White Shirt represented a different era when I wore slightly baggier
shirts. He will be missed.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">After checking out
of the Leo Courtyard we went a couple of streets down to what was described as
an electronics market, but it was in fact full of stalls displaying beauty
products. No, thanks, or “bu yao” as they say over here (lit. “don’t want”). Or,
as Tim has taken to saying these days, “a swing and a miss” (it’s not getting totally
on my nerves just yet). We had lunch at a nearby hostel’s restaurant, <i>Helen’s Hangout</i>, where we pursued the
theory that I may have a tiny lactose intolerance. This is driven by the fact
that I seem to cough more after certain meals, and we may have narrowed this
down to meals containing cheese. We’ll be keeping an eye on that one. Oh, and
speaking of which, we still have not come up with that elusive fifth cheese
joke. Here’s a recap if you’ve forgotten the original four:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">1.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">How do the Welsh eat their cheese?
Caerphilly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">2.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">What’s the best cheese to hide a horse in? Mascarpone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">3.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Which cheese do you use to tempt a bear out
of a cave? Camembert.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">4.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Edam is made backwards.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">We spent the rest
of the afternoon at the National Museum of China, and we could have spent most
of the morning there too, had we remembered how close it was. The museum is
free, but you need to have your passport or ID card swiped to get inside. I
believe this is so the authorities can see where you’ve been, i.e. on trains to
certain places, or visited this and that building. Everywhere people go seems
to be monitored. However, whereas some amongst us may view this as controlling Big
Brother tactics, the general feeling is that processes are needed to protect a
system which runs highly efficiently and in which the ultimate aim is enablement,
rather than restriction. Go figure. On the streets I do not see that many
beggars and most people look like they are reasonably well-off, though I bet it’s
a different story out in the sticks. But as a stranger here, I see no graffiti on
the walls, the cities are safe (pickpockets and, err, petty scams being the
main threats) and there are no hooded teenagers hanging around to make you feel
threatened. Maybe if I looked a little deeper under the surface I’d see more
signs of injustice and oppression, but currently looking from the
outside-in, things generally seem to be okay. After all, China IS on the up, no
one is denying that. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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[Tim adopts typical Chinese photo stance, i.e. rigid posture, eyes straight ahead, no emotion on face.]</div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">The museum not
only kept us out of the cold, it was very entertaining. The whole of the vast basement
level was devoted to ancient China, i.e. from prehistoric times up until, errr,
1912. Not “ancient” by most peoples’ definition, but definitely another world compared to the society in place now. Even though we’d seen plenty on this subject
back in Shanghai, we still found ourselves transfixed by the weird and
wonderful wares on display. Plus the dynasties of imperial China was a section
of my knowledge that was severely lacking before arriving here – you never
know, just being aware of when the Tang dynasty was in power might help me answer a question sometime at The Guest House quiz!</span></div>
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[The Chariman contemplates whether he should have included a section on Tim in his Little Red Book.]</div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">There was a large,
open room on the ground floor devoted to Communist artwork, which I found
particularly interesting. The vast majority of these featured Mr. Mao, usually
in conversation with his leutenants in the glorious revolution. Oh yes, it was
damned inspiring stuff, tending to show brave
soldiers charging fearlessly towards the enemy, or surrounded by peasants with
huge, wide smiles, so happy to have been liberated from their earlier
oppressors. There’s such a strong bias in these works that I find it difficult
to take them seriously, but as a record of what constituted art in these
somewhat shadowy times, they provide a fascinating glance. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSAsmG5EllT1wso8QKCMwXV4MRJmrLqRpLlrNkBqyc0INgbbcQm50o576d9Qi9SwljAYTQRHlkstCaICm0I26BiosKmezcKnL6k_IGGzoePMn7Z8h-0c22pMxdVGKZabhF5lqgfvHVBPs/s1600/P1060156.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSAsmG5EllT1wso8QKCMwXV4MRJmrLqRpLlrNkBqyc0INgbbcQm50o576d9Qi9SwljAYTQRHlkstCaICm0I26BiosKmezcKnL6k_IGGzoePMn7Z8h-0c22pMxdVGKZabhF5lqgfvHVBPs/s320/P1060156.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Frustratingly, the
room detailing the Chinese republic that was formed in 1912, and the subsequent
Peoples’ Republic created by Mao in 1949 was all in Chinese with no English
translation whatsoever. This was the part I really wanted to see! Just as I was
vaguely singing the Chinese authorities' praises two paragraphs ago, they throw
me a curveball. What’s the point in only having it in Chinese? So Western eyes
will not pry and return to their homelands saying things that they shouldn’t?
Hmmm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Our time in the
museum was cut short because we wanted to get out onto Tiananmen Square and see
the flag lowering ceremony at sunset (about 16:50). There are always large
crowds for this, but fortunately I can see over the tops of their
heads. Was it worth standing in the cold for ten minutes? Only to say that we’d
seen it. The ceremony itself wasn’t that impressive, akin to the changing of the
guard in Windsor Castle, but with some expert flag-folding thrown in for good
measure. And there was no stirring music to make you feel good about being part
of the great Chinese nation. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5t2Bh9OkYHoxME2ewQRL20xDUS3VXZFwj7MRcQvpeP3Bh6iUTynCSbeRmzkos1QLm3KJIlIbfTNlNTCM0_5yseWNEYmhoVRhkg9c_YJPFaQedIEYKbim0K89s47OS7AgeelsVpP1M6g0/s1600/P1060163.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5t2Bh9OkYHoxME2ewQRL20xDUS3VXZFwj7MRcQvpeP3Bh6iUTynCSbeRmzkos1QLm3KJIlIbfTNlNTCM0_5yseWNEYmhoVRhkg9c_YJPFaQedIEYKbim0K89s47OS7AgeelsVpP1M6g0/s320/P1060163.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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[The Beijing Monks XI soccer team pose for pictures.]</div>
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[I play camera wars with some giggly girls taking my photograph.]</div>
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[Tim gets into the spirit of it all by adopting a shade of Communist Red.]</div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">After collecting
our luggage from the Leo Courtyard, and under strict instructions from the
manageress to walk away if the fare came to more than 40 yuan, we caught a taxi
to Beijing West Station. This was constructed in 1996 at a record cost of three
quarters of a million US dollars. It is the largest station in the whole of
Asia, and just like everywhere else in China, it was full of people.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHFcEm8AmfcHmD7oIzcgk5hPPf-1VoWChvXRQDUFi5M50VKJ3IirF-igDpuMo_EiCi8ZZ0N1VqtOGj8Ec1qzhTIKnntlM0EJMNcX4ZwXijs3H5rR6XwvA8kAGPAzx69KHkotlLyAV8PJE/s1600/P1060173.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHFcEm8AmfcHmD7oIzcgk5hPPf-1VoWChvXRQDUFi5M50VKJ3IirF-igDpuMo_EiCi8ZZ0N1VqtOGj8Ec1qzhTIKnntlM0EJMNcX4ZwXijs3H5rR6XwvA8kAGPAzx69KHkotlLyAV8PJE/s400/P1060173.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">But there were
plenty of hot taps nearby for us to fill up our noodle pots. As I was putting
the sauce sachets into mine, a young girl approached me and asked how it was
called in English. “Noodles,” I replied, sounding somewhat surprised. “Just
that?” she asked, sounding somewhat surprised. I shrugged. “Okay, you would
call it <i>pot </i>noodle.” She thanked me
and left, with me feeling a bit guilty for being rather standoffish, but even
after Haven worked her healing magic, I’m still in anti-scam-detection-mode. And
to be fair, though a legitimate line of enquiry, it was still a strange
question! </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTv-PVZjKK2qg41KfKQmP_aGNu-rJU4kt6nnDK87j_rX7gxTHVPqK0VCOFkMdMrwF6hrzL40D0E4I65Nepx2cX3YEZ0oifKk19fpgLGeLdipaOuHdji_zvplR2YSEJkOBElSX_cx1jj60/s1600/P1060176.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTv-PVZjKK2qg41KfKQmP_aGNu-rJU4kt6nnDK87j_rX7gxTHVPqK0VCOFkMdMrwF6hrzL40D0E4I65Nepx2cX3YEZ0oifKk19fpgLGeLdipaOuHdji_zvplR2YSEJkOBElSX_cx1jj60/s400/P1060176.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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[No less than four extras came with this pot noodle - a record! He didn't try the sausage though.]</div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">So, we got on the
train. If you’re a masochist and therefore a regular reader of this blog then
you’ll remember that there were no hard sleepers available, so we were soft
sleeping it tonight. Which two people would we be sharing with? None, as it
happened! Oh joy of joys! And the standard of this soft sleeper was the best we
have come across yet. Every bed had its own miniature TV, and it didn’t matter
that nothing was being shown on them. There was just a general sense of true
cleanliness, unlike other trains where it's appeared clean on the surface, but
then we’ve lifted up a bed sheet and seen a stain that the devil himself could
have made after a night eating hell’s fieriest vindaloos. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2WQf63ax7fp4dG12mCfJhOxWUc58aR5tQk6eHWzPjT9de2nPjVt6ky5nyGGaiUXzZwjDdzdS90VJMIdZXis4gfm6xqSorEvdxgykgbMlLNd1Mkps2TQledtBqaJ6G7XcP62r9bdL-QVM/s1600/P1060178.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2WQf63ax7fp4dG12mCfJhOxWUc58aR5tQk6eHWzPjT9de2nPjVt6ky5nyGGaiUXzZwjDdzdS90VJMIdZXis4gfm6xqSorEvdxgykgbMlLNd1Mkps2TQledtBqaJ6G7XcP62r9bdL-QVM/s400/P1060178.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">The train left the
station at 20:02. It would reach its destination at 08:12 the next morning.
How perverse that both Tim and I wished we could have stayed on it a little
longer! Beijing was the furthest east we would go in Asia, now it was back west we wuz headin`. In
fact, we wouldn’t stop headin` west until we reached Southport…blimey! </span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Blighty’s
well-and-truly calling us back now… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br /></div>
Kinetic77http://www.blogger.com/profile/17700207633660422355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916073523745261748.post-70039793493939789772012-11-26T07:13:00.000-08:002014-01-13T10:47:55.618-08:00Spirit in the sky<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.5pt;">Saturday,
24/11/2012 – 163 days after departure</span></i><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">It was time to finally
see Chairman Mao. We got to Tiananmen Square about an hour before closing,
not quite as windswept as we were during our previous abortive attempt. But
that day had been during the week, and now it was Saturday so the queue to get
into the mausoleum was massive. We shuffled and shuffled for what felt like
miles and went through about three separate security checks, which we got
through with zero fuss. I get the impression that all of this security is to
stop home-grown “terrorists” and enemies of the state, such as the Falun Gong
movement, but a couple of gormless westerners like us pose no threat
whatsoever. Suits us just fine!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">There was more
shuffling up to the mausoleum itself, and we refused the chance to buy some
kind of sacred flower to take inside. You never know if there’s some
kind of secret rule that forbids those not born on this soil from doing such a
thing. At least we didn’t have to worry about the usual respectful procedure that
we’ve come across at recent temples – no shorts. Yeah right, in this weather???
The other golden rule was not to talk and I decided that I would not smile
either, as befitted what effectively felt like one long funeral procession. Obviously
no photographs were allowed, and Tim wasn’t prepared to continue his recent
theme of taking secret video footage. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Inside the
mausoleum there were plain clothes security people and guards in full
ceremonial uniform all around. The first room contained a big white statue of
the Chairman seated. In front of him was some kind of large rectangular box
covered with red velvet, which was in turn covered with all of the scared
flowers the punters had carefully placed as a sign of respect. At first I
wondered whether the body itself was inside the red velvet box, thus covered by
the flora. Seemed like a bit of swizz to me, but then we continued to shuffle
forward into the next room, inside which was the glass box which
contained the ‘great’ man’s coffin. The lower part of him was draped with what
appeared to be the red and yellow flag of the Chinese communist party, but his
upper torso was visible, dressed in what I assume to have been standard Communist
party uniform. And his face was there with eyes closed, perfectly
preserved since 1976 (supposedly). It is ironic that Mao was one of the first of the revolutionary
leaders to sign an act that specified he should be cremated upon his death,
but his wishes were obviously ignored (same with Ho Chi Minh). And I called him
a great man using inverted commas because I know that opinions the
world over are divided on just how great he was. As usual, I won’t get all
political in this blog, but I have to say that standing there in his tomb today,
I couldn’t help but feel a real sense of reverence, along with the masses of
people who came to see him on just another day in the Chinese year. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">The whole time in
the mausoleum did not last very long, but at least now I had achieved my
somewhat strange ambition of seeing a seeing a cadaver (even though rumours
suggest it is just a waxwork, not the real thing). Because we’d not brought our
cameras with us, we decided to head back to the hotel to get them. At this
point I’d like to highlight two things that you will come across in Beijing for
sure, and possibly all of China. The first is a positive thing, the second not
so:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">1.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Public toilets are everywhere! They range
from being brand spanking new with marble sinks to the type of place where
pigeons go to die in the pipes. But for someone like me with a bladder with a
mind of its own, they’re a Godsend. It is a ten minute walk from our hotel to
the metro station and there are no less than four separate public toilets on
the route! How good is that? But it’s not just in this part of town, they’re anywhere
you go in the city. And you don’t have to pay for any of them – take that, Siem
Reap bus station!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">2.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Spitting. Oh dear, this is sooo not good!
There is a Chinese belief that it is unhealthy to have phlegm inside
your body. So what do people do when they realise they have a bit of phlegm in
them? Why they simply make that disgusting throat-clearing noise and gob it out
onto the pavement. Not just the pavement really, any part of the floor that
they happen to be walking across. Occasionally I’ve seen people spitting into
bins, but if there isn’t one in the vicinity then they do not care. And it’s
not just the old geezers doing it – across all ages, all genders, and all walks
of life, they spit constantly! It’s been worse in Beijing than Shanghai, but
apparently it happens everywhere in China. However, it’s not all bad – our
Chinese friend Haven, for one, thinks it’s disgusting, so maybe in a generation
or so you won’t have to walk the streets and always be looking out for greenies
underfoot. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">After lunch we
rode our favourite metro (20 pence to go ANYWHERE) downtown to where we’d heard
there was a famous market. It was originally called <i>Silk Street Market</i>, but then it got shortened to simply <i>The Silk Market</i>. But it wasn’t the kind
of market we like (outdoor stalls and spittle on the ground); this was another
indoorsy one with smalls shops separated from their competitors by glass
panels, all selling the same old stuff. In fact, it was mostly just clothes and
jewellery and now that I’ve got teacher-coat I don’t need to shop for that kind
of garment anymore. Not sure I really need any kind of extra garment for now.
When it’s cold you sweat less and so you get through less clothes. In a
non-humid climate there is no guilt for the hardcore traveller wearing the same
T-shirt two days in a row, sometimes three. And so there wasn’t much for us at
the Silk Market, but our hearts weren’t in it anyway. Haven had told us that
Xi`an was quite an inexpensive town, so we’d hold on `til there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">However, one thing I did
get from the nearby chemists was a chapstick. Well I’m not going to get
a girl’s one, am I? Bwahahahahar! The chapped lips since arriving in China were
not going away, so I decided to fight lack of moisture with, errr, moisture on
a stick. And so far, so good. I’m sure
you’re immensely glad to know that this minor inconvenience has now been taken
care of!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;"><i>The Temple of Heaven </i>is another attraction on the top five list for
visitors to Beijing. Familiar in design to the Forbidden City (i.e. Ming meets
Qing dynasties meets a bit of restoration by the People’s Republic) it consists
of a large park containing several sacred religious sites. The emperors would
come here on an annual basis to perform ceremonies to that would bestow favour
upon various aspects of Chinese life over the coming year. The ceremonies were
essentially Taoist in nature, but there was also some info scattered around about
how older religious practices on these sites pre-dated these ceremonies by thousands
of years. At the time I thought it quite ironic to see information about any
religious practices whatsoever in a modern country which I had believed to be
officially atheist, but upon doing a bit of research it seems that tolerance of
religious expression has been permitted in China since the 1980s. That’s fair
enough then, and shows what I know (or what I thought I knew!)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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[This is the <i>The Hall of Prayer for Good Harvests</i>.]</div>
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[Looks a lot like The Forbidden City, doesn't it? Well that's Ming-Qing-style architecture for you!]</div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">We cleared out of
the sacred park when it closed at 17:00 and got the metro back to our hotel. I
like Beijing. I have another 24 hours here, but I already feel as though I’ve
had my fill, so anything else is a bonus. And despite the freezing shower, the
leaky sink and the iffy aircon, the hotel has been pretty good, even though it’s
really just a hostel masquerading as a hotel. We’ve eaten three out of four
nights in their little restaurant, so that can’t be bad, though being feline fanatics, the Grayboys are always
going to enjoy a meal more if we each have a cat snoozing beside us on the
chair. Well it’s only natural they’re indoors with weather like this. New Zealand
was chilly, but it won’t ever get colder than this on our entire world trip,
and I think we’ve coped with it quite well, girly-chapped lips an` all.</span></div>
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Kinetic77http://www.blogger.com/profile/17700207633660422355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916073523745261748.post-84816409729696228892012-11-24T04:41:00.003-08:002014-01-10T09:48:52.348-08:00Another brick in the wall<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.5pt;">Friday,
23/11/2012 – 162 A.D.</span></i><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Today I woke up to
what I thought was the sound of a toilet repeatedly refusing to flush. Our
toilet. I should point out that yesterday evening before heading out for our
tea, we noticed that the cistern was refusing to fill up and for the second
time on this round the world trip I had to fix it (again it was a question of
jiggling various pieces). Anyway, you may recall that we had a “guest” sleeping in the next
room to us. I had visions of Haven getting up in the morning to use the
bathroom, being unable to flush the loo, but trying again and again and again
to make it work. But when I got up,
threw on some clothes and headed next door, I found her zonked out for the
count. Goodness knows what I’d been hearing, but it wasn’t our toilet!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">There were no
shenanigans in the night, of the saucy or the scamming kind. And naturally
there shouldn’t be, but our minds have been poisoned. We were pretty sure now
that Haven was the antidote to said poison, but we were never going to be 100%
satisfied until this whole situation came to an end. That wouldn’t be too long
to wait, as she had to go to visit another former classmate a little outside of
Beijing and we would be heading off to see The Great Wall of China. And
so, to round things off, we all went down to the hotel’s restaurant to get
stuck into a tasty breakfast as the morning sun shone in on our beans, mushrooms and tomatoes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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[Haven attempts the full English breakfast...and likes it!]</div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">With full tums,
and with day bags packed, we left the hotel with Haven, accompanying her back
to the metro, though she suddenly decided she wanted to go down so-and-so
street because it was known to be an interesting one for shops. And so we said a
fond goodbye. Then we realised that we still had plenty of time before our
train went, so we waited five minutes, then went back to the hotel to check
that nothing untoward had happened. And it hadn’t, so NOW we were satisfied!
Haven, you have restored our faith in the Chinese people to approach strange
Englishmen for nothing more than friendship! Yes, we were a bit suspicious of
your happy-go-lucky approach to finding accommodation for the night, but at the
end of the day you’re a just a free spirit who wants to have fun, meet new
people and learn all about different cultures. Cheers, hon!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Trains to the
Great Wall go from Beijing North Station, which was a new one to add to our
tally. The most famous part of the wall, i.e. the part that’s the most
restored, is at a small place up in the mountains called Badaling. This is
where you go if you’re only going to see one part of the wall. Our hotel ran
tours to see the bit at Badaling, as well as some of the parts that are
dilapidated. We did have an interest in seeing these too, but it meant a 7 – 5 day
with the chance of being driven to places where the guilt trip is applied to
buy something, and we didn’t fancy it. Nope, we’d be masters of our own
destinies and simply hop on the train to Badaling. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">The train journey
takes about an hour and 20 minutes and it was refreshing to sit where we liked,
not mess about with reserving a specific seat and having to show your ticket
every five minutes. Like all Chinese trains, this one was clean, warm enough,
and by Mao did it have loads and loads of legroom! Never before have I been
able to sit on a train and stretch my legs out completely without coming
into contact with the chair in front! The journey contained some cracking
scenery too. Once we’d left the suburbs of Beijing we were straight up into the
mountains and surrounded by the snowy remains of the recent blizzard. The
guidebook said to allow a drop of five degrees between Beijing and Badaling and
I was wearing one layer of clothing for every degree of droppage. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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[Main aim of this pic is to demonstrate legroom, not to embarrass my brother.]</div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Like all Chinese
trains, ours pulled into Badaling station bang on time. We’d seen glimpses of the
wall through the window, but there it was in the distance in all its glory! The
800 metre walk to the entrance wasn’t too taxing and we always knew there were
going to be plenty of people, despite it not being the weekend. After buying
our tickets for 45 yuan, we had the choice of turning left to the south part of
the wall, or right to the northern section. Everyone seemed to be turning
right, probably because left was straight into the blazing sun, so we decided to put
up with the crowds and go right. </span></div>
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So, a bit about the Great Wall of China - it was built over 2,000 years ago by the first emperor, him of the Qin dynasty, who united the previous warring states and wanted to keep out the enemies of the newly-formed nation. And by all accounts it did a pretty good job as well, although within China itself there was plenty of chaos and fighting. Even though the part I was walking upon was fairly recently restored, it was still an awe-inspiring feeling to imagine how extensive this piece of construction was. Curving across the mountains it went, completely out of sight in either direction. I’m not sure if it’s true that you really can see it from space though! And boy was it steep to climb in places! I would say that I am not currently as fit as I am back home, but it’s not as if we don’t put in the mileage and shoe leather on this trip. However, I was panting and gasping for breath on many occasions, and glad of the handrails! Going down was okay, but pretty tough on the knees. Still, none of this hardship could detract from such a spectacular sight, it really was truly amazing to be there.<br />
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[For those even less fit than me!]</div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">You can get so far
on the north part of the wall before it is blocked off and you have to turn
back. The authorities wouldn’t want people trekking miles along the wall, forgetting
where they are and getting caught out after nightfall, would they? Plus it’s less
for them to have to maintain. The crowds were a little bit annoying, but only when
the walkway became narrow and people had to shuffle along together. Goodness
knows how the guards managed to patrol up and down on a daily basis back in the
day – they must have been super fit! But we still had some energy left come
15:45 when we returned to the north wall-south wall crossroads. The next train
was at 16:21, the one after that 17:39. If we opted for the first one then we’d
have to leave at that moment. The sun was a bit lower in the sky and not as
blinding, so we opted for the second train.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">We definitely made
the right choice. The south side was pretty much deserted, save for the odd
couple of people here and there. For most of our trek we had whole sections of
the wall to ourselves! Not that it wasn’t any less steep, and the views weren’t
quite as dramatic (but still dramatic enough), though not having to push past
slow-moving people was a huge bonus. There are few things in this world that
genuinely deserve to be described as “awesome”, but for me the view from the Great
Wall of China is one of them.</span></div>
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[The finest view I have ever had from a public restroom.] </div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">We arrived at the
end of the southern section just as the sun was about to go down behind the mountains.
It was about a 30 minute walk to get back, but we knew we’d have enough light.
By the time we reached the train station it would be dark for the return journey to Beijing,
but chances are we’d nod off from all the afternoon’s exertion and wouldn’t
miss the scenery anyway. A great day – first Haven’s honesty, then the Great
Wall’s history – China just gets better and better! </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">And finally, a
word for my sponsors…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Kinetic77http://www.blogger.com/profile/17700207633660422355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916073523745261748.post-24451598287007027792012-11-23T07:21:00.000-08:002014-01-09T10:58:06.143-08:00The kindness of strangers<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.5pt;">Thursday,
22/11/2012 – 161 A.D.</span></i><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">I woke up this
morning with no clue as to what day it was. Monday, Wednesday, weekend –
absolutely no idea! I also did not wake up alone. Whoa, now! Don’t be getting
excited. The person I speak of was my own brother and he was sleeping in the bed
next to mine. Unfortunately the heater in his room was not working – didn’t have
the correct remote control for it, and despite the manageress bringing up many,
many remotes to try out, none of them worked. So she promised to get the handyman
to fix it the next day, but it meant that Tim and I would have to wait a little
longer before we got to sleep in our private rooms. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">It was Thursday, I
established that shortly after getting up. We needed to do one thing today –
buy our train ticket from Beijing to Xi`an, and we wanted to do two things –
visit the Mausoleum of Chairman Mao and go to The Forbidden City. Give that Mao’s
tomb closed at 12, we had to get our skates on to get down to Tiananmen Square
where the building is right in the centre. Anyone who read this blog when I was
in Hanoi will know that in a slightly morbid way I was disappointed not to get
to see the body of Ho Chi Minh lying in state. Therefore I might actually get
to break my duck of seeing the preserved corpse of a revolutionary leader. The
square was bitingly cold today, with a chill wind coming in from the north. With 30
minutes to spare, we arrived at the end of the line, but were sent away by a
soldier pointing to our rucksacks. We knew they had to be stored somewhere, but
didn’t know the place would be a large building on one side of the square. As I’ve
already mentioned, Tiananmen is the largest open air square in the world, so
you don’t just get from one side to the other in a click of your fingers.
By the time we reached the building we realised we’d blown our chance for today
and would have to come back some other time. <i>Still</i> not got to see a revolutionary cadaver!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;"> <span lang="EN-GB">We caught the subway to
Beijing Central train station, where we’d arrived the other day from Shanghai.
The English-speaking ticket desk was clearly marked and, after holding the
queue jumpers at bay by spreading my frame out to the sides, we were able to
book our tickets. Only down side (of sorts) was that there were no hard
sleepers available, so we’re back to soft sleepers. That means more comfort,
but also more money. Hey ho - The Road dishes out what The Road dishes out. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">The afternoon
dished out a trip to the Forbidden City, just as planned. It was only a short
walk past Tiananmen Square and cost 45 yuan to enter (£4.50 – I love it when
currency conversions are a piece of cake to perform!) The skies above were still grey,
and though the weather remained dry, it seemed to get even colder with that
wind chill coming in. However, some among us had a rather alternative method
for dealing with such elemental exposure….</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">So, the Forbidden City…what
is it? Or what <i>was </i>it? Well it was the
home of the Chinese emperors for nearly 500 years, right up until the last
emperor, Puyi. Its use spanned the Ming and the Qing dynasties. And not just
the emperors lived here, their families and concubines hung out as well. There
were also buildings for the ceremonial and political functions of the Chinese
government. All in all, it was a pretty important place; still <i>is </i>a pretty important place.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">All in all, it was
a very grand spectacle, only marred by the chill. At one point I even ducked
into the gift shop to warm up, much to the chagrin of <s>Spiderman</s> Tim. It
was easy to imagine the place filled with hundreds of guards, courtiers and
various important people running about performing their duties. We could not go
inside most of the main rooms that the emperor used, merely peep in from
behind a cordon. Maybe I was a bit spoilt by the gleaming golden palaces and
statues of the Bhuddist countries we visited, but I found the thrones and furnishings
here a little drab. Stick a bit of neon in there, maybe a glitterball or two
and they’ll look fit for a king…or an emperor. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Anyone ever had
chapped lips before? I haven’t. But I have them now. Seemed to come on around
Shanghai, i.e. once things got a little cooler after leaving Hong Kong. It’s only
on the tip of my top lip, and at first I thought it was a reaction to the spicy
food and the Tsingtao beer. But no, it’s dee cold weather dat’s done it. Isn’t
it strange how you might suffer from a particular ailment in one place, but
go to another country in winter and something new (yet reasonably harmless)
comes along. And how to combat this? Less Tsingtao – I’ve already switched to
rice wine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Upon returning
home in the afternoon I logged onto the computer to see that I had an email
message from Haven – that’s her English name, whereas her Chinese name is Jing
Wong (‘Jing’ being the forename). Her mum calls her “Jing-Jing”, but I’ll stick
to Haven. You may remember that Haven is a young lass who we met on the train
and who our scarred minds were slightly suspicious of, even though on the
surface there was absolutely no reason to doubt her friendliness. So, she’d sent an email saying that she was free this evening if we fancied going for a
drink. This is my fault because she said she’d never been to a bar before,
which made me offer to introduce her to the scene, even though I’ve no idea
what the bar scene is like in Beijing. We ummed and ahhhed about whether we
should go, but ultimately decided that it can be a drag staying in the hotel
every single night and we owed it to ourselves to get out there and do
something once the sun went down. So, after forgetting about my chapped lips
and accidentally ordering some spicy beef in the hotel restaurant (some of
which I tried to give to the resident cat), we hit the metro yet again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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[Tiananmen Square by night.]</div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">The traditional
bar area of Beijing is called Chaoyang District, though there are a few more that
have developed in recent times. Within Chaoyang is a place called <i>Sanlitun Bar Street</i>, famous for
containing the watering holes that sozzled expats attend, where loud music is
the norm and you really should ask how much a drink costs before you buy one.
In the absence of anywhere else to go, we decided to head there. After all,
Haven supposedly wanted an authentic bar experience – if we got it right (or
wrong) tonight then we could potentially put her off for life! Poor girl, she
had the weight of the Chinese nation on her shoulders, hoping to get back into
our good books and no longer be treated with suspicion. Would she rise to the
challenge?</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">We met her at
Dongsishitiao station (try pronouncing that one when you’ve got a cold!) and
headed towards Sanlitun. Haven was full of energy and enthusiasm, just as she
had been on the train. One slight moment of uncertainty arose when we had to
ask her to ask the railway staff what time the last train was – shouldn’t this
be common, pre-loaded knowledge when having a night out? There was always the option to get
a taxi, but we’d see how it went. Haven, however, seemed to have other ideas,
suggesting that if she did miss the last train then she could get a taxi with
us back to our hotel and get a room there. Okaaaaaay…why does that sound just a
little bit dodgy to us? We’ll give it some time and see how it sounds after a
beer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Sanlitun was more
of a walk than we thought, and I was worried that the cold would drive us into
the first place we came to, no matter how iffy it was. It turned out that the
closest place we came to was only selling beers at 12 for the equivalent of a
tenner. “Yes, I agree, mate, that <i>is </i>a
great price. But what if we don’t actually want to drink 12 beers?” We moved
on. The place we ended up at was dark and dingy, and this is the only photo
that I could get without embarrassing myself by putting the flash on…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">…but it wasn’t all
that bad. There was a warm, homeliness to it, and the music wasn’t too loud,
which was an important fact given that Haven’s English is good, but not <i>that </i>good. And so, after offering her
the chance to have a “girly drink”, she opted for a beer and I got a round in. Then we spent the next hour having some pretty
good conversations, despite the language limitations. Unfortunately, although
she claimed to like her beer, she drank maybe three millilitres-worth, so the
Grayboys had to help her finish it when the music was turned up at 22:00 and it
became too loud to talk. Initially we went out to find somewhere else, but upon
checking her watch, Haven realised that if she <i>was </i>going to return to the university campus where her former
classmate lived, she’d have to head for the metro at that exact moment. Or else
she could come to our hotel and get a room there. I looked at Tim, he looked at
me, we exchanged telepathic messages and agreed it was best for her to go back
to her classmate’s. Although she had been perfectly pleasant company and had done
nothing whatsoever to make us think she was on the scam, the thought of someone
we didn’t know too well in close proximity to our valuables tipped the scales.
We offered to walk her back to the metro, which she was cool with. Not much of
a night out, I know, but at least we had fun! Oh and she said I looked like a teacher in my new coat...well, I was aiming for the image of cool, college professor, so I'll take her words as a compliment!</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Upon entering the
metro, it was about 22:40, the last train leaving at 22:57. Plenty of time? Not
so. Haven put in a call to classmate and realised just how many stops she would
have to change at to get back, and classmate seemed to suggest that she would
not make it in time. So, again she suggested coming back to our hotel for a
room! To be fair, the metro didn’t stay open late, so it was perfectly plausible
that she might get stuck. Better to at least know she’s got a room somewhere
than to be wandering a city she’s a stranger in and looking for a hotel.
Finally we said okay, with the proviso that the hotel might not have any beds
available, though secretly we knew they would, given that it’s out of season
and we hear hardly any other guests in the evenings. But there was a further
twist to this tale, because as our bar conversations had gone on we'd mentioned
how the hotel had given us a room each, both of which contain two beds. Haven
suggested having one of those beds, though she was not specific. Now we had the
thought of someone we didn’t really know being in the same room as our
valuables! But we had a trick up our sleeve – most hotels do not allow visitors
in guests’ rooms after hours, so that was that, wasn't it?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Not so. Upon
arriving at the hotel, Haven spoke to the receptionist in Chinese; the
conversation lasted some time, but I get the feeling that most Asian languages
often use lots of words to say very little. Tim and I watched with interest as
she handed over some money, then turned to us excitedly and said, “They are
very nice, they say I can stay in your room with you guys!” The receptionist
added that because we already had a family room, it was okay for another person
to share. Umm, alright then! On our way through the courtyard, I found out that
Haven had paid 80 yuan to share our room, whereas a room on her own would be
120, so I guess it made financial sense. But who the heck would want to share a
room with a couple of Englishmen like us - filthy in body, mind and clothes
after over five months on The Road? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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[Along with many of life's complexities, Tim and Haven discuss the meaning of the words, "trust", "foolishness" and "freezing bloody bathroom with a leaky sink".]</div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">With our new
roommate (with zero luggage) settled-in, I cracked open a nightcap beer and we
all talked a little more. We had a laugh, it’s fair to say. And at one point
Haven asked me why I liked beer. I replied, “Why do you like swimming?” “Because
it makes me feel good.” I smiled, “There’s your answer!” Why can’t every debate
be that simple? Thanks to my grandma for that one – her response to me as a little
boy asking why she smoked was to ask me why I liked chocolate. I didn’t quite
get it at first, but I figured it out later, i.e. when I was on a packet Marlboros
a day in my early 20s!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">At a little after
midnight, we all realised how tired we were and offered Haven food and water,
both of which she refused, as well as reading material, the use of the telly,
etc. But she was ready for sleeping after spending the previous night on her
classmate's floor. So, feeling quite confident that everything would be okay,
and with only a small amount of suspicion in our minds, Tim and I said
goodnight and went into the next room. Then we locked away all of our valuables
and prised the bin against the door. You can’t be too careful in our world!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px;">So, that's two night's running in which I haven't had a room to myself!</span></div>
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Kinetic77http://www.blogger.com/profile/17700207633660422355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916073523745261748.post-18575722019022434612012-11-22T01:40:00.002-08:002014-01-07T10:53:57.012-08:00Wide open space<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<em style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Tuesday, 20/11/2012 – 159 A.D.</em><br />
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It’s the 20<sup>th</sup> November, baby! In exactly one month’s time I will be back home in sunny Southport (or at least on the way). Where the hell did all that time go? It was slow to begin with, but since hitting Asia it’s just rocketed along. I probably shouldn’t get too deep at this point. Mercifully I am stone cold sober as I write this, so for now you’ve been spared the reminiscent whimsy.</div>
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The day started badly when blogspot refused to let me upload any pictures to my latest post. This is one of those little minor inconveniences in life that a person like me blows out of all proportion into a major issue. It didn’t help that this morning we also had to pack up our things to get out of the hotel. After doing a bit of research I found out that blogspot gives you one gigabyte of free storage space for your photos, and I’d just hit my limit. Well fair enough, I suppose, and it’s only a couple of dollars to pay for another 25 gigabytes. Last thing I want is for my cherished blog to lack further photos! But doubly annoying was that upon shelling out the cash, blogspot still refused to let me upload photos. What a p*sser! Therefore I decided to put the whole issue on the back burner and get on with my life, or at least calm down. As you can see, the blog currently resides on tumblr, the retarded younger brother of blogspot. Maybe some readers prefer the minimalist theme? Is this how musicians feel when they switch record labels? Anyway, for the short term, we’re here to stay. <b>UPDATE - No we're not, we're back on blogspot! And hopefully for good.</b></div>
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We had about six hours to kill in the afternoon so we headed off towards the Old Town for more browsing and dawdling. As per the norm, a couple of scammers approached us asking for a picture of them with a big tower in the background, then tried to get a conversation going, but we held them off with massive disinterest. Seems the easiest way to play it. There is a chain of restaurants in China called <em>Kung Fu </em>which features a picture of the mighty Bruce Lee as its logo, so we thought we’d check them out. Unfortunately they had no English translation of the dishes pictured above the counter and, given that we had a long train journey coming up and wanted to know what we were dealing with, we left it. Please note, this is not the same as bottling it, merely a strategic stomach manoeuvre. </div>
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["You can call it the art of eating without eating."]</div>
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[If you haven't seen <em>Enter the dragon </em>then that will make no sense!]</div>
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Back out on the streets, I left Tim doing some dodgy deals with scarves and woolly hats and strolled into a shop selling jackets. Upon trying one on (or rather, having one thrust upon me), I was shocked to find that the arms were actually long enough. First time in maybe 25 try-ons! And the style wasn’t bad either, the kind of youngish, cool college professor image that I’m trying to pull off. So I did a bit of haggling and walked away with what I hope will keep the Beijing chill at bay…jing. Upon reuniting with Timbo, he’d also bought one of those trendy body warmer-type things, and he pointed me in the right direction for getting a scarf. So, all in all it was a pretty successful visit to the Old Town, plus we know what you guys have been going through by stocking up for winter.</div>
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Late in the afternoon we retrieved our bags from the hotel and prepared to move it to the metro. Security is pretty high here and every time you go to board a train you have to first put your bags through the scanners. We’ve never had an issue with our day bags, but on this occasion we were both stopped and told to open them up. Okay, no worries, we know that neither of us has got anything illegal, but the security guards speak no English so we’ve no clue what they are after. Eventually, after much rummaging around and holding up various items to query if it’s what they’re after, the guy points to my Adidas can of deodorant spray. Ah, aerosols! Tim hands his over too, but I’ve also got another, the low grade spray that I picked up in Hanoi while trying to use up the last of my Vietnamese dong. The guard wants this as well, much to Tim’s delight. He cannot stand the stench it makes – when he would take his time before going out I used to spray it in the room to get him moving. And now neither of us have any deodorant sprays because the inflammable materials police have confiscated them – like we didn’t smell bad enough already before getting onto a 13 hour train journey!</div>
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[James takes out his frustration at losing his sprays.</div>
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"You can call it the art of fighting, but with fighting!"]</div>
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[Again, if you've not seen <em>Enter the dragon</em>...]</div>
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In China there are various trains of differing qualities. We usually get T trains (our train today was the T110), but there are Z trains which are a bit better, and C trains which are the cream of the crop and will get you from Shanghai to Beijing in four and a half hours. Not bad, eh? But they cost a pretty penny. As we entered the station’s various waiting rooms we saw some elegant-looking maroon couches for the passengers to rest their weary cheeks upon. But these were for Z train passengers – good old T-trainers like us were upstairs on the hard plastic benches! Wonder what C passengers get – gold, bejewelled thrones to wait upon? It could be worse – some trains don’t even have letters, e.g. train 1472. Apparently there are lots of rural people on these, probably travelling with their livestock in tow, and no aircon or heating. For us the grass may always seem greener if we look one way, but look the other way and it's definitely browner!</div>
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There weren’t any complications boarding the T110 train to Beijing, leaving 18:15, arriving 09:23 the next morning. After the (partial) success of our last journey we’d booked a couple of top bunks in a hard sleeper carriage. As I loaded first my luggage up there, followed by myself, I found I was a bit more accustomed to the lack of space and able to turn around a lot easier without banging my head or elbows. The only new issue was the presence of a TV screen between our pillows that belted out all kinds of nonsensical Chinese programmes. Hopefully it would go off around 22:00, like the lights. Below us we once again had four old fogies from China, but in a way that’s the easiest option as they go to bed fairly early and don’t make much noise.</div>
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After eating our pot noodles in the aisle, we settled down for a few games of cards before retiring to our bunks for the evening and putting some films on. A few seats along the aisle was a young Chinese girl standing up and looking out of the window. A couple of times she looked over at us, and I smiled back, naturally doing my best to boost the friendly appeal of Englishmen abroad. After a short while she came over, said she was interested in our card game (rummy) and asked if she could watch. We were happy to oblige, and after a couple of games we got her to join in. 'Haven' (her "English name") was keen to talk to us and learn about our weird and wonderful exotic ways and, etc., etc. - haven’t we been here before? Isn’t this the prelude to some kind of scam, a-la the tea rooms of Shanghai? Well who knows! As I said recently, our experience in Shanghai has made us extremely wary of any Chinese people who approach us. Haven was very sweet and easy to talk to and she seemed genuinely interested in getting to know us. Her story was that she was originally from Xi`an, graduated university, moved to Shizou to work and was on her way to Beijing to stay with one of her old classmates. She mentioned going to see the great wall and immediately our spidey-senses were tingling – we go with her to see great wall and lots of expensive problems happen? But what if we are being unfair to her? As I’ve also said before, not <em>everybody </em>in the world is out to scam us. We decided to use poor Haven as a test case. We chatted until about 21:30, at which point we decided we should probably retire to our bunks, given that we’d already been asked to move further along the aisle by someone trying to sleep who thought we were speaking too loud. This comment was a bit of an insult, given there were two blokes next to us who’d been practically shouting their heads off for an hour.</div>
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Come 22:00 they didn’t just turn the lights off in the berth, they turned them off in the corridor as well. That meant the only illumination I had for climbing down three bunks to the floor was the light of my laptop. Now I know why the railway staff were coming round selling torches earlier! Still, I made it okay, only kicking one of the oldies as I went down to have a last visit to the squat toilet that rocks you from side to side, and clean my teeth in the sinks that should not be given descriptive prose.</div>
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<em>Wednesday, 21/11/2012 – 160 A.D.</em></div>
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I was awoken in the night, first by the oldies below me locked in conversation, then by my brother grumbling, “It’s not even four o`clock in the morning and they’re talking!” You see, that’s the thing with the elderly – they’re off to bed with the larks, but up with them as well. 4 a.m. is probably a lie-in for some of this crowd! Tim kept angrily groaning as they kept merrily chatting. I didn’t mind it so much, the women were quite softly-spoken, but there was one guy with a naturally loud voice who’d be quiet, then start speaking and jolt me awake just as I was drifting off. But they shut up eventually and I went off to the place where pixies and elves run about in a happy wonderland.</div>
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Neither Tim nor I said anything to the oldies upon getting up to greet the north east Chinese dawn, but it’s unlikely they’d have understood if we did anyway. Instead there was a bit of time to talk to Haven a little more before the train pulled in, getting more and more likely that she wasn’t out to scam us, especially as the previous evening we’d made a point of telling her how we got shafted in the Shanghai tea room. Leaving the station, we met the classmate she’d come to visit and he was good enough to get our metro tickets for us and show us which stop to get off at. This stuff really messes with one’s head, man! The words “benefit of the doubt” are starting to spring to mind…<br />
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[James meets random bird of prey on the way through the backstreets.]</div>
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["Turn left at the Kung Fu restaurant, Englishman. Sqwark!"]</div>
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Our hotel on this leg of the trip is called the <em>Leo Courtyard</em>. It wasn’t the best place we could have got, but in terms of value versus location it’s spot on. Right in the centre of the city it’s not far to walk to any of the main places to see. Plus the building is 350 years old and as the website’s spiel goes…</div>
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<em>The Leo Courtyard is much more than just a hostel with a great location. This famous Ming/Qing Dynasty courtyard has over 350 years of history and is a government protected structure. The courtyard is most famous for being a former socialising venue for Beijing's rich elite, and sometimes even the emperor himself. In the evenings, hostesses would serve traditional meals and drinks, with musicians & performers in the background.</em></div>
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…yeah, it was more than likely a brothel at one point! Well that still beats a lot of the places we’ve stayed at! Inside it was actually a pretty cool place with a huge amount of character, though plenty of that Beijing chill that we’ve been warned about. Not sure quite how well the central heating worked during the Ming and Qing dynasties!</div>
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After a bit of farting about playing musical rooms, “Sunny” the manageress realised that she had a first floor room available that looked over the courtyard. Okay, sounds great, and to be honest it was pretty much okay, unique in one way – two twin rooms separated by an internal door and sharing a private bathroom! Wow – it’s like we’ve got separate rooms for the first time in five months! But after celebrating our new found sense of space, we looked a little harder amongst the cracks and saw that the cracks were actually quite large. Still, what do you expect from a building with “character”? Unfortunately the heater in Tim’s room did not work full stop and mine was like a cryptic conundrum trying to get it going with a remote control containing Chinese-only characters. And what’s wrong with this picture?<br />
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Yeah, I know, several things! But this wasn’t the worst. In some of the hotels we’ve stayed at we’ve dealt with some pretty dodgy plumbing, but this is the first place where the sign insists that we do NOT put any paper of any kind down the toilet. Oh dear. What would you do in a position like this? And if you’re currently having your lunch, I sincerely apologise! Let’s not dwell on the issue, as we didn’t, instead we headed out to sample a bit of chilly-but-pretty Beijing. And it is a bit of a looker, as classic Chinese cities go. Unlike Shanghai’s high rise landscape, Beijing is more of a low urban sprawl, given that it’s grown up over thousands of years. There is culture everywhere you look, spanning various dynasties and various architectural styles, virtually all of of which I regrettably know very little about.<br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">We’re always a bit
cream-crackered after an overnight train ride, so we didn’t want to do much in
the afternoon, but the infamous Tiananmen Square was in walking distance, so we
strolled over - via about four subways and two security checks. And we only got approached by the one student asking us after about a minute if we wanted to go with her to drink some coffee. No, no, luv, you have to build up to it slowly! Take your time, feel out all the bases, then make your move. What an amateur! Needless to say, we sent her packing.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Tiananmen Square
is the biggest outdoor square in the world, and it is also the place where the
massacre happened in 1989. A long time ago now, but it’s one of the big
political events I remember from my childhood. Couldn’t really grasp the
gravity of it back then, but felt a strange sense of how real it was as I
strolled around. But I didn’t dwell on it, and neither do the Chinese government
– type ‘Tiananmen Square Massacre’ into Wikipedia over here and The Great
Firewall Of China will block access to the page. But leaving all of that aside,
it’s certainly a striking place, especially given the low sun hovering
overhead, its rays blocked by a thick layer of smog that gave the place a
semi-misty aura. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh30_VF4RyEVQhUJXmIeu5ecVrJoYnY3nLejiJyRkFuFDV1j4Wc9WcwsQZMPKjCX6P1LUevRYWUiLLpvJXNQrS4i_2CYzSe2XIJIwLx-x0X7Jk0iBa42DYjlfCSPhPisgE0-Ux62wrN9rY/s1600/P1050925.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh30_VF4RyEVQhUJXmIeu5ecVrJoYnY3nLejiJyRkFuFDV1j4Wc9WcwsQZMPKjCX6P1LUevRYWUiLLpvJXNQrS4i_2CYzSe2XIJIwLx-x0X7Jk0iBa42DYjlfCSPhPisgE0-Ux62wrN9rY/s400/P1050925.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
"来在您红色"</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Kinetic77http://www.blogger.com/profile/17700207633660422355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916073523745261748.post-54511869380459869032012-11-20T21:41:00.000-08:002012-11-20T21:41:04.616-08:00Roadblock<span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;"><b><u>ATTENTION!</u></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Due to blogspot.com suddenly deciding to thwart my efforts to upload any pictures, James and Tim's World Tour has temporarily moved here:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://jamesandtimsworldtour.tumblr.com/">http://jamesandtimsworldtour.tumblr.com/</a></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Please click the above link to follow the round the world action.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Luv `n` stuff,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">James </span><br />
<br />
<br />Kinetic77http://www.blogger.com/profile/17700207633660422355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916073523745261748.post-55033863384429677952012-11-19T17:15:00.000-08:002014-01-04T03:04:32.390-08:00Busted<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.5pt;">Sunday,
18/11/2012 – 157 A.D.</span></i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Both of us took
ages to get off to sleep. I could hear Tim huffing and puffing, he could hear
me tossing and turning. The reality was that our minds were wide awake, running
through what was done to us the previous day, and what we’d do the coming day.
I told my brain to stop thinking, shut up and go to sleep, as there wasn’t anything I
could formulate now that I couldn’t better formulate come the morning, but
brains don’t work like that, do they? Sometimes I’m not sure how mine works at
all! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Getting scammed by
The Tea Trio had really been an eye-opener. Suddenly I found myself seeing
scams everywhere. The woman who handed Tim the baby to hold – if I hadn’t been
there with my camera, would she have passed baby across with one hand and used
the other to grab his wallet while he’s busy avoiding the gurgling and drool? Crazy,
I know, but also equally plausible. I found myself thinking of people we’d met
in other countries and wondering whether they’d been on the hustle…the whole
world’s a hustle, after all! The websites said that people in China are
naturally standoffish to foreigners, so if anyone comes up to you and starts
talking then you should run a mile. But take Vietnam, for example, back in the
park in Saigon we met students who genuinely wanted to practice their English
by talking to us and nothing more. Don’t beat yourself up about it, Jimbo, just
sleep for now and sort it tomorrow…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">We woke up to
bright sunshine streaming through the window – good. When you’re screaming for
vengeance, you don’t want to do it in the rain. After coffees and apples and
heads-under-the-shower, we sat down and worked out how we were going to play
it. Turned out we had quite a bit of ammunition up our sleeves, but more about that
later. And what about any real ammunition, such as AK-47s, smoke grenades or elastic
bands? Nope, we only had our made-in-England-muscles and intelligence on
offer. Oh dear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBFavA7GbwRDOhOfhv1jq5D3TiouoemdrqzbrjKW1NYmeNhkDr1uSDFxeXhlPmmNQA4jRlTQGpveAERratjEvdCApyo4L-F-Vf2ba8h1oIGJ-YQaIgYT0oBKj0atCVUN3nNmYmSyoMn1M/s1600/P1050778.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBFavA7GbwRDOhOfhv1jq5D3TiouoemdrqzbrjKW1NYmeNhkDr1uSDFxeXhlPmmNQA4jRlTQGpveAERratjEvdCApyo4L-F-Vf2ba8h1oIGJ-YQaIgYT0oBKj0atCVUN3nNmYmSyoMn1M/s400/P1050778.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
[Lieutenant Tim checks the kitbag before battle...</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
"James, did you pack the Swiss Army knife?"</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
"No, but the plastic fork from the pot noodle is in there."]</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Before we
could return to the scene of the crime to confront our cheeky little scamsters,
we had the inconvenience of nipping over to Shanghai Central Station and buying
our tickets for the Shanghai-Beijing train in a couple of days. Even though it
made the anticipation for our main task of the morning so much tougher, this
really couldn’t wait as we really had to be on that train. Fortunately we managed it
with no problems – two hard sleepers, top bunks again. Who cares about
headroom? And with those bought, we jumped back onto the metro and headed for
the spot where it all began: Peoples’ Square.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVigGMfx_xkXBD8wqT3JlkDsl4lcm8BqXKyHWyYYaZS1Hd5NE0s4tpmP_tQEP2iw4wTilPTRaqBah57VWA9I-G445CFizmdvrWnR1xfG00YhRqQb1H14RvKUt6Kxhfx8_LGlUHEmLwypY/s1600/P1050779.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVigGMfx_xkXBD8wqT3JlkDsl4lcm8BqXKyHWyYYaZS1Hd5NE0s4tpmP_tQEP2iw4wTilPTRaqBah57VWA9I-G445CFizmdvrWnR1xfG00YhRqQb1H14RvKUt6Kxhfx8_LGlUHEmLwypY/s400/P1050779.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">[Would you want to
mess with these two well `ard dudes?]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Upon arriving at
People’s Square, we were immediately alert and scanning the area for familiar
faces. Plan A was to return to where we were “picked-up”, have a reunion with
Herman’s Hermits, tell them exactly what we knew about them, tell them exactly
what we thought about them, and ask for our money back. No, <i>demand</i> our money back. In truth we just
wanted to confront them in the cold light of day and show we were onto them…what’s
that quote from the film <i>The Italian Job</i>?
“Be careful of these English, they are not so stupid as they look.” But what
would happen then was anyone’s guess. It would be a crowded public place so the
chances of a ruckus happening were slim. Our other hope was that we would
find the three of them hitting on a fresh batch of tourists and we could stroll
in and tell them what’s what, thus saving them from getting scammed. That would
ease the blow somewhat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">And so we attempted
to stroll on the fringes of the Square, but no sooner had we walked a few yards
than this happened:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">[Group of four students lining up for a photo.]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">CHIRPY MALE STUDENT:
Excuse me, can you take our photo?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">JAMES: [striding
past, head down, angry tone] No, I can’t!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">CHRIPY MALE
STUDENT: Why not?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">JAMES: You know
why!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">CHIRPY MALE
STUDENT: [sounding a bit less chirpy] I don’t…hey, I don’t!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">But I just kept
walking, possibly turning around to laugh sarcastically his way, I don’t
remember. Not one minute had we been back in People’s Square and we were a
target for a new group of tea house scammers – unbelievable! Good job we didn’t
still have our tassels dangling from our bags! Or maybe we should have, that
way they would have left us alone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">After about ten
minutes circling the periphery, we moved a little deeper into the square.
Across the way I spotted a young Caucasian guy being spoken to by a
couple of local girls, dressed in the same sort of clothes and posing in the exact same way as Herman’s
hermits did yesterday. I nudged Tim and suggested that there looked like a victim-in-the-making
and we both agreed to intervene. Up we walked, bold as brass, and Tim calmly
said, “If they ask you to go for tea, mate, don’t bother.” I casually added, “They’ll
take all your money. They did it to us yesterday.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Silence all round.
Bloke looks a little embarrassed, yet in complete understanding. We start to
walk away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Then one of the
girls goes A-B-S-O-L-U-T-E-L-Y ballistic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">I’m not joking
here! She strode up to us, first to Tim, then to me and shouted at the top of
her voice, “Why you say that? WHY???” as if we’d committed the ultimate verbal
faux-pa. We gave a few responses, but she wasn’t really listening. Instead she
followed us as we walked off across the square, still shouting at the top of
her voice so that everyone in the area could hear, and they invariably turned
to watch. It was mildly intimidating, but only because we didn’t know what she
was capable of. At the end of the day, she’s someone who operates on the fringes
of the law, despite the fact that in that little cute, student get-up she
normally looks like butter wouldn’t melt, but not now. She was so fiery the
butter had long ago been burnt into oblivioin!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">A selection of
some of the things she said:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">“This is my happy
day, why you have to say that?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">“I tell you get out of China now!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">“You will have
accident today!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">“My goddess curse
you!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">“You are stupid,
so stupid!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">“I remember your
ugly face!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">But we were right,
weren’t we? To react in such a way only shows she’s a nasty little scam artist
who hates it that she’s been exposed and lost some of her (ill-gotten)
livelihood. Her making a big song and dance was maybe a way of making a
statement for us not to come back and try the same trick with other punters,
but the fact that we stopped one of these scams going through was satisfying enough.
Her little mate arrived (meekly saying nothing – probably another trainee) as Crazy
Girl followed us to the edge of the park and repeatedly asked my nationality so
she could call my embassy to have me deported. I said I was Norwegian. There
was also talk of the police and when she threatened to call them, we dared her
to because we’d have plenty to say to them about her. Of course, she didn't end up calling them. I’m afraid there are no pictures
of this confrontation, but Timbo managed to sneakily video the whole affair on
his phone, and I could have kissed my younger sibling for that (but I didn’t).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Crazy Girl
eventually went back to the square as we took five across the road. Busting
that scam-in-the-making had been satisfying, but it wasn’t enough. We were both still £30 down and we hadn’t found Herman and his Hermits. Nor were we
likely to, especially with Crazy Girl hanging around and acting unhinged. There
was only one thing for it – time for Plan B – go back to the tea room. But first we
had to find it…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Let’s retrace our
steps from yesterday. The trio met us on the edge of Peoples’ Square, then took
us on a walk through the park past the matchmaking adverts, then down several
side streets until we reached a small shopping mall called The Champ-Elysees. I discovered online that victims are often taken on long, convoluted routes to the tea rooms
so that they are not able to remember where they are located. Thing is, I only had to do a bit more searching online to find out exactly where the
Champs-Elysees was. And yes, it was just across the road from the square, all
of that walking through the matchmaking area was a totally unnecessary detour.
Ooooh, these little scammers, in one way I admire them, in another I want to
throw them off the top of the city’s tallest tower! So, we knew how to get back
to the Lion’s Den, but what to do when we got there? Our goal was simply to get
our money back, that would suffice. It would be nice to chuck in a few insults and
blow the odd raspberry, but that was secondary to our primary purpose. But how
to make these people give us our money back? After all, they showed us the prices
for the teas that we drank, albeit fleetingly. </span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Here were our options:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">* We walk in, keep
it friendly, say they did very well to scam us, but we know that it IS a scam,
and we ask for our money back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">* We walk in
looking like we’ve just stubbed our toes and got severe toothache, beat our
fists upon the desk and generally use strongarm tactics. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Or a combination
of the two. Then, depending how that goes…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">* We threaten to
tell the police.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">* We threaten to
put their pictures all over the internet and promise to splash their names
across a thousand websites.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">* We threaten to
sit outside the mall, wait for scammers arriving, tell the victims the score,
thus depriving the tea room of future profits. And we’ll do it for as long as
it takes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">…in fact, our only
real plan was to use an ad-libbed combination of the above. If big blokes
suddenly came out of side doors then we’d re-think things on the spot. But if
it came to a stalemate we wouldn’t budge. And we wouldn’t shrink away from
this, no matter how tricky a proposition it seemed. All I had to do was think
back to when I was a kid and my dad offered me 50 pence if I swam a width of
the school swimming pool without armbands. I bottled it then, but there was no
way I would be bottling this. Yep, this wasn’t for 50 pence, it was for £30,
and it didn’t involve armbands…just balls.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Ahem.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGsj68qE7TquGBUkEwGazI0n-wQALWsmRz2ZzWAd_hIb8L0fWtAO2pDgLqNV69KmmCov06kNeh02veBe44jelHP5kpCXK372Xhm_R5ZZFC_4k7m3bmJpJo5Ql0UbgE8ntsU0yi_K43R0g/s1600/P1050781.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGsj68qE7TquGBUkEwGazI0n-wQALWsmRz2ZzWAd_hIb8L0fWtAO2pDgLqNV69KmmCov06kNeh02veBe44jelHP5kpCXK372Xhm_R5ZZFC_4k7m3bmJpJo5Ql0UbgE8ntsU0yi_K43R0g/s400/P1050781.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
[Back to the scene of the crime...]</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">With balls
carefully checked, we arrived at the Champs-Elysees Mall, adrenaline pumping,
teeth gritted and noses in the kind of position they're in when you snarl. There were
few people in the mall as we strode inside, went up the stairs to first floor
and strode confidently along the landing. The tea shop hadn’t moved since
yesterday, and the receptionist was sitting there silently, just as she had the
day before. As we approached the desk Tim did his sarcastic clapping, but I was
uncertain whether to speak or to try and play a role I’ve never managed before
in my life – the strong, silent type. Whoever greeted me was going to have to
deal with the fact that it had just gone
12 and I hadn’t had my lunch! But I had to laugh and say hello when I saw the
door to the side room ajar and sitting inside was Herman, at first inspecting
his camera, then looking up at the sound of fresh guests. The bewildered expression on his face
to see us back again was absolutely priceless!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">He was in there
with a couple of other hermits, Mai Qi and Emmy not being around, which was a
shame, but hey-ho. I got the impression that they’d freshly scammed someone
this morning and had returned to the tea room to re-distribute their cash. As
Herman got up and came out to meet us, the cheeky git actually had the audacity
to ask, “Have you come to have some more tea?” “No! We had enough tea yesterday
and we’ve come to get a refund!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Any semblance of a
plan that the Brothers Gray may have had went out of the window at this point,
but it didn’t matter. We caught Herman in a perfect crossfire, sticking firmly
to our guns that we’d come for a refund and we weren’t leaving until we got
one. At one point Tea Lady appeared in the shop, then did a sharp u-turn and
went to stand out on the landing for the whole discussion. I think both Tim and
I were checking behind us for any heavies, but there weren’t any, only Herman
and given how small he was compared to both me and Tim, somewhere deep down in a
strange place I felt a little sorry for him. But then I remembered that this
guy had conned goodness knows how many people out of a lot of money, and I
snarled once more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Herman tried his
best to make out that our transaction had been innocent all along, but when I
pointed out that he and his Hermits had claimed not to know the people in the
tea shop, yet they were back here again today sitting around, he knew he was
busted. He asked what we wanted and we said they could have a fiver for their
excellent performance, but we wanted the rest of the £60. He offered us £30 at
which point Tim carefully dropped in the word “police” and after doing a double
take he went back into the side room to collect some notes from the Hermits.
The fact he didn’t have chance to reach for a secret box and give us
counterfeit ones (a big problem in China) made things all the more sweeter. And
so he counted out six 100 yuan notes into Tim’s hand and we turned around and
walked away with the promise that he’d never see us again (but without
mentioning anything about putting his picture on my blog – serves him right
anyway! And he won’t be able to access it anyway from within China). Plus we got to keep the pot of tea that he bought for us - great success!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">We kept our heads
high and kept walking confidently as we went down the stairs and exited the
mall, checking that we weren’t about to get jumped by anyone. We didn’t, though
if I ran that tea shop I’d have at least one big lad sitting around
reading comics all day, just in case, but I guess Herman never thought we’d
come back. But he doesn’t know Grayboys, does he?</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">GRAYBOYS RULE!!! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYKUF-osF5dGjNKp_5mjdQmSlJX7bPHAIDULh2kMaaNZKDGEoM0goTN1tu33K3GUQ4HoxBsSdDsMkVtLmhKxF5baQfxj797VH7l-F90mIZXsZ4i1dm10_t7m1bwQvUBj6RousXllH0Lq0/s1600/P1050782.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYKUF-osF5dGjNKp_5mjdQmSlJX7bPHAIDULh2kMaaNZKDGEoM0goTN1tu33K3GUQ4HoxBsSdDsMkVtLmhKxF5baQfxj797VH7l-F90mIZXsZ4i1dm10_t7m1bwQvUBj6RousXllH0Lq0/s400/P1050782.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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[Loadsamoney!]</div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Once again I am
afraid there are no pictures of this momentous raid, but once again Our Kid
managed to capture the whole thing on mobile phone video and he recorded some
sweet, sweet footage! In fact, the whole thing couldn’t have gone sweeter. We’d
been scammed, fair enough, we hold our hands up, but we'd fought back, infiltrated
their operation, got the majority of our money back and salvaged our pride. Just shows that He Who Dares really does Win! Will
these people think twice about messing with the English again? Probably not,
but at least they’d remember two of them in particular. In fact, the raid
coupled with the bust in the square made us feel a bit like undercover cops!
Who could we help next? We decided not to push our luck with any heavy stuff,
but we vowed that if we saw any tourists with the infamous tassels hanging from
their bags then we’d go up to them, sympathise with them, but tell them that it
is possible to get your money back. Just stand tall and don’t shave for a
couple of days. Oh, and don’t forget to snarl with the nose. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">After all that excitement,
I wasn’t quite ready for lunch, despite it being well past 12. Instead we
headed down Nanjing Road to The Bund. With it being a clearer day Tim wanted to
get some better shots of the buildings across the river, so I tagged along and
got a shot of him looking at buildings across the river.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4szeIjpwo8DefH0Tmo3ykJQ5vyGA6qGJI2pPHqyvOdfasddDpnUcF-Wgc3AU3NCkJIhEDDjDprzcnWIzhAtY3GIkD-9xkLX5O2bSVSml0PEYKJiYs_zxCfTmxfPtTYr6rZwk5Mtsnhmg/s1600/P1050790.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4szeIjpwo8DefH0Tmo3ykJQ5vyGA6qGJI2pPHqyvOdfasddDpnUcF-Wgc3AU3NCkJIhEDDjDprzcnWIzhAtY3GIkD-9xkLX5O2bSVSml0PEYKJiYs_zxCfTmxfPtTYr6rZwk5Mtsnhmg/s400/P1050790.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Unfortunately,
while looking out at the river, we came across a scenario which may well plague
the rest of our stay in China. I was just minding my own business when a Chinese
girl approached me with camera and asked if I would take a picture of her with
her two friends. Hmmm…haven’t we done this one before? I duly complied and
handed the camera back, only to be asked where I was from. Yawn! We chatted,
but I kept things so laid back my words were practically horizontal. Surprise,
surprise, they weren’t from Shanghai, they were from Beijing, here on holiday.
The one doing most of the talking was keeping it pretty chilled as well, not
like Herman and Mai Qi who’d had verbal diarrhoea the whole time we’d been with
them. On this occasion I cut to the chase and asked if they were students, to
which they said they weren’t. After a few more exchanges, they politely made
their excuses and walked away, but not before one of them had described me as
being “very facial”. Really? Two hours ago another Chinese girl was going to “remember
[my] ugly face”!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">So what was the score
here? We couldn’t work it out. Now after some thought we do believe that they
were scammers, but at the time we wondered whether we’d been a little harsh on
some genuinely friendly people - tourists in a strange city, just like us. Last
thing I want to be is rude to people, especially if they’re being genuinely
friendly to me, but I don’t think Tim and I will be able to trust any Chinese
folk ever again, especially if they approach us. Well, that hard-hearted attitude
may soften in a few days, we’ll see. But as ever, we’ve got a plan – anyone approaches
us, we tell them how we had a mad day
falling victim to a tea shop scam, but we managed to get our money back. They
split at the news, they’re gits; they stick around, they just may be alright.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">After lunching at
the traditional Chines eatery known as </span><i style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Subway</i><span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">,
we headed for the Shanghai Museum. Hey it’s got four floors of “stuff” to see
and it’s free! But before we got there we finally saw our first vehicle
collision in Asia. Some 4x4 didn’t brake in time at the lights and went into
the back of a taxi. There was a loud crunch, but no real damage done, possibly
a slightly dented bumper. Given the amount of traffic chaos we’ve seen, this
should have happened long ago!</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-9efV36vq9gpD5PifdU_CkwW5NinzB4GlI1V0MatnL4Lh3aYCmpoDmIeNkzByWtYu6p3bMx9Pp65HybYAyOeOjZDZpJWhlWSNRCqggug-XnxYal4hzieJj8vkj__InWYXgz9xz33rdyA/s1600/P1050793.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-9efV36vq9gpD5PifdU_CkwW5NinzB4GlI1V0MatnL4Lh3aYCmpoDmIeNkzByWtYu6p3bMx9Pp65HybYAyOeOjZDZpJWhlWSNRCqggug-XnxYal4hzieJj8vkj__InWYXgz9xz33rdyA/s400/P1050793.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjkXx-3lOptkP7uLMbGRJ9NMM3uJREhwSl5NGxOvPJC6jW_pe_z41douSdyXsVMWCqEWCL2XQxZGGTya_ca6vUkvmhf5TxgY79pSnc4hciswIN4nTMPa6GjO_0m_ElYZkaUBpJsrrsmgI/s1600/P1050800.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjkXx-3lOptkP7uLMbGRJ9NMM3uJREhwSl5NGxOvPJC6jW_pe_z41douSdyXsVMWCqEWCL2XQxZGGTya_ca6vUkvmhf5TxgY79pSnc4hciswIN4nTMPa6GjO_0m_ElYZkaUBpJsrrsmgI/s400/P1050800.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">The Shanghai
Museum is very popular, but most of its exhibits weren’t really to my taste. Focusing
on all things ancient and Chinese, there were rooms dealing with traditional
dress, traditional pottery, traditional art, traditional calligraphy…and
precious things owned the by Tsars and Tsarinas of Russia, which seemed a bit
random. Still the Easter eggs were cracking, especially the one that contained
a tiny golden replica of the Trans-Siberian Express which even ran when wound
up with the special key. And I looked into all of the windows of all of the
carriages, but I couldn’t make out the tiny golden replica of Karl Pilkington.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_HnVd12jI13Ge2etJi5m9R8jdZqCd0scxG6OQUszKTtWYFfgkVtb250Z5BEdoRCjhK597LlPvK58YrOYjuOcAd8gvhEKRVb971vm0oFNychPBgAzrPYdny3eb-izFytS7bXK8uffAUFg/s1600/P1050796.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_HnVd12jI13Ge2etJi5m9R8jdZqCd0scxG6OQUszKTtWYFfgkVtb250Z5BEdoRCjhK597LlPvK58YrOYjuOcAd8gvhEKRVb971vm0oFNychPBgAzrPYdny3eb-izFytS7bXK8uffAUFg/s400/P1050796.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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[You weren't actually supposed to take pictures of most of the exhibits, including the one above, but no one seemed bothered by this rule, including most of the staff!]</div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">The Chinese
economy may be booming now, but they were never going to achieve such monetary
dominance when their coins looked like this:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWTPwkl9C4FbWO96HwjilKiyZg3Cqo3m25qXqrMrJQmEtmWbZ6R_oC-hdQIiGMtlLIQlzDm-GyjZqDyzDs7r_sX6AYfFtC4dgxmcEtaIdPKlHlzxpGlj3YYPAIxctbzprcPVAL3wsYpkY/s1600/P1050804.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWTPwkl9C4FbWO96HwjilKiyZg3Cqo3m25qXqrMrJQmEtmWbZ6R_oC-hdQIiGMtlLIQlzDm-GyjZqDyzDs7r_sX6AYfFtC4dgxmcEtaIdPKlHlzxpGlj3YYPAIxctbzprcPVAL3wsYpkY/s400/P1050804.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">And I did like the
scary Tibetan masks that were on display…maybe next time we need to go bust up
some scammers we should wear something similar?</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLkePWoUPjAJV8Ex1GZ1z3MJMi7ZP_UBELzIGdAr1J8zDLGYmPmjedLT3oIdS9locdexT2JrLsi4xTiWeBa267S20E5sI2GNcGDSHvpAhjteE_4_ciWm6Pz-IeN9kmXM5UKbVEYmG4tTs/s1600/P1050806.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLkePWoUPjAJV8Ex1GZ1z3MJMi7ZP_UBELzIGdAr1J8zDLGYmPmjedLT3oIdS9locdexT2JrLsi4xTiWeBa267S20E5sI2GNcGDSHvpAhjteE_4_ciWm6Pz-IeN9kmXM5UKbVEYmG4tTs/s400/P1050806.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8H8CXamgAHWCS7VYN5t8PH-lxF4pzfMeyDgboOft9atfm-JgF6EDONY5vbMdVALI5SMP567hnJAiVKDE-68801gXqip8l7LmokSyl9S6VeGgs_4SbuOwmWxEyEoFN5QVTIzCC0xlTBg4/s1600/P1050807.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8H8CXamgAHWCS7VYN5t8PH-lxF4pzfMeyDgboOft9atfm-JgF6EDONY5vbMdVALI5SMP567hnJAiVKDE-68801gXqip8l7LmokSyl9S6VeGgs_4SbuOwmWxEyEoFN5QVTIzCC0xlTBg4/s400/P1050807.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">After trailing
round the museum we trailed back to the hotel, heroes in our own minds,
probably nothing of the sort in anyone else’s. That evening we decided to celebrate
getting our 600 yuan back and went to a slightly nicer restaurant in the French
Concession than we normally would. I had vermicelli seafood noodles, Tim had
kung pao chicken, but with a three chilli rating instead of two because none of
the staff spoke any English and he wasn’t sure what the waitress was trying to
point out to him on the menu. But despite a slightly runny nose, he managed it.
And mine had a kick as well, it being a Sichuan place after all, but I
survived. Oh and one thing we should point out for anyone hoping to go to China
– they have no concept of bringing everyone’s meals out of the kitchen at once.
When they’re done, they come, no matter if your dining companion’s takes
another 20 minutes, as has happened to both of us on separate occasions. Ah,
the Chinese and their funny ways!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Ah, the Grayboys
and their triumphant ways! What a day it was…</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPqnrsU_bipoVqeYfKmGHQ8ObwAjEzdZojue_oQ8rt1K9Dxt7i2674DN660GjaaaetHYphweB3yVygBavqCTlVfGVCyvt8oiQESl3yI0zLhDrx3MUP_C17JhUfnhsb93u0t7th0H21VJk/s1600/P1050777.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPqnrsU_bipoVqeYfKmGHQ8ObwAjEzdZojue_oQ8rt1K9Dxt7i2674DN660GjaaaetHYphweB3yVygBavqCTlVfGVCyvt8oiQESl3yI0zLhDrx3MUP_C17JhUfnhsb93u0t7th0H21VJk/s320/P1050777.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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[...it's now a trophy to represent a great victory.]</div>
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Kinetic77http://www.blogger.com/profile/17700207633660422355noreply@blogger.com0