tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18521201607574215132024-03-13T06:51:19.821+07:00PhlitteringsFylipoBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14142327128860329747noreply@blogger.comBlogger28125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852120160757421513.post-23035408209739229692013-05-26T20:26:00.003+07:002013-05-26T20:26:53.507+07:00Hackney to Turkey<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gojFK3VSSmo/UaHwDEq0g7I/AAAAAAAADLk/WF9mIDGGG5Y/s1600/DSC_0078.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gojFK3VSSmo/UaHwDEq0g7I/AAAAAAAADLk/WF9mIDGGG5Y/s400/DSC_0078.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Living in the Turkish outpost of Hackney
for several years I’ve long been intrigued to visit the homeland.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Whilst visiting Turkey the familiarity of
Hackney is comforting, sheesh and a bottle of Efes for tea, shopping at the
green grocer’s or being meticulously groomed at the barber.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Arriving on Saturday evening into Istanbul
and meeting up with friends from London it could be a night out in Dalston.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Istanbul is a glorious world city, large in
my imagination, with fantastic perspective from its hills and light bouncing
from the various seas allowing panoramic views.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The sparkling Straits of Bosphorous magically connect the Marmaris and
Black Seas, a narrow conduit for chugging liners and connecting two continents
of possibility.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here, empires emerge and
religions interchange. Grand Byzantine churches can morph into Ottoman
mosques.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Travellers and refugees pause
with anticipation and sychronise at this entrance to new continents.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ba9KZTrSv4Y/UaHxKjSIUPI/AAAAAAAADLw/OQRRRfaOQs8/s1600/DSC_0089.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ba9KZTrSv4Y/UaHxKjSIUPI/AAAAAAAADLw/OQRRRfaOQs8/s200/DSC_0089.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hackney????</td></tr>
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From this springboard I dive into Asia
Minor, flying up above Anatolia before swerving down briefly into Ankara. Viewing the modernist capital from the sky is
enough. Onwards East to plunge into the ancient city of Sanliurfa, edging onto
the plains of Mespotamia, birthplace of civilisations and biblical myths, where
the trickle of the Euphrates springs before branching on into Syria. This conservative Middle Eastern city is the birthplace
of Prophet Ibrahim, attracting pious pilgrims and shoppers to the a historic
bazaar…a contrast to the stylish cocktail bars we frequented in Istanbul. Highlight of this city is visiting the
hammam, this Turkish bath is a real local male hang out. I get a double soap massage from an excited
19 year old apprentice and his uncle. </div>
</span></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXyhqneaPbx7On8r_jNLrU2o8767LWOSjtCfE3s47XuKhraSFEUj0L8K8QiOsjWerwYVL103T7CqWJbN8XI3zMNGqZ-o58PgC_fnu0CXdH3HAZ5endYrgewlzPV3muu2aOhs2soB-A2UQ/s1600/DSC_0347.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXyhqneaPbx7On8r_jNLrU2o8767LWOSjtCfE3s47XuKhraSFEUj0L8K8QiOsjWerwYVL103T7CqWJbN8XI3zMNGqZ-o58PgC_fnu0CXdH3HAZ5endYrgewlzPV3muu2aOhs2soB-A2UQ/s200/DSC_0347.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We travel into rural Kurdistan where I’ve
wanted to visit for ten years and the Kurdish men I meet are just the same as
the Kurds I taught English to in a Yorkshire ice cream factory in 2002. Wearing pointy shoes and clad in leather and
denim, these proud men are childlike and gentle with an underlying volatility
and invisible wives. Murat, eager to please serves us diligently repeating his
three English phrases, no problem, good evening and nice. Better than my two
Kurdish phrases which I recall after ten years.</span><br />
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Kurds welcome the prospect of peace as
PKK militants retreat into Iraqi Kurdistan and hope for recognition within new
laws. Denied their language and identity
for generations, the cost of a united Turkey where a single national identity
has been prioritized. However, the
hangover of European colonial shame confronts me again, given the redrawing of
country boundaries in this region which in 1923 deleted Kurdistan. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7vcio9jrcUJIaXgiYM5uSWn3Yqp9c9mGqavQ61wMKr8FAAeMSpHD4H4Fd6FUIEgGQPpHoxfiokk7Wul62yVzLMuFddfdtF05xsbLlwEx3Uyw7okzOHLQyX5d-PtG5sovGYLM_gsRO_kw/s1600/DSC_0356.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7vcio9jrcUJIaXgiYM5uSWn3Yqp9c9mGqavQ61wMKr8FAAeMSpHD4H4Fd6FUIEgGQPpHoxfiokk7Wul62yVzLMuFddfdtF05xsbLlwEx3Uyw7okzOHLQyX5d-PtG5sovGYLM_gsRO_kw/s200/DSC_0356.jpg" width="150" /></a></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">From Kathe we pass a whole afternoon
traveling 30 kilometres up into the hills, back to Asian style sense of time
where people think you’re barmy for asking how long journeys might take. The
mini-bus is late and when it arrives we need to go and pick up Grandma and
bowls of vegetables then pause for 45 minutes outside the hospital whilst a
passenger runs in and has an appointment then goes to collect her prescription.
Patience. The journey is rewarding when we reach the peak of Nemrut Dagi. Sitting at over 2000 metres groups of stone
heads of the Gods are perched, one set looking East to the rising sun and the
other West to the setting sun. Zeus,
Hercules and Fortuna have nestled here in the snow on the mountain for over
2000 years.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After a night in a lovely mountain Kurdish
village, we succumb to the care of The Godfather overcoming our caution of
insistent hoteliers, scarred by the trickery in India. The Godfather drives us off the mountain and
deposits his commodity at the bus station, not before parading us proudly
around Kathe. Our friends head East, a
young handsome Venetian couple hitching the Silk Road to China. A beautiful
image of youth silhouetted behind us.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-L7v4YdvkYcg/UaILY95kczI/AAAAAAAADOc/0rove7I_UjE/s1600/DSC_0505.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="87" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-L7v4YdvkYcg/UaILY95kczI/AAAAAAAADOc/0rove7I_UjE/s400/DSC_0505.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbHnURGr58MNzO5qjWkI6rXxHd1wPn2pf40KNl08sbNSxXT0V8G6DO6X-mFHTLWcL2IAL3BdKlOMX-gVQav7_XYvdj8A54sC91BOfLRHSSpUzh0Pn1Roxq6awlmeY4o_K_oZLnMUrBz7g/s1600/DSC_0429.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbHnURGr58MNzO5qjWkI6rXxHd1wPn2pf40KNl08sbNSxXT0V8G6DO6X-mFHTLWcL2IAL3BdKlOMX-gVQav7_XYvdj8A54sC91BOfLRHSSpUzh0Pn1Roxq6awlmeY4o_K_oZLnMUrBz7g/s320/DSC_0429.jpg" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Twisting North West, we trundle steadily up
into the Central Anatolian steppe. Vast
emerald spaces span out across an ethereal plateau, flanked in the distance by
snow capped peaks. As we approach the majestic peak of Erciyes, the setting sun
is distorted by a confusion of fluffy clouds.
The bus skirts the metropolis of Kayseri. Tiger city growing rich on burgeoning
technology. Standard Anatolian clone
city, characterized by a token of modernity, the sprawling pastel paneled
apartment blocks. A bland modern urban expansion
unfurls with walls emblazoned with quotes of Ataturk.</span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Happy is he who says ‘I am a Turk’.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD9HOLY2lyAA2nyTgYca0WLcwa7oJ3MO7UR0XjqY0U1TIuUERWw6Ujnf9BvIKZWoS7MA3YHlbWcbwy4QMoAX2DjU9q4J4pVUB-3edEkEwOAoTLM43anxivHcpEt4LetyTpiZK7IojwL1Y/s1600/DSC_0412.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD9HOLY2lyAA2nyTgYca0WLcwa7oJ3MO7UR0XjqY0U1TIuUERWw6Ujnf9BvIKZWoS7MA3YHlbWcbwy4QMoAX2DjU9q4J4pVUB-3edEkEwOAoTLM43anxivHcpEt4LetyTpiZK7IojwL1Y/s320/DSC_0412.jpg" width="240" /></a><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Like El Comandante in Cuba and the King in
Thailand the people here revere Ataturk, the Father of the modern nation state
of Turkey. It remains illegal to speak
against him. The secularity of the state
continues, protected in recent years by military regimes. Now, a new Islamic government frustrates
young thirsty liberals with high alcohol taxation and the threat of an Iranian
style government. A period of limbo and
expectation as neighbouring states move out of an Arab Spring…Turkey maintains
its proud nationalism and rife homophobia. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We are greeted by an obscure futuristic
hangar like coach station where smartly dressed Muslims move into a new
dimension before hopping onto fabled Cappadocia. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It must have been idyllic in Cappadocia before
the troglodytes were invaded by bus loads of German tourists and neon lighting
was put up. Depressing tourism and unsustainable development. Sustainable are the underground cities built
millennia ago to provide refuge to civilization after civilization of
persecuted peoples. We venture 50 metres
underground to visit a city which housed 50,000 people before marveling at the
unlikely natural phallic rock formations.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTSf1x-1qAyQr1_jzk2f9zUh7PE6XphpEQ7yI4-bkKqekuN5NIlH6luLbWmO-GLnfaPd-IgAF7PBh7fH_vQOdcQKgmi7WZ7ebq3DFh-49fKZU4vW__xPndhTnGydmYllK0CqmcQ0C-2o4/s1600/DSC_0578.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTSf1x-1qAyQr1_jzk2f9zUh7PE6XphpEQ7yI4-bkKqekuN5NIlH6luLbWmO-GLnfaPd-IgAF7PBh7fH_vQOdcQKgmi7WZ7ebq3DFh-49fKZU4vW__xPndhTnGydmYllK0CqmcQ0C-2o4/s320/DSC_0578.jpg" width="320" /></a><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Condemned to the night bus. The standard bus host who juggles hot water
to serve dangerous cups of chai doesn’t make it much more bearable. Morning and we reach the coast and land of
the Lycians. A Sophisticated people who piloted the modern federal democracy
for the United States years later to adopt. Their capital of Patara an ancient
city is gradually being revealed after centuries encapsulated safely in the
sand dunes. Emergent amphitheatres, pillars and baths glisten in the midst of a
vivid green paradise of swamps and frogs, smudged with brown goats. On the
second pilgrimage of the trip I visit the birthplace of Santa Claus. </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOOgtFEIvMU3RehbBIs-_4WzCMUSrM7sOKm-QdJ0uy6_29YR7SNJ93DmZki657-VfggyjoLFwTQmDjQQbP413OE6UnG3kK5T7ClJeISoyvARXMKiGLpBJoDZh7d0krZaVm-8Ub_JzCAgc/s1600/DSC_0642.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOOgtFEIvMU3RehbBIs-_4WzCMUSrM7sOKm-QdJ0uy6_29YR7SNJ93DmZki657-VfggyjoLFwTQmDjQQbP413OE6UnG3kK5T7ClJeISoyvARXMKiGLpBJoDZh7d0krZaVm-8Ub_JzCAgc/s320/DSC_0642.jpg" width="320" /></a><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Lycian’s left their sophisticated
influence with the stylish town of Kas. Decadent days lazing in the sun in
chilled bars on the cliffs, interspersed with diving into turquoise waters. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I fully appreciate the Turkish care for
their guests with the passport drama. Packing hungover we forget our money belt,
stashed under a cupboard! Horror on the
dolmus, we ask the bus driver to let us return.
No problem. The local bus driver
phones a friend, his friend visits the hotel, the hotel locates belongings and
sends said </span></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUX3P02WU-9OVia6Eh9SNHvsKUE0diyGLbM6pO4jRb1qeuN7kIDGiX5NryUskLlqPUu4xCvPFWxJfY1PMexsm1PW5n_XXyTrIfmjT2oK-Y8brgFEDLIFRjPn9GFROQIqesSDDdLRs4pLQ/s1600/DSC_0659.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUX3P02WU-9OVia6Eh9SNHvsKUE0diyGLbM6pO4jRb1qeuN7kIDGiX5NryUskLlqPUu4xCvPFWxJfY1PMexsm1PW5n_XXyTrIfmjT2oK-Y8brgFEDLIFRjPn9GFROQIqesSDDdLRs4pLQ/s320/DSC_0659.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">belongings to the bus stop and onto the next bus. We sweat anxiously in the midday heat at our
destination bus depot until the parcel with our valuables magically arrives…<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G3koN6FDby8/UaILd6aI04I/AAAAAAAADOk/bl0d7PcmwmI/s1600/DSC_0632.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="87" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G3koN6FDby8/UaILd6aI04I/AAAAAAAADOk/bl0d7PcmwmI/s400/DSC_0632.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Butterfly Valley, which is incredibly awash
with phlittering butterflies, a hidden paradise for hippies, run by a mafia, we
pay our most expensive accommodation in the country which is a hut but with a
wonderful roof where we can sleep under the stars. Escaping the mafia we
somehow find ourselves staying over at Oludeniz. Oludeniz is a scary Blackpool style resort
full of rosy tipsy English folk. Horrified departure to Antalya where we
attempt to visit a local gay bar, but fail because the only gay bar is hidden
away from the sight of the people. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />
<!--EndFragment-->FylipoBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14142327128860329747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852120160757421513.post-77816741438354110932012-04-08T13:16:00.000+07:002012-04-08T13:16:49.840+07:00Ups & Downs on The Road<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXXQtDqvuqH-QEgHuKaH755-dIm5tvnZt4UhJK3z9Ew8-hnbyownbXHWH5gulo_myC-oP9xrp4StQVw-jaBeeQmYWlutTuiS2bBjYabcpWMICdUQhe1898MQSLuL8O1px3ognbQd-hHjc/s1600/SAM_5194.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXXQtDqvuqH-QEgHuKaH755-dIm5tvnZt4UhJK3z9Ew8-hnbyownbXHWH5gulo_myC-oP9xrp4StQVw-jaBeeQmYWlutTuiS2bBjYabcpWMICdUQhe1898MQSLuL8O1px3ognbQd-hHjc/s320/SAM_5194.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<b>UPS</b><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Freedom, changing my environment when I get bored</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Change, change and stimulation of the senses</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Time to read, write and reflect</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
People smiling at you as if you’re a celebrity</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Learning about the world</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Meeting people</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="_x0000_s1027" type="#_x0000_t68"
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Jumping in waterfalls</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sunsets</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Cheap shaves, massages and fruit shakes</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Activities – hiking, cycling, kayaking</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hiring scooters and stopping in random villages</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4YTW093qs1Pj0nWnmFPEWNZSpJsSoYcvxkKAASOTlAPCs0cCzF1xUQAI7B9w6H4k5ZMgOlcj0q6FSU0RIdtQWjxbqMBq-sLFaAdX-wEtfDBFFfUNBiFsO9qb1gTpcIziw7jAEpeoq7TU/s1600/SAM_4754.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4YTW093qs1Pj0nWnmFPEWNZSpJsSoYcvxkKAASOTlAPCs0cCzF1xUQAI7B9w6H4k5ZMgOlcj0q6FSU0RIdtQWjxbqMBq-sLFaAdX-wEtfDBFFfUNBiFsO9qb1gTpcIziw7jAEpeoq7TU/s320/SAM_4754.JPG" width="320" /></a>Travelling in random, local transport surrounded by </div>
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chickens, watermelons and babies</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Living in a relaxed culture with less rules and complaining (adapting to a slower pace)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The warmth </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Being waited on, not cooking, good food </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>DOWNS<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not having a kitchen</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Packing</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not working</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mosquitoes, cockroaches, bed bugs and rats (in order of
frequency of occurrence) </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDuuPHOgruzavX3mD8izXWp3tdxmBnMe4m7iW12NqLYbTe4vNtxbSBPkfe4k5BeKyaeF7hxrXL-bP_5zauwweEkajFti-2x2SKWesEARYkBaLGgpuKBoA7i0DxNwvaWJ9ZYbFW4LXUQQ4/s1600/SAM_5188.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDuuPHOgruzavX3mD8izXWp3tdxmBnMe4m7iW12NqLYbTe4vNtxbSBPkfe4k5BeKyaeF7hxrXL-bP_5zauwweEkajFti-2x2SKWesEARYkBaLGgpuKBoA7i0DxNwvaWJ9ZYbFW4LXUQQ4/s320/SAM_5188.JPG" width="320" /></a>Never ending, tedious bus journeys</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Getting ripped off & general scams (send the patience
levels boiling back up to London levels)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Losing things</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bribing corrupt immigration officials</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Altercations with tuk tuk drivers</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Time difference when something bad happens at home</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Decision overload</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Irritating travellers</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Repetitive conversations with travellers</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Filthy squat toilets</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Harassment by rabid, stray dogs</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Visa charges</div>
<br /></div>FylipoBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14142327128860329747noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852120160757421513.post-82317839455921969492012-03-28T22:19:00.000+07:002012-03-28T22:19:58.916+07:00Khmer Pajama Party<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiizfm2hH4XF-wnAFEyc6cvZRsM7nc-vhSzUsPZTHHeicY9836Z0WMgO2s69XQpzxfApoFf6OCn4aKz9L7izNOc8q0cyHru5Hvz_IwYGzdWxpgoRi4FxbzJB769WomyP3ZXlAdzdWepguw/s1600/SAM_5259.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiizfm2hH4XF-wnAFEyc6cvZRsM7nc-vhSzUsPZTHHeicY9836Z0WMgO2s69XQpzxfApoFf6OCn4aKz9L7izNOc8q0cyHru5Hvz_IwYGzdWxpgoRi4FxbzJB769WomyP3ZXlAdzdWepguw/s400/SAM_5259.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb9Am0y8eOO9CJPkQraQVkKL_pNueTSM2Ajx8UKT9ayONTW_gVEel2XO3Ayu9X4FUGNXNpr82SPN00ooRz5RrY8XN7TSQnvUoPgRIHNI5sg7_v0Axk8UU0SnUTOOZDG9pnBezFzxyco2E/s1600/SAM_5024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb9Am0y8eOO9CJPkQraQVkKL_pNueTSM2Ajx8UKT9ayONTW_gVEel2XO3Ayu9X4FUGNXNpr82SPN00ooRz5RrY8XN7TSQnvUoPgRIHNI5sg7_v0Axk8UU0SnUTOOZDG9pnBezFzxyco2E/s320/SAM_5024.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxOFzHuKbM07gHeiK7LEln0I9Cbf-etaw6ppj9w5pktsf3s7MXnZ7fsu3XMgl_ydFxoHbHu0JqmZuoGPfOPh6Wmvp20aIGew-yxbG9jNdvUKqQEeUfxLKhAtipUm5jLN4fwg_o9sumzKQ/s1600/SAM_5053.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxOFzHuKbM07gHeiK7LEln0I9Cbf-etaw6ppj9w5pktsf3s7MXnZ7fsu3XMgl_ydFxoHbHu0JqmZuoGPfOPh6Wmvp20aIGew-yxbG9jNdvUKqQEeUfxLKhAtipUm5jLN4fwg_o9sumzKQ/s320/SAM_5053.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">And we arrive in the final country of our trip. The final border crossing and it’s rather wild west style. Hello Cambodia, hello corruption. The immigration official claims he cannot issue my business visa…I stand, I wait, I grit my teeth, I insist… until his:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">"I help you, you help me” and then an extra $20 (in addition to the bribes to leave Lao and the $1 for my temperature to be checked) and I’m in…just in time for the pajama party.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The trendy (and practical) fashion outfit for Khmer (main Cambodian people) ladies is a garishly patterned full pajama set, worn complete with white socks, high heels, safari style hats cum face masks and a handbag. The word pajamas was incorporated into the English language from Persian, and the clothes adopted by the British when they came to South Asia as night attire. So, it's actually not so strange wearing pajamas as day wear.</span></div><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDP4b5gKhN_DsIZ30WKEzQxOzES9kCGaw0BWwlCbE3exX2qIzWy-GjZpxhbj5Vdm1vzFxlS5RBKmSFzhrJ2jyY8uSdlA5aOT3-7cv1R2kjJ8-8XwqeYSKNzruczLNUVz4PtiJTtCoGrBY/s1600/SAM_5085.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDP4b5gKhN_DsIZ30WKEzQxOzES9kCGaw0BWwlCbE3exX2qIzWy-GjZpxhbj5Vdm1vzFxlS5RBKmSFzhrJ2jyY8uSdlA5aOT3-7cv1R2kjJ8-8XwqeYSKNzruczLNUVz4PtiJTtCoGrBY/s200/SAM_5085.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">We phlitter straight across Cambodia to Siem Reap to visit Angkor Wat, the ancient temple complex and ruined city built in the 12th Century. There are millions of tourists, lots of Koreans and Japanese. Also lots of Khmer brides who have come for a photo shoot. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">We take a tuk tuk temple tour in the sweltering heat around the massive site of this ancient civilization comparable in its advancement with those of the Incas and the Romans. The main temple fails to impress our high levels of temple expectation after 6 months visiting them. Then we discover the marvellous "Tomb Raider" temple (filmed there), the temple has been has encroached upon by the surrounding jungle, the trees and animals reclaiming their land. Then to a mystical temple with Buddha faces peering out of the crumbling buildings.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhglEU7eK9tpsUx1QWatyJJIRXLjVVYlT_pNiK3kRPTmddsQAlpXM221TxwHse0XAdOMAHr93pZJ2Gwn8d1QYtQnMmEn5n-rjugJx14mt8D7zihmY7UPcG7ugOFwiNf3zbr-e3WmfrKkrU/s1600/SAM_5089.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhglEU7eK9tpsUx1QWatyJJIRXLjVVYlT_pNiK3kRPTmddsQAlpXM221TxwHse0XAdOMAHr93pZJ2Gwn8d1QYtQnMmEn5n-rjugJx14mt8D7zihmY7UPcG7ugOFwiNf3zbr-e3WmfrKkrU/s200/SAM_5089.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr3YD9AZjliI97cDYxGJa7-J0z2BY2aRITJ_G35KV5R7CUeTLJR0z42GCsN09BCbkOLBE80HKlu3AGr5MamcZgPz5nwQIpr_mBAPySOwAqXe2GEH7Mv6XzCti65OJqfioer7FW-llo1NQ/s1600/SAM_5132.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr3YD9AZjliI97cDYxGJa7-J0z2BY2aRITJ_G35KV5R7CUeTLJR0z42GCsN09BCbkOLBE80HKlu3AGr5MamcZgPz5nwQIpr_mBAPySOwAqXe2GEH7Mv6XzCti65OJqfioer7FW-llo1NQ/s320/SAM_5132.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="240" /></a><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaScxFTrc3h2Gn-SvimxajSE_1NyAkMbtmevtr2xkYAIQQOzt4CKealbv-YIekGsC0ArxOW5qgvfklYGvhV_I2ZBYUF9lW_8kbBNi5QvMo-uaTHSrub1fDkB2ZgXnVU1gyqKKx2Bld5B4/s1600/SAM_5196.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaScxFTrc3h2Gn-SvimxajSE_1NyAkMbtmevtr2xkYAIQQOzt4CKealbv-YIekGsC0ArxOW5qgvfklYGvhV_I2ZBYUF9lW_8kbBNi5QvMo-uaTHSrub1fDkB2ZgXnVU1gyqKKx2Bld5B4/s200/SAM_5196.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0rkcYzvgs5tfXnks_jePsg2OkkrAP5eOJnik1TJpB7HpzzDom86Jjtjfvv_IAmn4fdvT6G0UK0xjcbVj5G1xJXuziB1YNPS70TIBI3ZMP0SL4S4gbaa-fWcHNOTXExl_BdPv-5Wtb3GE/s1600/SAM_5192.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0rkcYzvgs5tfXnks_jePsg2OkkrAP5eOJnik1TJpB7HpzzDom86Jjtjfvv_IAmn4fdvT6G0UK0xjcbVj5G1xJXuziB1YNPS70TIBI3ZMP0SL4S4gbaa-fWcHNOTXExl_BdPv-5Wtb3GE/s200/SAM_5192.JPG" width="150" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Suffering from the heat we leave Siem Reap and are bundled into a van heading to the coast. We squeeze in next to crates holding a few hundred eggs. It's not a regular bus, the enterprising administrator of this van, dressed in her pajamas, stops every few kilometres to pick up and drop off loads...eggs, watermelons, doors, babies, foreigners...always clutching a wad of bank notes...quite insightful. By the time we reach the coast it's dark and the pajama lady doesn't know what to do with us so we are left by the roundabout in the quiet coastal town of Kep where we investigate by tuk tuk.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0rkcYzvgs5tfXnks_jePsg2OkkrAP5eOJnik1TJpB7HpzzDom86Jjtjfvv_IAmn4fdvT6G0UK0xjcbVj5G1xJXuziB1YNPS70TIBI3ZMP0SL4S4gbaa-fWcHNOTXExl_BdPv-5Wtb3GE/s1600/SAM_5192.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"></span></a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Kep is a lovely seaside town, quiet but kind of strange. Built by the French then home to rich Khmers, the Khmer Rouge destroyed the town and murdered its inhabitants, it remained deserted for many years. There are still many burnt out shells of villas, a grim reminder of the recent horrific history of this country. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The sadness of the history is that the corruption, poverty and lack of rights continues...but more of this to come with future blogs...</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_OhEWUvOBDH1QgIHO-s68yN98wAE6wdvMZnCVNR5-MQ1NRbjmJQLWUygKj3y69wvIcZLpFoqYTrwsQ7If9A7wMkAS7WD2fxu0ARd7l8vPZlL66kAh06nopRR64PJPY8in5fYq9iM9eEk/s1600/SAM_5255.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_OhEWUvOBDH1QgIHO-s68yN98wAE6wdvMZnCVNR5-MQ1NRbjmJQLWUygKj3y69wvIcZLpFoqYTrwsQ7If9A7wMkAS7WD2fxu0ARd7l8vPZlL66kAh06nopRR64PJPY8in5fYq9iM9eEk/s200/SAM_5255.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">And a welcome to the crazy Cambodian money system. I've visited a few countries with bizarre systems now, notably Cuba and Myanmar. But this is a first where the ATMs give out American dollars and when you pay with dollars you get small change in Riel, the "official" currency.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb4yFtZXKeTPmg4uImY5XMdXeBuEwc6kkyiaey2WDH5Vxf8K4xDe_qXRvxCCyvwsP2kp7_Hs-KL77p4MCsGEMTmgxDq2U3s-jrm7ClzzMlm0uO-d-0Awy0AZZBHH70PvKoFE3D405Czwg/s1600/SAM_5217.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb4yFtZXKeTPmg4uImY5XMdXeBuEwc6kkyiaey2WDH5Vxf8K4xDe_qXRvxCCyvwsP2kp7_Hs-KL77p4MCsGEMTmgxDq2U3s-jrm7ClzzMlm0uO-d-0Awy0AZZBHH70PvKoFE3D405Czwg/s200/SAM_5217.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Kep is famous for its wonderful crab market and we spend our last few days of travel before starting work eating crab on Rabbit Island and reflecting on our wonderful trip.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAzl9SV_TBRt1arhiXU4HcItrMDa5UxSHsUpFKdRKONlotKu6tIvUJJff0V2Mfq0QRmjU9EuGn9lBnrawvYisW64lwFs6B5uwTHS8ODcDcvDNrDXgpmazXuhL44N3wWKsFPn08quIPOKM/s1600/SAM_5239.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAzl9SV_TBRt1arhiXU4HcItrMDa5UxSHsUpFKdRKONlotKu6tIvUJJff0V2Mfq0QRmjU9EuGn9lBnrawvYisW64lwFs6B5uwTHS8ODcDcvDNrDXgpmazXuhL44N3wWKsFPn08quIPOKM/s320/SAM_5239.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrZ1m-1btWr-BX2LpLKOZ4-1U1jyiuU6s5tF8Q4gaGws16ZGJmfnVxqX0j6eMLLg3ncn39SXH9Q6yUFw1KxA70riNrxq-aJ5eUmXMaYZe-lTOzCM0xptTOKPuZO1wgE32EfuvSn_Si0vY/s1600/SAM_5279.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrZ1m-1btWr-BX2LpLKOZ4-1U1jyiuU6s5tF8Q4gaGws16ZGJmfnVxqX0j6eMLLg3ncn39SXH9Q6yUFw1KxA70riNrxq-aJ5eUmXMaYZe-lTOzCM0xptTOKPuZO1wgE32EfuvSn_Si0vY/s320/SAM_5279.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
</div>FylipoBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14142327128860329747noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852120160757421513.post-46998724813224489822012-03-23T08:47:00.001+07:002012-03-23T12:55:37.054+07:00Chillaotian Along the Mekong<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0u6PajFYCLj4kNuuIDWn5GJ88464oBsS_0FpOpBH1R0zSJVUDkykNrmIYqktcgn9gYMWH_9d4KokVUjhZxD7G9IUFTiYyVOFFIHjHnoU3MBZb3XP7W20QD_BHyYKOAaYWqOOhQG-kMGY/s1600/SAM_4821.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0u6PajFYCLj4kNuuIDWn5GJ88464oBsS_0FpOpBH1R0zSJVUDkykNrmIYqktcgn9gYMWH_9d4KokVUjhZxD7G9IUFTiYyVOFFIHjHnoU3MBZb3XP7W20QD_BHyYKOAaYWqOOhQG-kMGY/s640/SAM_4821.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq-1iYIvdCy6Xe9-1t4grsHuEjnl8tytsYX9tVSyLKMtmm9SFc22FTesn317qvGpp7Qx_uA7pLTqniXkwmhjXqhXrHrL-OhsQWUY0mipnSxAeXL2ZWXw9lhtuztX5p8DVxyp-rzVfBcKE/s1600/SAM_4667.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq-1iYIvdCy6Xe9-1t4grsHuEjnl8tytsYX9tVSyLKMtmm9SFc22FTesn317qvGpp7Qx_uA7pLTqniXkwmhjXqhXrHrL-OhsQWUY0mipnSxAeXL2ZWXw9lhtuztX5p8DVxyp-rzVfBcKE/s320/SAM_4667.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG6bbZJSEQ1OhDLOf3FP6TVhh1NhPEz1ghieCgm0auaNwoLFUgmaezWqQsvQCQWM23CIcWojnBvbF1htjglvhEIx90K9GbE47AzQDyo2iobHJdxaLmThuDM0KEKVOsXhpwqd4ZQiz9he0/s1600/SAM_4670+(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG6bbZJSEQ1OhDLOf3FP6TVhh1NhPEz1ghieCgm0auaNwoLFUgmaezWqQsvQCQWM23CIcWojnBvbF1htjglvhEIx90K9GbE47AzQDyo2iobHJdxaLmThuDM0KEKVOsXhpwqd4ZQiz9he0/s320/SAM_4670+(2).jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><i>Hello Lao!</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Having clambered all the way up to Thailand’s North Eastern corner, into the fabled Golden Triangle, (the wedge of land between Lao, Thailand and Myanmar, famous for opium production) we enjoy a pleasant border crossing by long tail boat over the Mekong River. This, our first encounter, with the important waterway is a little disappointing (as with the Irrawaddy in Myanmar), despite having already flowed through China all the way from the Tibetan Plateau, her watery resources are depleted to a few feet of drizzle by the onset of the hot, dry season. A thick grey mist hangs in the air. These dreary clouds of smoke have followed us across Northern Thailand and the haze will continue to choke our views of the most dramatic scenery of Lao, the by product of the annual slash and burn farming methods. At night streaks of fire and burning embers drip across the hills, like volcanoes with dangerous orange rivers of lava. </span> </div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><i>Hello Laotian Monks!</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-align: left;">The Touring Circus of Backpackers from Thailand follows a defined route down the Mekong. We escape the enforced tour group stickering and phlitter further North, shadowing the Lao China border to the village of Muang Sing. 10 km away China’s presence looms, a long shadow which can be felt the whole spindly length of Lao and into the Mekong Delta.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI7J5JOU4v83K-7-2UoPaQs36PPCDDhHI1lVLYFEGkRrV01I3xjUQjHbD_OtX3pClecaiiAS8VZ4T3J0D5uV8BepQyP_qazF4SL47cvJhOXjYd44SQZL9F2KlsckqkE79dh-Wr44sVEQ0/s1600/SAM_4700.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI7J5JOU4v83K-7-2UoPaQs36PPCDDhHI1lVLYFEGkRrV01I3xjUQjHbD_OtX3pClecaiiAS8VZ4T3J0D5uV8BepQyP_qazF4SL47cvJhOXjYd44SQZL9F2KlsckqkE79dh-Wr44sVEQ0/s320/SAM_4700.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><i>Spirit Gate</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">In this area of the <b>Golden Triange</b>, hill tribes drift between the four countries, people from the Hmong and Akha tribes, armed guerrillas also roam the hills, in the battle for controlling opium. The tourist agency mafia have also migrated over the border from Thailand. We submit to a last guided trip, a cycling tour, which promises to take in “ETHNIC” & “REMOTE” villages. On arrival at these villages we are surrounded by women and children selling their wares, beautiful textiles, insisting we buy things so they can eat, we feel guilty, men squat and gaze at the <i>falangs </i>(foreigners), we gaze back. It’s like an uncomfortable visit to a zoo. Visiting a village school to distribute some books and pens the experience is also uncomfortable. Usually we give such supplies to the teacher but our guide explains that the teacher will probably then sell them to the children so suggests I give them direct to the kids which I don’t like to do as it encourages them to beg from tourists. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSczlUY0rU62oZr4dR0__l02qq7yUdljOa56aKkBx1u0hkNtr4wdJ4MuafiRChU35peLQ0K7GAGCN5WBLMZmBek4YtpiufqetYcGaxz-0gcpA9YXJBRNSQNRRqXeFQoLvH2Lqdd6aDvLc/s1600/SAM_4704.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSczlUY0rU62oZr4dR0__l02qq7yUdljOa56aKkBx1u0hkNtr4wdJ4MuafiRChU35peLQ0K7GAGCN5WBLMZmBek4YtpiufqetYcGaxz-0gcpA9YXJBRNSQNRRqXeFQoLvH2Lqdd6aDvLc/s200/SAM_4704.JPG" width="150" /></a><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I’ve entered the school and aroused attention so I do start to give the books to the kids but I’m two short which ends up with tears for those without, luckily we have some other treats (crayons) so everyone gets something, phew! </span></span></div><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU_fkywOMKOAE9pHq-Y4digJ3tG2bWriqIRxdMIJWCylvwdUwfGqYEHQngBd7oSgSz-TURT9bKAJw8u6YgSdboesHoqGT_BOO2NC4nH9yrvSPI1sIXJIDWeWF6fZQ_McZijHDCi0TMyV8/s1600/SAM_4716.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU_fkywOMKOAE9pHq-Y4digJ3tG2bWriqIRxdMIJWCylvwdUwfGqYEHQngBd7oSgSz-TURT9bKAJw8u6YgSdboesHoqGT_BOO2NC4nH9yrvSPI1sIXJIDWeWF6fZQ_McZijHDCi0TMyV8/s200/SAM_4716.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">We stop for a delicious feast of freshly harvested sugar cane and pass through spirit doors which bring us good luck from the spirits and protect the villages. Animistic beliefs are common through the Mekong area and we have seen this already in Myanmar and Thailand, the beliefs spread from tribal groups from Tibet to </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Vietnam, often mixing with Buddhism. Everything is controlled by </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">spirits or demons; spirits inhabit rivers, forests, mountains, rocks – these objects are treated with great respect and we often see offerings given to the spirits. Village shamans are able to commune with spirits, they are called upon to heal people’s spirits and to chase away bad spirits. </span> </div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: black;">Caves where villagers lived</span></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-align: left;">Bouncing over to the north easterly corner we spend a few days exploring the region close to Vietnam. We take a boat trip to the isolated village of Muang Ngoi, reachable only by boat up the Nam Ou River. Here I really start to feel and live the Laotian peaceful vibe. This peace was disturbed by blanket bombing during the horrific period of the Vietnamese War when the Americans bombed Lao every 9 minutes for 7 years between 1967 and 1974, chasing communists in their paranoid frenzy murdering thousands of civilians – </span><a href="http://www.irrawaddy.org/article.php?art_id=2365&page=3" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-align: left;" target="_blank"><b>Lao is the most bombed country in the world</b>.</a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-align: left;"> In this period around 266 million cluster bombs were dropped, of which 80 million are still unexploded, continuing to claim many victims! We see some caves where locals lived for nine years and actually set up shops and banks. </span><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj19xmKkH_SHPsp-19UpEcWQprRmE7wWWvvsty1eeIL1Ej6MQjpyjoffXnK3QpabBxdvnNMgESclaTg2q0MdizmY3tRAkHQl7zl95vX4eUNL6CXzx6BtFAP54Wb-Nc5e2oe0hCHcOjYlbk/s1600/SAM_4891.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj19xmKkH_SHPsp-19UpEcWQprRmE7wWWvvsty1eeIL1Ej6MQjpyjoffXnK3QpabBxdvnNMgESclaTg2q0MdizmY3tRAkHQl7zl95vX4eUNL6CXzx6BtFAP54Wb-Nc5e2oe0hCHcOjYlbk/s320/SAM_4891.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDRfAd-DuEmMH7SECFsRozQ8ePIoPMPUjVrdev1fBxEFFBKmWs8c6G64o4GVdT3BnNiVWPwSSprYvGhOu_Gp4iPPgk78UjJ-3i42SHIMOY_dgesVC8g5CRZe95h4mEEvdLka8F7if9xbc/s1600/SAM_4851.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDRfAd-DuEmMH7SECFsRozQ8ePIoPMPUjVrdev1fBxEFFBKmWs8c6G64o4GVdT3BnNiVWPwSSprYvGhOu_Gp4iPPgk78UjJ-3i42SHIMOY_dgesVC8g5CRZe95h4mEEvdLka8F7if9xbc/s200/SAM_4851.JPG" width="200" /></a>Turning South we endure another long bumpy bus journey down to the city of Luang Prabang where we rejoin the Mekong. One of the main cities of this sparsely populated country, actually a tranquil village like town. There are many Chinese run industries evident around this area sucking Lao dry of its natural resources. A new world imperialism is taking over Luang Prabang as the beautiful French colonial houses crumble. The old colonialists leave in their wake baguettes and coffee shops which serve delicious Laotian coffee, an Oriental secret, black as the night, served balanced on a layer of thick sweet condensed milk.</span></div><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxhQvzchpd1AhFX1TAUlMrCnIvKyuwaanj-7P9sri7iiBuCv8gB3be9JDO_dHdV4xsbnVAToV_XntFKuSCST3g91OT6nnUYIbyUtzLkGUy5-yuqgDYZce7fApAy_tBds2nqcNHPP7wGCI/s1600/SAM_4896.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxhQvzchpd1AhFX1TAUlMrCnIvKyuwaanj-7P9sri7iiBuCv8gB3be9JDO_dHdV4xsbnVAToV_XntFKuSCST3g91OT6nnUYIbyUtzLkGUy5-yuqgDYZce7fApAy_tBds2nqcNHPP7wGCI/s320/SAM_4896.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The people are so relaxed in Lao that most shops and restaurants are unmanned and it takes perseverance to hunt out service. The people are gentle when it comes to negotiating. At the market a woman inflates the price of her oranges to a ridiculously high price which I don’t accept, she soon apologises and reduces the price by 80%. Even when I visit the hospital to check an ear infection, the place is so sleepy that it takes a very long time to find the doctors then I need to wait for the doctor to return from having his tea at home. The people are soft and friendly but shy. A college student I meet on the bus invites me to meet his friends which is lovely but they are painfully shy. I have some nice moments with the people, it is difficult to interact much but they are keen to share a Beerlao or a glass of Lao Lao, local rice wine, and encourage me to play with the kids. I really notice that the Laotians, particularly the men, are great with the children (who are gorgeous). </span></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWYd05mgN7kGcuTJp0xH6KAxCRerX5-qcN4PJarYsbXOK0JuE8QcAJmtQPCF8LyRWoWDwFwIY-uwiaYK-YHfhWsEbxzKDkGqDxIsmnvnmaWyubX9z3PznsHmg1qHouH83zzEl4Dt1PBTs/s1600/SAM_4901.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWYd05mgN7kGcuTJp0xH6KAxCRerX5-qcN4PJarYsbXOK0JuE8QcAJmtQPCF8LyRWoWDwFwIY-uwiaYK-YHfhWsEbxzKDkGqDxIsmnvnmaWyubX9z3PznsHmg1qHouH83zzEl4Dt1PBTs/s200/SAM_4901.JPG" width="150" /></a><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">After a few more temples, monasteries and waterfalls, same, same, we cross the rugged mountains to Vang Vieng and rejoin the Circus for the tubing phenomenon. I take out 1 million KIP (£80) from the bank and apprehensively partake in the activity I’ve heard tales of for the last few weeks. From 11 am every day travellers flock to the riverside bars and drink “buckets”, $1 a pop, a third of a bottle of petroleum strength whisky, drink “happy” shakes, dance on podiums, swing off rickety rope swings into the shallow river and float on tubes until another barman fishes them in. Many kids stay for weeks and if they’re very lucky can get a job as a tout giving free shots and annoying people. </span></div><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">In the town zombies stumble around, daubed in pink paint and graffiti black indelible felt tip marker pens…slurring….battered and bruised from inevitable accidents which occur with unmeasured quantities of alcohol, drugs, youth and water. Some are dazed, some raucous, some bruised and others supported by crutches… People have been blinded by dodgy alcohol and every year people die here – including 2 Australian boys in January. Along the shores there are plain clothes policemen in bushes with binoculars avidly spying for a falang smoking a joint so they can swoop in and supplement their income with a whopping $500 fine.</span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJUo-RnJMsy9gRzbHkR6tM70wy7MXjmyDoB8CNy2cztfTo2EmHWaLRuZ1s8-xIm9g5ZwhjOV4Y1psRh571MQTHSEkV8kkBLSoMHOpIdGerUAsjwCwNjuwV2LBUXMIW0hvrBNVZ3zo6NZ8/s1600/P1013101.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJUo-RnJMsy9gRzbHkR6tM70wy7MXjmyDoB8CNy2cztfTo2EmHWaLRuZ1s8-xIm9g5ZwhjOV4Y1psRh571MQTHSEkV8kkBLSoMHOpIdGerUAsjwCwNjuwV2LBUXMIW0hvrBNVZ3zo6NZ8/s320/P1013101.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I join this bizarre sub-culture for a few hours and am left with mixed feelings. I try one aerial run way slide and then feeling lucky to be alive tube the full 2 hours down the river through gorges of limestone escarpments, away from the blaring music and crowds who only make it a few metres. The tubing is fun and the scenery is stunning. It obviously brings lots of visitors to the town but it is out of control and I feel slightly ashamed to join the sorry sight of the evening aftermath of tubers trudging through the town and can’t even bear to look at the locals.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU9kCvKroqk6ggvqvKjex54al4luRIff-qYgw5nSSEjiKyWeGPGK3GYyXJHNy-co7F_sraA4Tkn2lxXIhRsn8mgtwwiWXH9Q6FzdW4UYpoDEjqDhHutjX-WRmarlBI7U_qR4V3PnI8GCM/s1600/SAM_4953.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU9kCvKroqk6ggvqvKjex54al4luRIff-qYgw5nSSEjiKyWeGPGK3GYyXJHNy-co7F_sraA4Tkn2lxXIhRsn8mgtwwiWXH9Q6FzdW4UYpoDEjqDhHutjX-WRmarlBI7U_qR4V3PnI8GCM/s400/SAM_4953.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTEAL-Fyw8zLO4X-rJ4zhXsmJNvSFLXmkAY-gDSvY3tjykTEpwCprJBb3vcJPOS4e4q3asbH3NLQ2WzpUF5vpdU6kjy0FFP0KMrqmc3ZwArbqwvJzx_dLwK2-6To3ej9gv7mTZBFfjr1E/s1600/SAM_4957.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTEAL-Fyw8zLO4X-rJ4zhXsmJNvSFLXmkAY-gDSvY3tjykTEpwCprJBb3vcJPOS4e4q3asbH3NLQ2WzpUF5vpdU6kjy0FFP0KMrqmc3ZwArbqwvJzx_dLwK2-6To3ej9gv7mTZBFfjr1E/s200/SAM_4957.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><i>A working elephant</i></span></td></tr>
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">After recovering from the tubing drama we take our “VIP Sleeper “ bus down South to spend a few days at </span><b style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Si Phan Don,</b><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> the 4000 Islands on the Mekong, many islets appear in the dry season.</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Now I can finally label the Mekong mighty as it opens up into a series of beautiful rivulets and waterfalls around the islands where we have some serious chillaotian time. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnA06Msq77nufD7p5aUyYUqAE6-RvS_ghYoWN-mq6Qv4KJp-YPLTXn7Qe6xJP_TVC37-ZgMNywaR4OZTFBtNSni7LtOgNGH5SznM__m1DYpW5PGgkv-RSBkcjfc90e5_MDl98iWkgG4g/s1600/P1013123.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnA06Msq77nufD7p5aUyYUqAE6-RvS_ghYoWN-mq6Qv4KJp-YPLTXn7Qe6xJP_TVC37-ZgMNywaR4OZTFBtNSni7LtOgNGH5SznM__m1DYpW5PGgkv-RSBkcjfc90e5_MDl98iWkgG4g/s400/P1013123.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div></div></div>FylipoBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14142327128860329747noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852120160757421513.post-38042358412586922202012-02-27T23:41:00.000+07:002012-02-27T23:41:00.289+07:00A Trip to the Circus<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG4fNPKq690MFBxQ7xxlRZNf1fbN67zEzpaaH5WzcEURV_eVehiXA0DtT4SER0OrXL3l9cRjsXD7CHMcn_qD8iJPm78vj3u_LaYSG378JhUBdVlulPaMdW9AEZ60rE_LFjhy4D4IEk1Ow/s1600/SAM_4463.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG4fNPKq690MFBxQ7xxlRZNf1fbN67zEzpaaH5WzcEURV_eVehiXA0DtT4SER0OrXL3l9cRjsXD7CHMcn_qD8iJPm78vj3u_LaYSG378JhUBdVlulPaMdW9AEZ60rE_LFjhy4D4IEk1Ow/s400/SAM_4463.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Kho Phi Phi Don - finding The Beach</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb3lINmoUNmyLWYiNot94_i5W91YzBPJG35DyaFckBBl9KM7C4LQZ2o-7Ghj6e_EqRGLC8wysTNUiqoeU2euYhw9niLQkiZJvVuh2tb6iSmTvTmRCN03Xb_XKrs7H3bF8TY86a2J67cL0/s1600/SAM_4633.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb3lINmoUNmyLWYiNot94_i5W91YzBPJG35DyaFckBBl9KM7C4LQZ2o-7Ghj6e_EqRGLC8wysTNUiqoeU2euYhw9niLQkiZJvVuh2tb6iSmTvTmRCN03Xb_XKrs7H3bF8TY86a2J67cL0/s400/SAM_4633.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Twisted Firestarter</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoHXAywnFZsuiQJ9LHN8PLftcl0deoa7qzKYlO9usXLZI7DtypBQiMK0piYLPkXP7wkZWH2qshswXogBzHVvTEd6PXj8xEr5xPozBmaQDm4Idid3Mp9uKYS7Hy98UM-519DR5ONeo0Xsk/s1600/SAM_4326.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoHXAywnFZsuiQJ9LHN8PLftcl0deoa7qzKYlO9usXLZI7DtypBQiMK0piYLPkXP7wkZWH2qshswXogBzHVvTEd6PXj8xEr5xPozBmaQDm4Idid3Mp9uKYS7Hy98UM-519DR5ONeo0Xsk/s320/SAM_4326.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Lots of Rules in the Hotels of Bangkok</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIiwBoaOd7l7Gr4OZW4GYEVXVtEU-90gAJ9T4sFdhv5qHIwUNry8xIPCBdhH988lphzkbz-hZA_gT94ddqg5qiDqqJOr0d6OefJj3B4x9rMDLYlx8Vt08iaheLOfkfzNvhDuny4o4iPdE/s1600/SAM_4325.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIiwBoaOd7l7Gr4OZW4GYEVXVtEU-90gAJ9T4sFdhv5qHIwUNry8xIPCBdhH988lphzkbz-hZA_gT94ddqg5qiDqqJOr0d6OefJj3B4x9rMDLYlx8Vt08iaheLOfkfzNvhDuny4o4iPdE/s320/SAM_4325.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">Phlittering into the amusement park of the Land of Thais.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Jump into a pink glittery car, lights flickering and flashing, and tuk tuk ride around bonkers Bangkok town. </span> </span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">With the go go boys and lady boys...Thai girls waiting for chunky rosy sun stained rugby boys and Korean business boys.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Sex and sleaze wafting in the breeze. </span> </span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">So ringmasters keep order with the stringent rules.</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> <i> </i> </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbKV40mGy_WvzVr8PUX-TgfFa8iplvqCx49kmPEJh_915F5lHNpjjcf9xzB3rmRVVTHghImda_jwhZsdXVh0fKG_Qjd6OV6RHgNSKLBTUU2HRhyphenhyphenPFMUf2CVPcgJMOPFsLvsZsN6fQd384/s1600/SAM_4332.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbKV40mGy_WvzVr8PUX-TgfFa8iplvqCx49kmPEJh_915F5lHNpjjcf9xzB3rmRVVTHghImda_jwhZsdXVh0fKG_Qjd6OV6RHgNSKLBTUU2HRhyphenhyphenPFMUf2CVPcgJMOPFsLvsZsN6fQd384/s400/SAM_4332.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">Join the the drunken monkeys, wrinkled tattooed hippies, freaky cattle whirring around the electric counterfeit playing ground.</span> <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK3CEakSVWC3nmlFe1NzWmkDygFycpfkaP8O5ZHxKxAYGmOzKbv3787neBiT2wICU8CK09QoHMyaOIcSqz82hi0oK4rYkOmWi690kXdtyyr-3GpFrqm8J9Dw6L-B9POFAFdb_2kngnzNE/s1600/SAM_4334.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK3CEakSVWC3nmlFe1NzWmkDygFycpfkaP8O5ZHxKxAYGmOzKbv3787neBiT2wICU8CK09QoHMyaOIcSqz82hi0oK4rYkOmWi690kXdtyyr-3GpFrqm8J9Dw6L-B9POFAFdb_2kngnzNE/s320/SAM_4334.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">Tailor me a suit, rent me a boy and buy my brother a Siamese bride.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"> <div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">Thrill seeking maniacs join leisure time enthusiasts to explore this South East Asian Pleasure dome. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">A great shock of culture smacked into my face with modern convenience, consumption, disgrace. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">Same continent, familiar, same, same but different.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">No stem of the barrage of basic decisions, no time to compute, and an overwhelming travel breakdown.</span></div></div><br />
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</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">And a miniature Thai Tigress can creep on my back, crinkle and crack, swinging my jaded body bang flat. </span></span> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMSgWPzXjfzhsHoCIZHEW7wCyo11JyWz4p5MnbVYDTw9RqfY4Sd4NVbHhrLqKY6hrN-_tM0T_iq1hH4RSxdqPFd2e44WqmqIMm_99vxH-gMMFMCSIFLfuQFbwY5E9qFVsBhPKiYs1c40o/s1600/SAM_4348.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMSgWPzXjfzhsHoCIZHEW7wCyo11JyWz4p5MnbVYDTw9RqfY4Sd4NVbHhrLqKY6hrN-_tM0T_iq1hH4RSxdqPFd2e44WqmqIMm_99vxH-gMMFMCSIFLfuQFbwY5E9qFVsBhPKiYs1c40o/s320/SAM_4348.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIRXRoDw8mhXbNU-ZKQO4CT3cs_E6eB8OF5RTLHvbagylu1LpdE7yTRThkO6FOiuNdNCkvbmjG99_pQNaQrMj7Nxc4jMOzP-AnjCuid-SwA1rpYXVuq3JBtFk0tpZ4kA5YiYiwHsIMtNM/s1600/SAM_4362.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIRXRoDw8mhXbNU-ZKQO4CT3cs_E6eB8OF5RTLHvbagylu1LpdE7yTRThkO6FOiuNdNCkvbmjG99_pQNaQrMj7Nxc4jMOzP-AnjCuid-SwA1rpYXVuq3JBtFk0tpZ4kA5YiYiwHsIMtNM/s320/SAM_4362.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">All aboard the foreigner factory line, juggling flows of whining boys and girls in skimpy stripy vests, straw hats, neon ray bands and flip flops.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">Southward bound hordes flying down the helter skelter towards the full lunacy party. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">Just another colour coded dopey clown heading to the frying pan, to be processed by maniacal tour reps screeching in the darkness with unbridled hysteria.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">The lauded “Land of Smiles” long gone, sub-contracted out to reliably friendly Burmese workers. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLFqbAco7EMVlQ9c2aWukz6pl0b1wCCTfrmsCTzMT1vZJqHCLgZgVZPxWNeRknS80J6YApkpg_dZKkphi-JVwYfbaTfRyrXQuD7rk2xjsc9zjZE29uoG9kzRh-7oM-hDVHMuIPgt3WVNk/s1600/SAM_4364.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLFqbAco7EMVlQ9c2aWukz6pl0b1wCCTfrmsCTzMT1vZJqHCLgZgVZPxWNeRknS80J6YApkpg_dZKkphi-JVwYfbaTfRyrXQuD7rk2xjsc9zjZE29uoG9kzRh-7oM-hDVHMuIPgt3WVNk/s400/SAM_4364.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA-mQiBd_NELhNZMliKuWx2xxTWPWB8hYZgSiUly9Axj8ztqLZYkcMEzwN-D5koOO38II8uf5r_uWcSgV9JwyriRlBotVPO4jwXBhSje0ziDYyoW9CXcrA8ZtpCVa3kDoAsau2S1WpNpo/s1600/SAM_4365.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA-mQiBd_NELhNZMliKuWx2xxTWPWB8hYZgSiUly9Axj8ztqLZYkcMEzwN-D5koOO38II8uf5r_uWcSgV9JwyriRlBotVPO4jwXBhSje0ziDYyoW9CXcrA8ZtpCVa3kDoAsau2S1WpNpo/s320/SAM_4365.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">Cruise the Andaman Adventure, through crystalline waters, in search of The Hollywood Beach.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">Would be paradise but for ten damn thousand folk flocking from Phuket.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">Busy, busy, dear and full. </span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">And the House of Horrors down the bulging ugly town in Kho Phi Phi, its pulsating concrete can only be escaped in a long tail boat to our private party. </span></div></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3q5YnYrcSjAAt-NL6xqLILYicpuJJOs_Bd90c-I8xEwvydWBiZt4wKMj4qFzWGSRpZaNNiG-3hKZvp78s8i9tOCJDaziSDuC6shclTFIvxPzDdzxJG6igqvpQDA5qKPA9hcNjuzGejWE/s1600/SAM_4384.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3q5YnYrcSjAAt-NL6xqLILYicpuJJOs_Bd90c-I8xEwvydWBiZt4wKMj4qFzWGSRpZaNNiG-3hKZvp78s8i9tOCJDaziSDuC6shclTFIvxPzDdzxJG6igqvpQDA5qKPA9hcNjuzGejWE/s400/SAM_4384.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8PDHLA3TVRDaIXqDqvM6JxsxI2rZMkKaJh7daeqXXFBXNGhbaIC7Y5s-CM6KiD5APa6BMRL6nFFTnCTpjNIOH4V44cwRaFUQU1Dalaf__62EFZVIbHjPiA9MyowL5f9VfmEJq_XrsvRI/s1600/SAM_4430.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8PDHLA3TVRDaIXqDqvM6JxsxI2rZMkKaJh7daeqXXFBXNGhbaIC7Y5s-CM6KiD5APa6BMRL6nFFTnCTpjNIOH4V44cwRaFUQU1Dalaf__62EFZVIbHjPiA9MyowL5f9VfmEJq_XrsvRI/s320/SAM_4430.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Our Mushroom House</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">Coastal swap to a mushroom getaway on the Gulf Coast and a spontaneous intern to a Kho Tao circus school to relearn The trustworthy Law of Boyle.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"> <div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Released from an earthly surface presence, defying nature's wishes and phlitter down the trapeze rope into the midst of rotating schools of glassy purple fish. </span> </span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWfxyIgsizkYAJZgRq_k1GsmSxT3joZR6vYLMPqV9t7vA4iOiaiM0vzIkkFlzqJt1rrp4haRvw0C2vJ53obAQkLPJoss_o5e_o1fOEhsJLftauCagfoaJUxCYSVHACUgbmVCSDbCF8cUU/s1600/SAM_4434.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWfxyIgsizkYAJZgRq_k1GsmSxT3joZR6vYLMPqV9t7vA4iOiaiM0vzIkkFlzqJt1rrp4haRvw0C2vJ53obAQkLPJoss_o5e_o1fOEhsJLftauCagfoaJUxCYSVHACUgbmVCSDbCF8cUU/s320/SAM_4434.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">Clouds of plankton billow through the turquoise water, the curtains shaded in blue and green dissolve into an ominous darkness below....showtime.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4aRyUBRd3pZ70tlhljwEDABnUtojPkHlhRwOpmP7HgjtjT3CQguuf4qFKK1oISvA6gPoDlUQABQVN3sjIk5o0Ff38071AHIIMk5026jCbJf3wEG6GUpApA4l50xFICP7Lq-Ux4uOrQGM/s1600/SAM_4450.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4aRyUBRd3pZ70tlhljwEDABnUtojPkHlhRwOpmP7HgjtjT3CQguuf4qFKK1oISvA6gPoDlUQABQVN3sjIk5o0Ff38071AHIIMk5026jCbJf3wEG6GUpApA4l50xFICP7Lq-Ux4uOrQGM/s320/SAM_4450.JPG" width="240" /></a><br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">Slow motion descent into the maelstrom to perform on the pinnacle conducting trigger fish to snarl and gnaw with sharp carnivores on minion fish hiding amongst the ebony spikes of sea urchins and tease the stark white sting rays pulsating dangerously.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">Inflating lungs like a hot air balloon, acrobatic trickery, hovering Buddha buoyant with unexpected serenity, flippers whacking coral, enjoying the safety of the blue planet's womb.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">An after show party with barbecued barracuda and toxic local punch then a compulsory rave on the big top on the beach.</span></div></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg684kyiYtXnrUE54fwl2s22tbl3C89bqg1prAYoVYHnld3xg5Y-ly9383y8u7n2aK_Jrc7DtWQyPrqolBfZJV-I-wm9GkewoddPxd7cXaQw3yVN2qcTw4pm5uxvXPxGLYOiscKVb_ayxo/s1600/SAM_4439.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg684kyiYtXnrUE54fwl2s22tbl3C89bqg1prAYoVYHnld3xg5Y-ly9383y8u7n2aK_Jrc7DtWQyPrqolBfZJV-I-wm9GkewoddPxd7cXaQw3yVN2qcTw4pm5uxvXPxGLYOiscKVb_ayxo/s400/SAM_4439.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6AT_l8N88qDEtt7Iq-C1avpFCIK3_FmEt1PxMug_7b9lRSFbZiOvq7D57M0ph4Z6nDmYDDGSfLXxLRao5p9XZwcvaUDe_mv6zCNuzFxx8aYdzI0C6zHPgPBtVCzw0WVvdg6ZWCZmrwOI/s1600/SAM_4465.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6AT_l8N88qDEtt7Iq-C1avpFCIK3_FmEt1PxMug_7b9lRSFbZiOvq7D57M0ph4Z6nDmYDDGSfLXxLRao5p9XZwcvaUDe_mv6zCNuzFxx8aYdzI0C6zHPgPBtVCzw0WVvdg6ZWCZmrwOI/s320/SAM_4465.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">Certification received then join the 36 hour Northern ascent of the roller coaster train, armed with hot dogs and candyfloss, station master swap at Bangkok Central.</span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilzzZYYBiR15oMRSo0MHUYjaFxnLG-7DLMMDm2wQOSpdnU7LNfjL3Bn71NIUN9JQl0KC6boMtMhnCzQcunQajCpdPQA-vtDf_hvBd3J2-3FZJOLGvdZ_rLb9LycHwrGQdDJ1X-NKKL3JA/s1600/SAM_4466.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilzzZYYBiR15oMRSo0MHUYjaFxnLG-7DLMMDm2wQOSpdnU7LNfjL3Bn71NIUN9JQl0KC6boMtMhnCzQcunQajCpdPQA-vtDf_hvBd3J2-3FZJOLGvdZ_rLb9LycHwrGQdDJ1X-NKKL3JA/s400/SAM_4466.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN2mCVEKhpnGbDujpSktZOGm_VrnQeM5WvBzRP10lxvCe3CZmynE8DtMvgIx3m55UtQBLKi4ysKIsPE4AW00-FFlel0TGFx5S_AfINnhqntD5LH32pA2CK5uavDFHNWPMiWcEDuIMV0Zw/s1600/SAM_4473.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN2mCVEKhpnGbDujpSktZOGm_VrnQeM5WvBzRP10lxvCe3CZmynE8DtMvgIx3m55UtQBLKi4ysKIsPE4AW00-FFlel0TGFx5S_AfINnhqntD5LH32pA2CK5uavDFHNWPMiWcEDuIMV0Zw/s400/SAM_4473.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwVJQVUjaRteffWH-O4nGn4v_fBNStZsfBGxtB6KYzIbvffM1FFpD7WSkBltx4TPPEzcLQpXW-je7_khIRucdUXVQdc1WWpgQT-MizTBk5yr-icQME0DZ68gVYq3Yq3EfAJK0N5cLVWpk/s1600/SAM_4474.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwVJQVUjaRteffWH-O4nGn4v_fBNStZsfBGxtB6KYzIbvffM1FFpD7WSkBltx4TPPEzcLQpXW-je7_khIRucdUXVQdc1WWpgQT-MizTBk5yr-icQME0DZ68gVYq3Yq3EfAJK0N5cLVWpk/s320/SAM_4474.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Through the Royal Ages</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Every twenty metres a Seven Eleven and every ten metres a royal portrait and loyal homage to </span><em style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><a href="http://www.therichest.org/celebnetworth/politician/royal/king-bhumibol-adulyadej-net-worth/http://www.therichest.org/celebnetworth/politician/royal/king-bhumibol-adulyadej-net-worth/" target="_blank">KingBhumibol Adulyadej.</a></span></span></span></em></span><br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDuvx3JyfVoEDV7QgwhUhQ1MGALFikQ2G4k_x-pQDZA94WuKOrBZooNVqnhH7fMcSl5CmTC0xBTz8UU5i_d5EqMYBnepSkdSHZMdMa_QJNqIbNl-lOksoWWxY8tW4mJ0e4XmjScPjfr4Y/s1600/SAM_4531.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDuvx3JyfVoEDV7QgwhUhQ1MGALFikQ2G4k_x-pQDZA94WuKOrBZooNVqnhH7fMcSl5CmTC0xBTz8UU5i_d5EqMYBnepSkdSHZMdMa_QJNqIbNl-lOksoWWxY8tW4mJ0e4XmjScPjfr4Y/s320/SAM_4531.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">Down the hill and land with a bump into Chiang Mai with a bout of Thai tonsilitis.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Get well in the hammock and recuperate for next weekend's special circus tour into the jungle.</span> </span> </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcum7vIfuZe-K-_jB_ZZHxCOwhnU9nuAfxo2AhXOoVndJNklhDK0Ih_pmW1FhtnVkOXm9-YtRVAFFqRZjSOntdyOp3-Sk5oM0RBHEL_4DgkH67tcnJ2n9QLeP6UyKdyF6kBWeT-g-Os-Q/s1600/IMG_4509.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcum7vIfuZe-K-_jB_ZZHxCOwhnU9nuAfxo2AhXOoVndJNklhDK0Ih_pmW1FhtnVkOXm9-YtRVAFFqRZjSOntdyOp3-Sk5oM0RBHEL_4DgkH67tcnJ2n9QLeP6UyKdyF6kBWeT-g-Os-Q/s400/IMG_4509.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNulYH7UP_vYrjt67Nqdt90hyphenhyphenSmk2dhPRxqBhtplqxdyYxRTa-ktAzjcSVkkB86yFCLVhv-HoCiEpuQmvsn6iH23yHDYyCh7tzcwcnWQqTzj_Oj493NyDZoQb_2H1_ADx_7MOB_ySujUM/s1600/SAM_4520.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNulYH7UP_vYrjt67Nqdt90hyphenhyphenSmk2dhPRxqBhtplqxdyYxRTa-ktAzjcSVkkB86yFCLVhv-HoCiEpuQmvsn6iH23yHDYyCh7tzcwcnWQqTzj_Oj493NyDZoQb_2H1_ADx_7MOB_ySujUM/s640/SAM_4520.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Dragon Show</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnRfQY8rN-u8CRj-1A-mcPRsYoI0ru92aB5sqzdqHOPskhe_wkJOUr5TQT-bFl8UAgNjGHWA8DX-M0MUI17rD61aAt60FbZui5IS6MyoNPbR3S1zb1D7_ybvMeGumo9abmmxW6VnhAQ90/s1600/SAM_4549.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnRfQY8rN-u8CRj-1A-mcPRsYoI0ru92aB5sqzdqHOPskhe_wkJOUr5TQT-bFl8UAgNjGHWA8DX-M0MUI17rD61aAt60FbZui5IS6MyoNPbR3S1zb1D7_ybvMeGumo9abmmxW6VnhAQ90/s320/SAM_4549.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Get ready for the elephant show before a float on a raft, tick the box, miss your slot and join the next entourage of merry travellers conducted by bored bored tourist ringmasters.</span></span><br />
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</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">Into the forest to gape at waxwork tribes and slide down the log flume waterfall wonder.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikR1Mb1s5yGaNbGvR5HqqhM0RuST5jLLIQoJK1crS_8RdnVcBKjzM9poR-vblPRqk3epfKTFkGi_TFbd6u7lmQv1X3QhNRcU7QQtRK7WNFzaevnGIvPlLGCgQ_zcCNFwVwTNvQvFGKfQ0/s1600/SAM_4554.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikR1Mb1s5yGaNbGvR5HqqhM0RuST5jLLIQoJK1crS_8RdnVcBKjzM9poR-vblPRqk3epfKTFkGi_TFbd6u7lmQv1X3QhNRcU7QQtRK7WNFzaevnGIvPlLGCgQ_zcCNFwVwTNvQvFGKfQ0/s320/SAM_4554.JPG" width="240" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">School trip rigmarole, flame throwing at ten, bed by eleven. </span> </span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">But the ghost train pauses to appease the jungle spirits, offer them their dinner to keep us protected. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTOO169a8O_V6T2Lp_jQ2KxLH8hyphenhyphenjaacy3LLu_XO08kdWn1_m_d5kYVZhhwD6FUnM5ZTdr6p7e1P7mMbYfwJ0gycgh__lnGv3hquiFAvqFWDiFFgkG7T9Z5REO14_nv4CIyAsbqHVqRw8/s1600/SAM_4567.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTOO169a8O_V6T2Lp_jQ2KxLH8hyphenhyphenjaacy3LLu_XO08kdWn1_m_d5kYVZhhwD6FUnM5ZTdr6p7e1P7mMbYfwJ0gycgh__lnGv3hquiFAvqFWDiFFgkG7T9Z5REO14_nv4CIyAsbqHVqRw8/s320/SAM_4567.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">The Thai Circus where animistic beliefs mingle with Buddhism, Ipads and Starbucks. Democracy and Demi God monarchy. Package tours and student season tickets, DIY sex tourists, everyone can join the carnival.</span><br />
</div>FylipoBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14142327128860329747noreply@blogger.com1Chiang Khong, Chiang Rai, Thailand20.26 100.4066666999999620.036065500000003 100.26916469999996 20.4839345 100.54416869999996tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852120160757421513.post-84707827929776697692012-02-16T18:01:00.000+07:002012-02-16T18:01:25.478+07:00Me & My Myanmar Monks<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr2l35dx6GNgMw9rjYG2mamv8nucRL3eYuqF7LwSQ6X5K8nR77PrQDRpqMp_SN-K2vYOGGe4RH8zLCvfou_kxk3oxUML_Y4An3_4BLKUmEggnKP-VcwpX53wHefACDai-2C9xKwQ6CVVA/s1600/SAM_3538.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr2l35dx6GNgMw9rjYG2mamv8nucRL3eYuqF7LwSQ6X5K8nR77PrQDRpqMp_SN-K2vYOGGe4RH8zLCvfou_kxk3oxUML_Y4An3_4BLKUmEggnKP-VcwpX53wHefACDai-2C9xKwQ6CVVA/s400/SAM_3538.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCdBfNED9kOIVvQPxgDDzi3MUj8BHhjJzV1stoRdhqGc_U8UQMVjWvMFJd7oK-hAjdj8cCYYy3LJahzsMiinByjhFCqiyDQ3-pSx_qSit7quFqp0wlUeY8x-TVFip8FQUvRFUugKa7bgw/s1600/SAM_3737.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCdBfNED9kOIVvQPxgDDzi3MUj8BHhjJzV1stoRdhqGc_U8UQMVjWvMFJd7oK-hAjdj8cCYYy3LJahzsMiinByjhFCqiyDQ3-pSx_qSit7quFqp0wlUeY8x-TVFip8FQUvRFUugKa7bgw/s320/SAM_3737.JPG" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">After nearly 3 months in India I am excited to visit </span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6XLdgVt5oejCdGkYdUOem6P5CxCVe8CAgQMUc_U4NR99MHygRWQzPDJPYjaiucwI7vo5Q-FtToANN-4XlhK96aKqFwnimsXt2b9-G_Zm9Uz6aqljtgkYnswv42MzjuPg-ITiIqHmR044/s1600/SAM_3758.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6XLdgVt5oejCdGkYdUOem6P5CxCVe8CAgQMUc_U4NR99MHygRWQzPDJPYjaiucwI7vo5Q-FtToANN-4XlhK96aKqFwnimsXt2b9-G_Zm9Uz6aqljtgkYnswv42MzjuPg-ITiIqHmR044/s320/SAM_3758.JPG" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Myanmar. We phlitter from Malaysia over the Bay of Bengal to magical Myanmar nestled secretly in the armpit of the Orient. Thousands of miles below the Andaman Islands (part of India), scattered jewels in the emerald ocean, glittering in the late afternoon golden sunshine. The archipelago morphs into the Burmese Delta, a myriad of velvet shapes, rectangular lush green paddy fields partitioned by a network of glistening linear canals. The great aqueous sponge is dressed with chunky silver rivers snaking through the delta. The plane is alive with excitement of immigrant workers returning home to see their families who await at the airport with faces pushed against the glass. Already at the airport I am intrigued by this fascinating country and delighted to see all the men wearing longyis (first priority to acquire longyi and get some local <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Longyi" target="_blank">longyi</a> wearing lessons – differs from the Indian style and spelling - lungi) where I will pass twenty days blissfully cut off from the rest of the world. Tiring at times to travel around and lots of decisions about which wonderful corners of the country to discover I join the new band of merry travellers seeking out a taste of a real Asia of the past, a country where India meets China. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Quickly departing Yangon, we head East to the town of Kalaw where we explore golden stupas and a lively market. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6zN_UZxUZAtxUxakjK_8uDlvLBbUE28JG6vbYjOzJ0vQ0ZRbBan24LrvJlfgOtPnXQDiLkgAq-1JvZJ5o2y7K0fv9gjM3WtxI55oalMWCAOzo2xadA2MJPkPZzchjiOMIrN56zr1mVcc/s1600/SAM_2983.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6zN_UZxUZAtxUxakjK_8uDlvLBbUE28JG6vbYjOzJ0vQ0ZRbBan24LrvJlfgOtPnXQDiLkgAq-1JvZJ5o2y7K0fv9gjM3WtxI55oalMWCAOzo2xadA2MJPkPZzchjiOMIrN56zr1mVcc/s320/SAM_2983.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtsDHHYXIuyO1MKGMr_XE6Rdb1a36T8mo_NWVn9U-kVA1V_YmL8P-ZfMbuIWj-laQh1KsoO2jHmOuUlcNILmuh24-6ZUd-vGdJ25MHJyZ_IJzuXmc_Z2gxm_kzhQCjM9chiiRKLeeF9Cw/s1600/SAM_2992.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtsDHHYXIuyO1MKGMr_XE6Rdb1a36T8mo_NWVn9U-kVA1V_YmL8P-ZfMbuIWj-laQh1KsoO2jHmOuUlcNILmuh24-6ZUd-vGdJ25MHJyZ_IJzuXmc_Z2gxm_kzhQCjM9chiiRKLeeF9Cw/s320/SAM_2992.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">We leave Kalaw and trek for three days through the hilly plateau of Shan State enjoying the nutty cuisine. As in other Asian countries it is mainly women working in the fields, tilling the land with scythes and axes and walking for miles, a fine balancing act to market, with baskets of white root vegetables teetering on their heads smoking long aromatic cigars, still years away from a mechanized agriculture, I ask our female guide about the men working and admire her strong response.</span><br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4bNLOH1EiDVFzNvZU0KmLN-EecLkTsn05sh0XSkipkGD4E5Ca_hZVPkHLus3e9Dp01VlJU58FAn_0wjgkiZ0honZ12tuVeHezHuXLq5wiKv7YW9iW2SchXWcKbizcoU64lFi4yJHsBec/s1600/SAM_3003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4bNLOH1EiDVFzNvZU0KmLN-EecLkTsn05sh0XSkipkGD4E5Ca_hZVPkHLus3e9Dp01VlJU58FAn_0wjgkiZ0honZ12tuVeHezHuXLq5wiKv7YW9iW2SchXWcKbizcoU64lFi4yJHsBec/s320/SAM_3003.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The men in our country are lazy, they sit in tea houses all day and drink whisky!” She breaks off to stop and explain to an old lady spraying her crop with fertiliser that she should wear gloves - chemical companies come in to distribute free samples of fertiliser to poor farmers which gets the crops hooked. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTvK0_hQXMsG9LD71TOeHA0XLBnkjDV4vcPbGLBk389_2DAhsjwZoRrhDGRlg6Pm6WnIyObYCrhw6xOEbHScT07w0I7kzIq_9X2a7X_j9Z7aYQJZPa0DJhEw8yU_JGl-Wa7lSdcGeiQg8/s1600/SAM_3073.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTvK0_hQXMsG9LD71TOeHA0XLBnkjDV4vcPbGLBk389_2DAhsjwZoRrhDGRlg6Pm6WnIyObYCrhw6xOEbHScT07w0I7kzIq_9X2a7X_j9Z7aYQJZPa0DJhEw8yU_JGl-Wa7lSdcGeiQg8/s320/SAM_3073.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nun</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpOZN1DX7QQFq72gEGRngLvVNFN32ITfLHms_DBqRh2JwvBywpg6ZBwZUINrBrWcldkf9T-ZpWi9fuMldiObmbmo8346xuTIKaz35TjWKPY-k5h2r_iHOtiYZBZfUu4p21OuqEgOGkX0I/s1600/SAM_3083.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpOZN1DX7QQFq72gEGRngLvVNFN32ITfLHms_DBqRh2JwvBywpg6ZBwZUINrBrWcldkf9T-ZpWi9fuMldiObmbmo8346xuTIKaz35TjWKPY-k5h2r_iHOtiYZBZfUu4p21OuqEgOGkX0I/s320/SAM_3083.JPG" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsQh4mnqJtNKtgoBbNHf09gc55oaSb-Ae7cDBmLsu6Prb4dMU9fQjB1ed4EpfihdNMyXU9CHcpiLeZjqWp-hzS9fioYVAr93-Tsfxgb0zp6g-FOD7R-SGd_6bleD3FnyZZJ6dhbKCIGLA/s1600/SAM_3004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsQh4mnqJtNKtgoBbNHf09gc55oaSb-Ae7cDBmLsu6Prb4dMU9fQjB1ed4EpfihdNMyXU9CHcpiLeZjqWp-hzS9fioYVAr93-Tsfxgb0zp6g-FOD7R-SGd_6bleD3FnyZZJ6dhbKCIGLA/s320/SAM_3004.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">We visit rural villages, stopping to cook lunch in a bamboo house. To the wonderment of the Grandma I chop cauliflower and carrots for our noodles, her wrinkly face lights up as she laughingly calls me “a helpful foreigner” then continues to tell the local scandal about the outrageous behaviour of her bigamist son-in-law who has been banished from the village after marrying three girls. After lunch some visiting ladies from the next village appear with bags of corn and enter into a long and loud good hearted negotiation with our hosts to trade for a sack of blazing red chillis. Many of the world's rural communities live and trade their produce without using cash and it is fascinating to observe. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The visiting “dragon ladies” are from the </span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Palaung_people" target="_blank">Palaung tribe</a>, heads adorned with bright red cloths. The local legend tells of the dragon ladies' descent from a female dragon who had disguised herself as a woman and married a man. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicqq9USdvbA8yUU3ZcGssUFcDcRKDsGBuwV6gJckJr3ng-tzBuq_Q0RJFHdZkkvKOyOMTy7VzrjgRNaJTz9sIca2-3q5gOu6R8l4uiN2XUElVGzLmY4fZevsSX3rTWAoO9Whe8hwI1cs8/s1600/SAM_3160.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicqq9USdvbA8yUU3ZcGssUFcDcRKDsGBuwV6gJckJr3ng-tzBuq_Q0RJFHdZkkvKOyOMTy7VzrjgRNaJTz9sIca2-3q5gOu6R8l4uiN2XUElVGzLmY4fZevsSX3rTWAoO9Whe8hwI1cs8/s400/SAM_3160.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The old Dragon Lady is delighted with her grandson's toy gift we give</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjox__hyphenhyphenKV03t6z4YTL810dnUWqIfxB7OYcKRTdoEz5-oCrTQWC0-EZxFr5P7hrn_K1R6aVGBuc63st0FWxQsml7JtRg_WFxBX7fecMox3H0BZFkYfnWtPc8TqNpH7Snn-wdVUiapDRnhg/s1600/SAM_2926.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjox__hyphenhyphenKV03t6z4YTL810dnUWqIfxB7OYcKRTdoEz5-oCrTQWC0-EZxFr5P7hrn_K1R6aVGBuc63st0FWxQsml7JtRg_WFxBX7fecMox3H0BZFkYfnWtPc8TqNpH7Snn-wdVUiapDRnhg/s320/SAM_2926.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">We sleep at the village monastery in a big room, the holes in the bamboo floor and walls let in the night time freezing cold. As we eat supper we watch the young novice monks practising their melodic evening chant. The mystical spell is broken when after their chant they all dart to a TV in the corner where they spend the rest of the evening glued to a blaring gratuitous American war movie. The novices are withdrawn and subdued, perhaps due to the canings by the older monks after their morning chants we see the next day.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</span></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">We visit the local school in Pat To Pa village to give the teacher a few books and pens, it reminds me of a mocked up Victorian school house recreated in a British museum. A gaggle of boys become delirious with excitement as I chase them around the school room hiding like rabbits in the cupboards. The girls stand like porcelain dolls posing for photos and the teacher sinks shyly into the corner. We spend the night at </span></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjZ8-hPH8JSeqAIyL2M2_y7W5nPDJIUYjNX7-UVzR5ATyL8ZPnzb54fwdK1Gg9BUNWjnnP-CRA_Q_PxBu-ut7kC2yHBlvi3TvVkibEwJX_GZRdinoWTftf5KSE86jyMOSiiu6dmmsdJfw/s1600/SAM_3174.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjZ8-hPH8JSeqAIyL2M2_y7W5nPDJIUYjNX7-UVzR5ATyL8ZPnzb54fwdK1Gg9BUNWjnnP-CRA_Q_PxBu-ut7kC2yHBlvi3TvVkibEwJX_GZRdinoWTftf5KSE86jyMOSiiu6dmmsdJfw/s320/SAM_3174.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">the house of the head mistress who sits with me in the morning chill by the fireplace telling me tales of the village. Then we huddle with the village kids to get warm.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
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</span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNjSZSMoJqvA-foVVxeunIvV2fLQ_8oBgR1Nfz-FRZNuDzb0u4PeQfXJqKP8WiEFEQHpVnY4fBeggRKyYGjlSZJxPiMurY1WTCx-njlvp629bXoFEqmxCycruqI5pk_PZjjQaVEafAgJ4/s1600/SAM_3243.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNjSZSMoJqvA-foVVxeunIvV2fLQ_8oBgR1Nfz-FRZNuDzb0u4PeQfXJqKP8WiEFEQHpVnY4fBeggRKyYGjlSZJxPiMurY1WTCx-njlvp629bXoFEqmxCycruqI5pk_PZjjQaVEafAgJ4/s400/SAM_3243.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRXHvgITaGTwVZfRApe-GFk78UKqBTglRPopdEcsEw8n2sXwGqve6pmA_HS31830NZXMk6Ud6wBcDTC0Gtf5QjkE2y1aqcZMoCuJX3zNYLGgQlZ26F5MSg59_lpjb6Qv38PDdjTu3Kzug/s1600/SAM_3299.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRXHvgITaGTwVZfRApe-GFk78UKqBTglRPopdEcsEw8n2sXwGqve6pmA_HS31830NZXMk6Ud6wBcDTC0Gtf5QjkE2y1aqcZMoCuJX3zNYLGgQlZ26F5MSg59_lpjb6Qv38PDdjTu3Kzug/s320/SAM_3299.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The hill trek ends at the wondrous Inle Lake with communities of stilted teak houses and floating tomato gardens. Long boats loaded with sacks of potatoes and live fish judder through the morning mist to the floating market. Fishermen in wide rimmed bamboo hats, balancing and dancing, perched on the tip of their boats rowing with their legs with strange conical nets silhouetted against the surrounding hills.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsx1WMIL79_oxqPzTSGf0R0Hr_MtNXoptur5KX8T_MIVxffIqUaHOSjqpQerC7QYkCdoxJ_nd6nDWa_-2tzQk0OGv1HJP_vcSEkI0WJU7n3RMfsckYqyHClL8esAHnU2w_pES1Opvp1dc/s1600/SAM_3771.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsx1WMIL79_oxqPzTSGf0R0Hr_MtNXoptur5KX8T_MIVxffIqUaHOSjqpQerC7QYkCdoxJ_nd6nDWa_-2tzQk0OGv1HJP_vcSEkI0WJU7n3RMfsckYqyHClL8esAHnU2w_pES1Opvp1dc/s320/SAM_3771.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">We explore Myanmar on 12 hour bus journeys doddering along bumpy roads. Each passenger gets a bottle of water, toothbrush, toothpaste and freshening towel and we are treated to the in-house entertainment on flat screen TVs </span><u style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">blaring</u><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> Burmese films. The films follow a standard format of cheesy romantic stories, lingering shots of flowers and couples larking lovingly in garish modern houses, the slapstick humour causes bellows of raucous laughter from the Burmese passengers chuckling under the christmas baubles and kitsch butterflies hanging along the aisle. Scenes are interspersed with a musical interlude with karaoke style sub-titles. We stop to buy noodles for dinner, selected from a lady's head.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjohjeJwwszaFrIDrdTAN1v0lTfcTwYz-g2QV_xnrglTd-Y-EVmlw6QGBGHL-Pg9sJetAgcN3BU62fcMV3awc5Mpjzk11tBQPZ4ShxIU15LqhU_-O57kzDgznY9SVVzjKWHg1hxXjQkP60/s1600/SAM_3579.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjohjeJwwszaFrIDrdTAN1v0lTfcTwYz-g2QV_xnrglTd-Y-EVmlw6QGBGHL-Pg9sJetAgcN3BU62fcMV3awc5Mpjzk11tBQPZ4ShxIU15LqhU_-O57kzDgznY9SVVzjKWHg1hxXjQkP60/s400/SAM_3579.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Poster for Ann San Suu Kyi's party - National League for Democracy</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHyywWf49QoT2FbbMHC6Bk09Lh_IfxQ3zFDJ_Dd4BdfxOBMwE1Nplv45VbW3p9W0mIq52zE9TPOHkUeXD7VujAQW2TvEqBfXTMKu06quCw4tkGj46Qllxii9Z4a7MMWKNr_31fZ_4Mizs/s1600/SAM_2967.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHyywWf49QoT2FbbMHC6Bk09Lh_IfxQ3zFDJ_Dd4BdfxOBMwE1Nplv45VbW3p9W0mIq52zE9TPOHkUeXD7VujAQW2TvEqBfXTMKu06quCw4tkGj46Qllxii9Z4a7MMWKNr_31fZ_4Mizs/s400/SAM_2967.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Aung San Poster Seller</i></td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRp5hvsig_bZg53zlAPZ7qdw4Ba5IfbYt-410ApPOE3KzymzlsJlgn14_ZX1UQvg1l0kExhjYEDD9V9P6WveghWgwC8hCHXiOjjfynwR1lnZVwRJFWe9k7Cxu-IiaQThV7zKxGa_fPk8A/s1600/SAM_2982.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRp5hvsig_bZg53zlAPZ7qdw4Ba5IfbYt-410ApPOE3KzymzlsJlgn14_ZX1UQvg1l0kExhjYEDD9V9P6WveghWgwC8hCHXiOjjfynwR1lnZVwRJFWe9k7Cxu-IiaQThV7zKxGa_fPk8A/s320/SAM_2982.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">We arrive frazzled at awkward hours, 3, 4 am, organised for passengers to start their day, general Burmese waking hours being from 5 am until 9 pm. Dazed we pass the slow morning hours waiting for hotels to open, taking refuge in a street side café we watch Mandalay wake up. Slender Burmese ladies stroll elegantly past with long shiny silk black hair and long shiny silk lungis of green and lavender holding traditional umbrellas. Girls stop by on motorbikes for a takeaway breakfast wearing shiny black and pink pilot hats, faces smudged with lines and circles of </span><i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">tanakah </i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">– the charming traditional multi purpose make up which decorates, protects and treats the skin; a natural yellow paste from bark. The cook is a boy of 14 or 15 in a yellow t-shirt of<b><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1449937066"> </a></b></span><u style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-decoration: none;"><b><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aung_San" target="_blank">Aung San</a></b></u><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> (the national hero who led Burma to independence from the British and Japanese) and his daughter </span><br />
<u style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-decoration: none;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1449937080">Ann San Sui-</a></u><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aung_San_Suu_Kyi" target="_blank">Kyi</a> - “The Lady” (the nation's heroine). He masterfully conducts the pavement cooking show, swilling flaming hot oil, flipping pancake pastries in a great blackened iron wok. A young boy in a dirty ragged red Manchester United football kit refills our tea urn from a big, old, black kettle and serves us with greasy chick pea pastries, grinning at the curious foreigners. Locals stop for their set breakfast which includes a cigarette in a glass.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRda1UxUFZAZCUU2dbhihTWP8S_f-pxmJvraWNC9NtQ_kdnLv0hMePaFxTbBipSWQZbm31M_X_y7ZFmFoZ8XlLNavHTSZsyaTSCw-dyibgB-9ZqKoJGxsby3YMaqhzpvh06sUVAA4x44c/s1600/SAM_3767.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRda1UxUFZAZCUU2dbhihTWP8S_f-pxmJvraWNC9NtQ_kdnLv0hMePaFxTbBipSWQZbm31M_X_y7ZFmFoZ8XlLNavHTSZsyaTSCw-dyibgB-9ZqKoJGxsby3YMaqhzpvh06sUVAA4x44c/s320/SAM_3767.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">A sea of barefooted monks flows through the streets at dawn, clasping black lacquer alms bowls and the occasional scarlet umbrella, in a blur of maroon, saffron and amber cloths, shaded with age or to signify seniority. A long line of monks in order of size queues patiently for their meagre spoonful of rice, shopkeepers take turn to provide for the monks.</span><br />
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</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm3SAehm9z92P5tdtghxf1t9p7HhFFz6bMQ6eSUaNfIHat6crbi04sYxB0uqPXNmcJefUQ2ME9QkRbsXLBVQ8eR2YBumhsn6vSg_l6jMomZzNQQ41i2yYMIoU4mB_kBWrZ6-Q1dUAFMC8/s1600/SAM_3426.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm3SAehm9z92P5tdtghxf1t9p7HhFFz6bMQ6eSUaNfIHat6crbi04sYxB0uqPXNmcJefUQ2ME9QkRbsXLBVQ8eR2YBumhsn6vSg_l6jMomZzNQQ41i2yYMIoU4mB_kBWrZ6-Q1dUAFMC8/s320/SAM_3426.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Mandalay is an atmospheric proud second city, especially at night with lively street cafes and markets. Many travellers had warned that it was a horrible dirty city but after India I found it clean and quiet! I remind myself to avoid prematurely polluting my judgement on places by other travellers, books, travel fora etc. </span> <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWSRYnUIAVz4OQuHA-qJkat5NLFJmsBLd06m0zjiUngo1IjtgmsgvyOsACm8p4p9lNoYlsThQq5ot8gpM3a6agF3lSNZUPxekfWRGmcpsDbum-FoQDjCJ0mxB2WElvh1AMZS00V2RLsi0/s1600/SAM_3448.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWSRYnUIAVz4OQuHA-qJkat5NLFJmsBLd06m0zjiUngo1IjtgmsgvyOsACm8p4p9lNoYlsThQq5ot8gpM3a6agF3lSNZUPxekfWRGmcpsDbum-FoQDjCJ0mxB2WElvh1AMZS00V2RLsi0/s400/SAM_3448.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhesUrdfZzbxlBLkJ3Wa_cetuQiqRmm6kpvb3QGCnRDihuFb6dPN4-9Et7vbm91BmUm82aQuyWP41o7S9AAIzO660PfEyupkSDfiFtsCQcxB7SgpvTmw29a07eBpRASS9j1fA32vS28qGY/s1600/SAM_3453.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhesUrdfZzbxlBLkJ3Wa_cetuQiqRmm6kpvb3QGCnRDihuFb6dPN4-9Et7vbm91BmUm82aQuyWP41o7S9AAIzO660PfEyupkSDfiFtsCQcxB7SgpvTmw29a07eBpRASS9j1fA32vS28qGY/s320/SAM_3453.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Mandalay is surrounded by ancient capitals, golden buddhas, monasteries and temples. We climb the hills of </span><u style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-decoration: none;"><i><b>Sagaing</b></i></u><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> and marvel at the hundreds of shimmering golden stupas, the lovely pink nuns who balance layers of cloth on their heads and meet young friendly monks from the Buddhist Academy eager to chat with us. I pass an afternoon in the cultural heartlands discussing philosophy, Theravada Buddhist practice (the ascetic form of Buddhism followed in SE Asia), politics (but monks are not allowed to vote) and life with the monks of Mandalay. It was the monks of Mandalay region who initiated the uprisings in 2008 which were violently suppressed by the regime and the monks are eager to tell me about that difficult time. They are happy to learn that the world is aware of the plight of the Burmese people and delighted to discuss the new film </span><i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-decoration: none;"><a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/film/movie/139986/lady" target="_blank">The Lady</a></i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> & </span><i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.freezarganar.org/home.asp" target="_blank">Zarganar</a></i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> – the Burmese comedian who was a political prisoner for years and the focus point of my local Amnesty International group's fundraising comedy night for Burma in Hackney, London - he was finally freed last October.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFTn71V1Wwo2BH65IghxzM5DbB_sKiP7LJcV5VJx32NTcrC8QXn4UCQCUls5fWEOmgbLQ0HwiEirqqU8RG_O_lc-7xlayDSGXMkg4MfluCnN2_ZhqOJreqKNJS08TS7ABRg9BzkNI_gOw/s1600/SAM_3465.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFTn71V1Wwo2BH65IghxzM5DbB_sKiP7LJcV5VJx32NTcrC8QXn4UCQCUls5fWEOmgbLQ0HwiEirqqU8RG_O_lc-7xlayDSGXMkg4MfluCnN2_ZhqOJreqKNJS08TS7ABRg9BzkNI_gOw/s400/SAM_3465.JPG" width="400" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The monkhood in Myanmar seems to provide a fascinating social and moral security system. There are nearly 1 million monks (</span><u style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-decoration: none;">population around 60 million)</u><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">and nearly all boys and girls spend a period of</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span><i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-decoration: none;">novitiate</i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">living in a monastery. Amongst this huge monk population are orphans, sick people, elderly and children from large, poor families. The community then provides for nuns and monks through donations. Monks in turn provide moral guidance. Theravada Buddhism is based on the principle that each individual is wholly responsible for his or her own accumulation of merit and sin and subsequent enlightenment. Donations to the monastery therefore bring merit and help the path to nirvana and the end of the tiresome snakes and ladders cycle of life. If one has had a sinful weekend for example this can be counterbalanced with some good karmic actions such as buying then releasing a captive sparrow or</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">baby owl or a fish even from the market – captured and sold for this purpose!</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>U Bein Bridge - Mandalay</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-align: left;">One Mandalay monk, Zanaka, who radiates a special calm, tells me he became a monk to “follow a peaceful life” and several times monks and others tell me spontaneously that they are happy now, “our country is freed”, I really hope so. The regime has relaxed media censorship and freed political prisoners but there is a long way for the country to go and the regime is unpredictable. There have been democratic elections a few times in the last twenty years but the regime decided to ignore the outcomes and imprison their opponents. The schizophrenic regime has also in recent years whimsically changed the country's flag, the country's name and<a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1449937123"> relocated the</a></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1449937123"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-align: left;"> </span><u style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">capital</u><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-align: left;"> </span></a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.spiegel.de/international/world/0,1518,474146,00.html" target="_blank">to a random isolated village in the jungle - <i><b>Naypyitaw </b></i>-</a> at obscene expense on the advice of an astrologer to further shelter the paranoid erratic government from the world.</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-align: left;"> </span><a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-asia-16606608" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-align: left;" target="_blank">By elections in April will see AnnSan Suu Kyi</a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-align: left;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-align: left;">stand for the first time as a local politician but much expectation weighs upon The Lady who sits in the heart of many Burmese, the daughter of the iconic national hero. She represents well the graceful noble spirit of the people and is comparable with Nelson Mandella with her peaceful approach in the face of great personal suffering for her country and of course having spent many years under house arrest away from her family. I find a copy of her collection of writings –</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-align: left;"> </span><i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-align: left;">Freedom from Fear</i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-align: left;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-align: left;">– and am impressed by her eloquence and depth of knowledge of her country and people. Any new leader will struggle to bring together the diverse races of the country, with fighting between different ethnic groups continuing – partly a consequence of the glorious British Empire's devastating divide and conquer policies. The more I travel the more ashamed I am when I read about the disgraceful behaviour (“we were treated like bullocks by the British then like dogs by the Japanese” Aung San) and detrimental actions of the British across the world.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFiBeZTZQRlDdwuuym__2PRrf3hky7HrsVL2qVqWyBR8CljQq1_KTgTdrY1XjwWMrUYEDuGfTNxNX-xy7pXm501C4HapWsE6D7rKU6HXeAdA8y6gq1-fRTr6I0XNkV9nZBO7NgQ2o9T78/s1600/SAM_3606.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFiBeZTZQRlDdwuuym__2PRrf3hky7HrsVL2qVqWyBR8CljQq1_KTgTdrY1XjwWMrUYEDuGfTNxNX-xy7pXm501C4HapWsE6D7rKU6HXeAdA8y6gq1-fRTr6I0XNkV9nZBO7NgQ2o9T78/s400/SAM_3606.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Myanmar is one of the poorest countries in Asia despite its natural resources of minerals, wood and crops which the British Empire raped and new imperial powers are eyeing from across the border to the north. There is none of the extreme poverty I witnessed in India, Myanmar being a more egalitarian society without India's caste divisions. The country is massively undeveloped in terms of health and education. The easing of economic sanctions and opening up to the world is welcomed by the people. Visiting the country at this time I was privileged to receive a great welcome and also had an opportunity for the first time in my life to keep up with English football.</span><br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">After keeping abreast of the progress of the England cricket team through my conversations with men in India I now effortlessly keep up with the English Premier League matches through unsolicited information offered by Burmese boys. I even hear stories of Wayne Rooney's dastardly private life dalliances - “he likes fast life” a monk tells me with a sly grin. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsreq2rhFHdWDViguhyJiGIfgx98sDhtpwWp7wiO4dY38nhLlZx6Wq5ChkubkTtnqd67Qpeo9TIB7I7IMvgAAKDAr4Vnykb-TvQp7Vzg3ENIoie-ZmANnC8pvA65Cny83aDoyjvSPNpQ8/s1600/SAM_3632.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsreq2rhFHdWDViguhyJiGIfgx98sDhtpwWp7wiO4dY38nhLlZx6Wq5ChkubkTtnqd67Qpeo9TIB7I7IMvgAAKDAr4Vnykb-TvQp7Vzg3ENIoie-ZmANnC8pvA65Cny83aDoyjvSPNpQ8/s320/SAM_3632.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Bagan</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Another hilarious and bizarre response to my nationality, common with the rest of Asia, even from young boys (passed down the generations) is <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/comedy/onlyfools/uncovered/derek.shtml" target="_blank">“loverly jubbely” - a reference to DelBoy's catchphrase. </a> </span> </div></div></div><div><br />
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<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaPVWSPRUP6_P-obEKxW-JfCsMovuoZMrNtFevwCinGyioJ-c_RoLYucxUHv3i7mjJPXSuEJgvcdi4-kyWDl9G65ds-KW9d215XWGZJCQ_GvRBz8gz36WvXfoo2heYF0gRgLcuuJj5wtM/s1600/SAM_4048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaPVWSPRUP6_P-obEKxW-JfCsMovuoZMrNtFevwCinGyioJ-c_RoLYucxUHv3i7mjJPXSuEJgvcdi4-kyWDl9G65ds-KW9d215XWGZJCQ_GvRBz8gz36WvXfoo2heYF0gRgLcuuJj5wtM/s400/SAM_4048.JPG" width="400" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">From Mandalay we venture into the vast dry plains of Central Myanmar heading straight for the top tourist destination of Bagan, the ancient capital of kings, which hosts thousands of red brick lego like temples. A fragile sheet of mist lurks over the landscape, ancient temple stupas point through the gauze into the atmosphere and the faint silver reflection of the Irrawaddy River (which I disappointedly fail to sail down ) snakes beneath distant hills. The mighty Irrawaddy is depleted of its monsoon drench trickles through the dusty plains, ferries chugging through the thick lethargy of the afternoon. On riverbanks Burmese ladies thrash their laundry with brown muddy water and ox carts trundle over the bumpy sand flats. Trees inhabited by <i><span style="text-decoration: none;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nat_(spirit)" target="_blank">nat spirits</a></span></i><span style="text-decoration: none;"> are dotted amongst the temples.</span></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV4jTaLwrc2WNy6oHQLLpWfQvoCU24gGPGwXvVY17Ar5liBWz8WZmLXFQfgw0dy1pfYfCdpMPzVo7uglb0lFft-mFIsH9BI9Ql86C3VGB14JdE0XKY0i77gWeOh7QfL78ZPp-zTVgW2x0/s1600/SAM_3839.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV4jTaLwrc2WNy6oHQLLpWfQvoCU24gGPGwXvVY17Ar5liBWz8WZmLXFQfgw0dy1pfYfCdpMPzVo7uglb0lFft-mFIsH9BI9Ql86C3VGB14JdE0XKY0i77gWeOh7QfL78ZPp-zTVgW2x0/s320/SAM_3839.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Betel Prep</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">In the dusty town square of Nyaung U circles of men tap footballs, playing </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chinlon" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;" target="_blank"><i>chinlon</i>,</a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> from shin to forehead, </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-decoration: none;">longyis hitched up athletic milky brown legs teasingly to reveal shaped buttocks. Along the street a group huddles around a cauldron of sizzling hot fat dipping unidentifiable parts of creatures on sticks into the mix, one cultural experience I avoid. Men in khaki green army jackets saunter to street side cafes to sit on miniature stools, sip green tea and gossip. The air is alive with the sound of life. People gnaw chicken carcasses served with accompaniments of black pepper flecked soup, stringy black fishy mush and pickled orange vegetables. Young waiters, 9, 10, 11 years, cheated of their childhood, dash around the cafe, balancing trays of nutty tamarind curries and steaming noodle soups, anxious under the watch of the proprietor who rules royally from his high black leather throne guarding the precious cash, directing his under age employees with his gaze and gruff shouts. The king pauses his command, his cheeks bulging like hamsters with betel, to shoot a mouthful of dripping scarlet betel juice in a graceful arc into the royal silver spittoon. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEZvDzgBMl6Cwb88C9L-lFS6gH3niyylf9A-NiusDyvWOm9KEVZ6RQNRTpYd5XRfB4Nm1Dd4Xp7EmDQhjhnKUHxC5YN_53SM6rX4FWqXbHUSkB4EKdBufyRIu2X_7xjAU1G9IOfCsGGH0/s1600/SAM_3801.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEZvDzgBMl6Cwb88C9L-lFS6gH3niyylf9A-NiusDyvWOm9KEVZ6RQNRTpYd5XRfB4Nm1Dd4Xp7EmDQhjhnKUHxC5YN_53SM6rX4FWqXbHUSkB4EKdBufyRIu2X_7xjAU1G9IOfCsGGH0/s400/SAM_3801.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDX4lSCGfCDGgMOKFUHk3D5OT1jRfOftLjQ7wS2PiBmj_iQuWDA8RgyXECQyC0TybE0Jhnn9TqgBR-0he1ZfUb0X2n_e0F6rTzjbBpqTc6KPvkmOT6sFWzadf1aGd31dmFesAo4E8AQe8/s1600/SAM_3802.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDX4lSCGfCDGgMOKFUHk3D5OT1jRfOftLjQ7wS2PiBmj_iQuWDA8RgyXECQyC0TybE0Jhnn9TqgBR-0he1ZfUb0X2n_e0F6rTzjbBpqTc6KPvkmOT6sFWzadf1aGd31dmFesAo4E8AQe8/s320/SAM_3802.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Soon I will be phlittering on the roof of a truck through <i><b>Mon State</b></i> spitting betel juice onto the road at sunset, to the delight of my Burmese co-passengers who share their betel packages – green leaves pasted with lime chalk and wrapped together with betel nuts. My mouth froths with the sharp soda foam mix, scalding my tongue and I spit the effluence, splattering the road from the moving vehicle. I have arrived. We pass through the delta sodden flatlands, the luminous green paddy fields dotted with white storks and wicker hatted women and into Mon State where strange rocky formations jut out of the landscape. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><br />
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</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqeYeHOQLJhD-FiQYTped67j6TL0zzVV_kwbJA0sPX4OuivfWn4v3izQIfbgZbjnfb2kPbbNDRc-cyIaDOjbjREc4l4RlB9KiGQ72urIdLXFJm7cBc-ExG8TsJx3X-Nx2vHHDEb5feOb4/s1600/SAM_3844.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqeYeHOQLJhD-FiQYTped67j6TL0zzVV_kwbJA0sPX4OuivfWn4v3izQIfbgZbjnfb2kPbbNDRc-cyIaDOjbjREc4l4RlB9KiGQ72urIdLXFJm7cBc-ExG8TsJx3X-Nx2vHHDEb5feOb4/s320/SAM_3844.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBX-_pdVgz0ak5OdZfJ4Z7x_h0Fh99ArR-5zxghZOpW-uET_4E5wYHyz4ED__0Wdptv8AuJqXu5W7-4fIb6OgkGQFsE8MMtx_354W-ubElXV2SNMLGjasLjCsRgK16ESnwaTBVY0RuKY4/s1600/SAM_4075.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBX-_pdVgz0ak5OdZfJ4Z7x_h0Fh99ArR-5zxghZOpW-uET_4E5wYHyz4ED__0Wdptv8AuJqXu5W7-4fIb6OgkGQFsE8MMtx_354W-ubElXV2SNMLGjasLjCsRgK16ESnwaTBVY0RuKY4/s320/SAM_4075.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Mon State in the South East is full of mystery, we visit the national Buddhist pilgrimage site, </span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><b>The Golden Rock</b>, <i><b>Mount Kyaiktiyo, </b></i>and join the pilgrims on a crazy truck journey up the mountain. Disappointingly it is a commercialised theme park like site at the top of the mountain which “warmly welcomes tourists”, an excuse for the government to milk some more hard currency from foreigners. The legend of the rock centres around a few strands of the Lord Buddha's hair which were brought to Myanmar and lie under the precariously balanced rock miraculously preventing it from falling. Around the hillside ancient animist spiritual beliefs are as evident as the Buddhist faith with stalls stocked with animal parts, bears' feet, a jaguar's head, elephant tail or for a fiver an inch of the girth of a tiger's penis to provide virility. And we make friends with some lady boys making a film set at the Golden Rock.</span></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga0byf3CB7XsFm1jwdejGHmnLWsJvzOZKvz6P0az5QRNc3WvLoztf2j53at21RG_BTUHT-UOxZLdXj0XrCqQdKStmgPMhVzJ_I3BjMwMcGbydg28ccMyZOfhLuzAxmWJsDvhutOSveD2U/s1600/SAM_3999.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga0byf3CB7XsFm1jwdejGHmnLWsJvzOZKvz6P0az5QRNc3WvLoztf2j53at21RG_BTUHT-UOxZLdXj0XrCqQdKStmgPMhVzJ_I3BjMwMcGbydg28ccMyZOfhLuzAxmWJsDvhutOSveD2U/s320/SAM_3999.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEBF7v1cEzzfom42ErwYvPeOiDpoQgjGzGK1KFr1AgnzLdGOK-GHvHKm2dYgZ3P252KunELVoxHPWP6Twdp1omyKADO89KqrUIQ0Gy-VVQNaRfPlDIvkn7NhEwrkP4x8IXJgKRRfq6GwU/s1600/SAM_3996.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEBF7v1cEzzfom42ErwYvPeOiDpoQgjGzGK1KFr1AgnzLdGOK-GHvHKm2dYgZ3P252KunELVoxHPWP6Twdp1omyKADO89KqrUIQ0Gy-VVQNaRfPlDIvkn7NhEwrkP4x8IXJgKRRfq6GwU/s400/SAM_3996.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">There are far fewer tourists in the South Eastern part of the country and we enjoy the last few days in quiet towns chatting with locals, visit some Buddhas in bat caves and then the largest statue of a lying Buddha in the world. At 8000 feet long it is still unfinished but work has already started on a new bigger lying Buddha which will face it. It's slightly tacky and the surrounding </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">area is full of litter and poor. I </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">can't help thinking there are better ways to spend money in this poor country, on schools perhaps, but the such symbols are extremely important to the Burmese.</span><br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG2EH1aKrT4cxe_qK18f35Yp382gZzolcNPe6HpCdYlwuVWR7W__E6Hxg_V1Z3VrUW3dLT1vEuHNAjD5fEflP1uzZAofSc38MW7VXBI6kfNWHTxKq_b3MtVoprYwKCj90ogbrR-PzEMn4/s1600/SAM_3883.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG2EH1aKrT4cxe_qK18f35Yp382gZzolcNPe6HpCdYlwuVWR7W__E6Hxg_V1Z3VrUW3dLT1vEuHNAjD5fEflP1uzZAofSc38MW7VXBI6kfNWHTxKq_b3MtVoprYwKCj90ogbrR-PzEMn4/s320/SAM_3883.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">A final long distance journey, a bone shaking, painfully slow and uncomfortable train journey back to Yangon on wooden seats bouncing Burmese babies on my knee and eating a selection of food sold on the train.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij6G5Law_ZnHJmyyta-tGK6pScPohhiekQ0e2-5R21mAU2GAKzWWSb4DSC4_rBSYTFv0JrQ4o8XHkkaiK48dG65EQ7oS_afmP2TqcW2INVkLY1U0m4ueisE6FNxuFW88o48MJDCOuXj7M/s1600/SAM_4175.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij6G5Law_ZnHJmyyta-tGK6pScPohhiekQ0e2-5R21mAU2GAKzWWSb4DSC4_rBSYTFv0JrQ4o8XHkkaiK48dG65EQ7oS_afmP2TqcW2INVkLY1U0m4ueisE6FNxuFW88o48MJDCOuXj7M/s400/SAM_4175.JPG" width="400" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">This season sees more tourists than previous years but they're still relatively few tourists compared to neighbouring countries. Hotels are happily overwhelmed by this gush of Lonely Planet clutching Westerners (mainly French) and Chinese, prices kept high as demand begins to outstrip supply. After years of isolation suffering under a crazy military dictatorship the government is relaxing its grip. For travellers this means we can explore independently despite the still present irritating government fees to visit some places. Some travellers are irritated by the lack of infrastructure and exploring the country requires some patience. The unfortunate elements of tourism seen in other Asian countries are creeping in with children asking for pens and hawkers becoming persistent and developing their guilt complex inducing approach to selling their trinkets. And of course the usual hard bargain for a taxi or a banana but this can be approached jovially. The good nature of the Burmese redeems the challenge and curbs the aggressive approach which I experienced in India. Refreshingly in Myanmar everyone wants to welcome and genuinely help visitors and there is rarely a hidden agenda at trying to procure something for themselves which makes travelling here a real pleasure. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I would like to return to explore the far flung corners I did not reach this time to enjoy further the golden, green and the betel and also teach English in a monastery. Regardless I will be watching the country more closely and expectantly for the change it needs, and hopefully a harmonious change which retains the gentle character and strong philosophy of its people. Ann San Suu Kyi' writes that Myanmar “still remains a society awaiting for its true potential to be realised.” (something which is emphasised to be by its contrast with its neighbours). </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Let's hope that she gets chance to help realise this potential soon. </span></div></div></div>FylipoBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14142327128860329747noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852120160757421513.post-82245273806597110822012-02-10T15:39:00.000+07:002012-02-20T16:55:33.745+07:00ACKL<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZL_oNUksYb8AdFBF166zUd9JVnuCV1ny1eaw8O6CjRjC6IejEMFdMch7TnOVhLQLNQH6nCW7eI5iZgJKHK62ix9cnBVavEqQIXpusEiu4N-uUzDfMpsEPEzvarULUAcgmJdMHb_L8N48/s1600/SAM_2809.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZL_oNUksYb8AdFBF166zUd9JVnuCV1ny1eaw8O6CjRjC6IejEMFdMch7TnOVhLQLNQH6nCW7eI5iZgJKHK62ix9cnBVavEqQIXpusEiu4N-uUzDfMpsEPEzvarULUAcgmJdMHb_L8N48/s400/SAM_2809.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjams-yX9K4Rf0yTd1ElJeupYlmsqq8e8W0eV1XIb_ZeTPf6fTD7zfrlFCBwNJ2rajnu7lWqlYqJXSERgEN4aXG5TJ0xVUjcN1A6GwXs9hvpFjrw_uSMWY7qMRm7BBPBnDW0-09lJNsceE/s1600/SAM_2810.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjams-yX9K4Rf0yTd1ElJeupYlmsqq8e8W0eV1XIb_ZeTPf6fTD7zfrlFCBwNJ2rajnu7lWqlYqJXSERgEN4aXG5TJ0xVUjcN1A6GwXs9hvpFjrw_uSMWY7qMRm7BBPBnDW0-09lJNsceE/s400/SAM_2810.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The starkly clean and sterile air conditioned bubble of Kuala Lumpur with its unnerving orderliness and calm adds a few drops of culture shock to spice up The Grand Asian Tour. Our visit is brief but sufficient to observe the peaceful people, the interesting blend of three cultures and sample their cuisine – Indian, Chinese and Malay. Warmly hosted by a lovely couple through Couchsurfing.</span><br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXVZ1vFqZAghoESJkq2eTa_4y9FSgOzI4q-F7w3H1DKoSzIiqy819EBnmDiExY9etO1W-4pwAOz5EiUq_6toDqmKMheTcojjpzLA_6q_WQXRUyRcw7fXcCvxDqTvfUUEre_qYZkJ5rTZQ/s1600/SAM_2817.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXVZ1vFqZAghoESJkq2eTa_4y9FSgOzI4q-F7w3H1DKoSzIiqy819EBnmDiExY9etO1W-4pwAOz5EiUq_6toDqmKMheTcojjpzLA_6q_WQXRUyRcw7fXcCvxDqTvfUUEre_qYZkJ5rTZQ/s320/SAM_2817.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Tubular sky trains bullet on stone stilted runways, weaving through a forest of high rise sparkling glass buildings, reminiscent of a 1980s child's comic vision of the future, carrying ageless young Malaysians to work with staggered rush hours syncing working hours with Europe and the USA (locals who service American companies with their outsourced accounts department need to work night shifts). Below the looming tower blocks white businessmen in beige chinos and fit blonde women join them jogging on the relaxed commute to the corporate office blocks of multinational financial firms.</span><br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span> </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEindLCufVrlRyCd6z1XNHx891AZlGDhYrkY-qeWqrDgXlfSynaR2LC0rdYE1eqOCPZFeyQnOhMCfuf1i8wnu_nvJVFybU0JqbLMGcWXS2ZtXQ3Wu2kDDGCC_Y0A0AMnrY93CVppYqjgeOs/s1600/SAM_2821.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEindLCufVrlRyCd6z1XNHx891AZlGDhYrkY-qeWqrDgXlfSynaR2LC0rdYE1eqOCPZFeyQnOhMCfuf1i8wnu_nvJVFybU0JqbLMGcWXS2ZtXQ3Wu2kDDGCC_Y0A0AMnrY93CVppYqjgeOs/s320/SAM_2821.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-align: left;">We phlitter a frenetic Monday in the bland conglomeration of KL starting with an early morning visit to the Myanmar Embassy, a disorderly courtyard crowded with the farcical drama of young Burmese applying to visit their own country.</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXrf2L4gPcY0yqxI65rFB7jwWlH3aAS1BrFvXpP6F4zwMv8DRll8wqdXmJicfn8lPCUgSRZGGmnivMQ_xXCNp0QjkX0KivSYhHsFj3MS2b771e0fX3wxFKBJbEPI1kGP1uSqbuWSoUM9s/s1600/SAM_2829.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXrf2L4gPcY0yqxI65rFB7jwWlH3aAS1BrFvXpP6F4zwMv8DRll8wqdXmJicfn8lPCUgSRZGGmnivMQ_xXCNp0QjkX0KivSYhHsFj3MS2b771e0fX3wxFKBJbEPI1kGP1uSqbuWSoUM9s/s400/SAM_2829.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ0gtkicd2MNrG9OCcTHwBdjFNfEQthFKj3bCwysuJ3ZFB5tVpgA9zwp1XazozzDMVdqVrJrsBAu3MRcRFbZKaWCYyYjRJmIV_IOjcZljTHhll2mRB-Gi0fbHcRbS2uaPeZ1i67aQL0z0/s1600/SAM_2838.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ0gtkicd2MNrG9OCcTHwBdjFNfEQthFKj3bCwysuJ3ZFB5tVpgA9zwp1XazozzDMVdqVrJrsBAu3MRcRFbZKaWCYyYjRJmIV_IOjcZljTHhll2mRB-Gi0fbHcRbS2uaPeZ1i67aQL0z0/s320/SAM_2838.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBqN1CBChkasJQdQSrfGub8koS5Zl-bBUiA5fg1GVMzIT2O_xrqEhelktFJ1uKoroxGRv2vZRe2KjDcnkY0PDBALQ2gPeWvz2qIiQAm1gKgRhXK3Xtj5S3bSCh4GRzQuVtmQm1QFSVgOw/s1600/SAM_2842.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBqN1CBChkasJQdQSrfGub8koS5Zl-bBUiA5fg1GVMzIT2O_xrqEhelktFJ1uKoroxGRv2vZRe2KjDcnkY0PDBALQ2gPeWvz2qIiQAm1gKgRhXK3Xtj5S3bSCh4GRzQuVtmQm1QFSVgOw/s320/SAM_2842.JPG" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-align: left;">All the tourist leaflets we acquire dictate to visit the city's fantastic shopping malls and obediently we comply, anxious about the potential cost of our mushrooming shopping wish list* after 3 and a half months on the road. Happy to escape the creeping thick heat, we wander dazed the sharply cold malls, condemned men, paying painful prices for iced cappuccinos and tuna sandwiches – an uncanny delicious slice of an easy urban life we have known and will surely live again! The globally generic malls are shiny and depressing with European stores selling clothes at inflated prices (more expensive than London!) so we go local and back to the familiar bartering with the hardcore Chinese street vendors.</span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2XTfu6pXWbaQ0u14Kki2nxRGQf-OvBK5Jss1TyQv1_WdSWPAofFWvWGxw8UARwtTHtPEWEyjhZlAEqU5xyZ0KmqiZcus6hrMaLe7BtqlbyBeXZhxVXIhyphenhyphen_jugRiv7kVow9i2AfdDR3pA/s1600/SAM_2848.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2XTfu6pXWbaQ0u14Kki2nxRGQf-OvBK5Jss1TyQv1_WdSWPAofFWvWGxw8UARwtTHtPEWEyjhZlAEqU5xyZ0KmqiZcus6hrMaLe7BtqlbyBeXZhxVXIhyphenhyphen_jugRiv7kVow9i2AfdDR3pA/s320/SAM_2848.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">After the tedious shopping trip we have chance to see one of the more interesting sights and dine on duck in the street at Chinatown and enjoy the vibrant atmosphere. Then onto an extortionately expensive Irish pub which could be anywhere in the world.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">With more time and more money it would be interesting to explore Malaysia further and importantly eat more delicious Malaysian food. For this trip it is too expensive and modern and the monsoon is still drenching the easterly beaches so swiftly onto Myanmar and back to basics. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">After letting our guard down on departing India we were scammed by an Indian taxi driver on the way to KL Airport.....you can escape India but.....</span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNkQDC7QB8YFOPQihIIVEAS4PsIvGSGF0kLfogNjAqK9hI47Y_VzlNxTgZ4ZOZ-cs8owH6rbbFMJEV75wqdqNzor9iqj4cbSruRqajgcqCt11qg1YU__upiXzoyjMjmjgrg-JdYaVo_Xo/s1600/SAM_2849.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNkQDC7QB8YFOPQihIIVEAS4PsIvGSGF0kLfogNjAqK9hI47Y_VzlNxTgZ4ZOZ-cs8owH6rbbFMJEV75wqdqNzor9iqj4cbSruRqajgcqCt11qg1YU__upiXzoyjMjmjgrg-JdYaVo_Xo/s320/SAM_2849.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFMGiIxmGamfiHKrcpBCqq1Gv3RtiTVhGQp1OhAp9U97MG51Al1m-q-98SA9ayRn2naz1Aop1fHFplEhShYGL-WkERHnthv6TSH6k-yAOI-3MGpHIKWku0WDelJkI9IniLpXDi7xzD-fg/s1600/SAM_2850.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFMGiIxmGamfiHKrcpBCqq1Gv3RtiTVhGQp1OhAp9U97MG51Al1m-q-98SA9ayRn2naz1Aop1fHFplEhShYGL-WkERHnthv6TSH6k-yAOI-3MGpHIKWku0WDelJkI9IniLpXDi7xzD-fg/s320/SAM_2850.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><b>*Shopping List</b></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">- Underpants (priority item due to pant disintegration)</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">- Trainers</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">- Big backpack (the cunning plan to bring a small “lighter” backpack backfired because one can't fit enough bloody stuff in it – travellers take note)</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">- Vests</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">- Flip flops</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">- MP3 Player (uncheck, not achieved, still stuck with ancient sporadically working ipod)</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">- Camera (uncheck, we can't afford it, stuck with shit Indian camera we bought after losing good one)</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">- Gel ear plugs (also disappointingly not achieved, the additional supplies we had brought to India at Christmas already black, again travellers take note to bring plenty – in the <b>top 5 essential travel items</b> – with head torch, washing line, mosquito repellent and small laptop)</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">= Luis Vuitton wallet (fake) & gold watch & DVD laptop attachment (spontaneous buys)</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Stocks of gifts to distribute to poor isolated schools and families in Myanmar (random selection bought in a frantic last minute dash to the bargain store of books, pens, toys, multicoloured hairbands)</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div></div></div>FylipoBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14142327128860329747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852120160757421513.post-86070152903104586242012-01-15T01:06:00.000+07:002012-01-15T01:06:21.699+07:00Men in Black, Ladies in Red, Umbrellas in Yellow<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFCXkM9zTNYT2n9q1UnFA4YBoNzRGVT3JoUgZ4GW76szAO-MSBSY8IHYH2kFk8Y2rkPmPNEGi17wLmvxrchmHmYtt4sGUzG26fnBPO3l9emPbf82pgJEQ_5nUYJmikU5UnQe7LqAjOnH4/s1600/SAM_2405.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFCXkM9zTNYT2n9q1UnFA4YBoNzRGVT3JoUgZ4GW76szAO-MSBSY8IHYH2kFk8Y2rkPmPNEGi17wLmvxrchmHmYtt4sGUzG26fnBPO3l9emPbf82pgJEQ_5nUYJmikU5UnQe7LqAjOnH4/s400/SAM_2405.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"> <span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">My last post from India encompassing some final observations of South Indian Pilgrims as my own passage nears moves eastwards. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJFHAJLhLnTRyUWjPnStv_G4m0tFp87ynK62mFggnAUzayrhEsoiAJZ-7WH6DeON6IP7hgUnyyt7uMMqdrMvmXbHfkD8vMHSpg58BQyG6hbFHj9Qy6cudStVsuqM-G2r8yjWggzrik144/s1600/SAM_2326.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJFHAJLhLnTRyUWjPnStv_G4m0tFp87ynK62mFggnAUzayrhEsoiAJZ-7WH6DeON6IP7hgUnyyt7uMMqdrMvmXbHfkD8vMHSpg58BQyG6hbFHj9Qy6cudStVsuqM-G2r8yjWggzrik144/s320/SAM_2326.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">We left lovely Varkala then returned, yo yo style like in Goa bouncing back to the beach life baby. Last days on the Arabian Sea with coastal walks watching the fishermen bring in the morning catch and afternoon beach lounging – amused by the lifeguards huddled together, 5 under an umbrella erratically blowing whistles. Cheap ajurvedic massages and dodgy pedicures and nail treatment for the girls. </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJwtdSDAcZcsE4M7AEzS5krFpSJ77tDX7Hgjl49UcupMULqLXnohOaOzDYgGd_A4wZSPsryjzLcsFjc1LIfi4L3EKum3KwIkekBfQoz4yM7YY0-wiEcw9ABL7tYd0VfY832s70bpqlDgY/s1600/SAM_2373.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJwtdSDAcZcsE4M7AEzS5krFpSJ77tDX7Hgjl49UcupMULqLXnohOaOzDYgGd_A4wZSPsryjzLcsFjc1LIfi4L3EKum3KwIkekBfQoz4yM7YY0-wiEcw9ABL7tYd0VfY832s70bpqlDgY/s320/SAM_2373.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTXy-X51p95glcBFx5PIWmscRuMmgf7EcMjvGDku1NXKnJR-FU9CN3HVSPmQ6MrbNB425ha9cbXSFOcEoGQ1qr4fLHSYqfKeArtBDi2ySNYuHOeM_E0MgW8xSeEYsHV_87fAkTor7VagA/s1600/SAM_2283.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTXy-X51p95glcBFx5PIWmscRuMmgf7EcMjvGDku1NXKnJR-FU9CN3HVSPmQ6MrbNB425ha9cbXSFOcEoGQ1qr4fLHSYqfKeArtBDi2ySNYuHOeM_E0MgW8xSeEYsHV_87fAkTor7VagA/s320/SAM_2283.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguooDhzvJqeYp0oUbh9jggT2_lAJ1hp2-mSDQKCSLO5qV4Y7zOKfVyvG8PRfRXJccx9lsgP7y21uZ8QrLbRLz6SWcs5MES9Z7aR4R2-tegoZMJ85ma6lBenTPRN5bi7HMow6_oP4ho4fs/s1600/SAM_2307.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguooDhzvJqeYp0oUbh9jggT2_lAJ1hp2-mSDQKCSLO5qV4Y7zOKfVyvG8PRfRXJccx9lsgP7y21uZ8QrLbRLz6SWcs5MES9Z7aR4R2-tegoZMJ85ma6lBenTPRN5bi7HMow6_oP4ho4fs/s320/SAM_2307.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwHCgdvRen6cYRPfsa6Xq-8FdWK1RrUYlGXz4MlPSLejX7q0sKOomOkeF3ED8Q51N7XXM69tMSo8ecXEDTr8zJKy9Py14v66rrTIANB90lO7X5jC9K5h33VecFXJE232yr4dXXCKfMH6o/s1600/SAM_2290.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwHCgdvRen6cYRPfsa6Xq-8FdWK1RrUYlGXz4MlPSLejX7q0sKOomOkeF3ED8Q51N7XXM69tMSo8ecXEDTr8zJKy9Py14v66rrTIANB90lO7X5jC9K5h33VecFXJE232yr4dXXCKfMH6o/s320/SAM_2290.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">We take a final trip to town to get my moustache pruned by the experienced old barber and we find bus loads of pilgrims in yellow milling about. Curious, we follow the singing line of yellow umbrellas towards the ashram..and another festival....established by the social reformer Narayana Guru...rows of pilgrims listen to speakers talk of equality and breaking down the caste system.</span></div><br />
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<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">A trip to the elephant festival to watch the parade of glorious elephants, floats with kitsch Hindu gods and theyyem dancers weave through the villages. The villagers wait eagerly outside their houses with tables of incense and offerings of bananas which they feed to the passing holy elephants for good luck. Village boys appear at our sides to accompany us, part of the spectacle.</span></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9FUdY77yroEDQWXy8nkAOCSU2QTdIJlaVy6959W53ITh9f52EnZtSrAFHdxarcyepFROa3-sJUUIPHfIyVosm7IxozrjoybJxVojIYF0lJbCiHz-A_vTYee0Sqc7J-LwM-MCCNoByhrg/s1600/SAM_2543.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9FUdY77yroEDQWXy8nkAOCSU2QTdIJlaVy6959W53ITh9f52EnZtSrAFHdxarcyepFROa3-sJUUIPHfIyVosm7IxozrjoybJxVojIYF0lJbCiHz-A_vTYee0Sqc7J-LwM-MCCNoByhrg/s320/SAM_2543.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Leaving Varkala Beach behind, we journey south accompanied by hordes of boisterous men in black, </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ayappa" target="_blank">Ayappa</a><u> </u></span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">devotees, feels like an illicit lad's weekend away, carrying packages of blankets and belongings lop sided upon their heads, en route to the Sri Ayappa Temple in the Western Ghats. Apparently the largest pilgrimage in the world with 40-50 million flocking there each year (last year 300 or so devotees were killed in a stampede) – compared in my guide to English football fans.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNu-keZj4-mTj7U3Tvz_GFM8mp15dwZblRdr7PnE-4nn6FsHCB0epGA6qUh6gFAwMBSI-EXLwfgSmfyDJg4vukKcvvKUpMSaolwDAGOFeFvQni78pxNfhQQHXOoC3dJWcHWqMohGwOZsk/s1600/SAM_2377.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNu-keZj4-mTj7U3Tvz_GFM8mp15dwZblRdr7PnE-4nn6FsHCB0epGA6qUh6gFAwMBSI-EXLwfgSmfyDJg4vukKcvvKUpMSaolwDAGOFeFvQni78pxNfhQQHXOoC3dJWcHWqMohGwOZsk/s320/SAM_2377.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><br />
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<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Into Tamil Nadu and we land at the end of India, the subcontinent's cape and the busy seaside getaway of Kanyakumari, an Indian Blackpool with candyfloss, ice cream and tat. Village women, perhaps seeing the sea for the first time, jump into the waves, waist deep shrieking delightedly. Kanyakumari marks the famous meeting place of three great seas: Arabian Sea, Bay of Bengal and the Indian Ocean - perplexing as the sea and the bay are surely part of the wider ocean, but I am being pedantic. Unsurprisingly this is also an auspicious place of Hindu significance with the engraved footprint of a goddess visible on the rocks (under a glass case, housed within a temple). </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE7kUUoIYv8p7KhofA_QNCHs-rJ2zeC77BuuQ8OMa0QjRPaYVvkQCMtvWM97NoK-6XHlW_KVa2_NVar-GAnN0RmcjDge3PKX7Yf09GwxzcHEBPS9vRn2Lt_wUKooSqma42ykYSID_fcgU/s1600/SAM_2390.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE7kUUoIYv8p7KhofA_QNCHs-rJ2zeC77BuuQ8OMa0QjRPaYVvkQCMtvWM97NoK-6XHlW_KVa2_NVar-GAnN0RmcjDge3PKX7Yf09GwxzcHEBPS9vRn2Lt_wUKooSqma42ykYSID_fcgU/s320/SAM_2390.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The main activity for the thousands of Indian tourists is to queue for 2 hours for a ferry to go 150 metres to the rocks marking the southerly point. One rock has a temple,the other a towering statue of the Tamil saint Thiruvalluvar. At boarding time the orderly queue turns into a chaotic charging at the boat. I see this mental free for all behaviour repeated in Tamil Nadu when I'm trying to get off the bus faced with a rabble (the old women seem to be the worst) clambering onto the bus. Stuck on the bus steps and unable to bear this behaviour I cry out in horror and with the throng momentarily stunned by this screeching strange white man I make my descent. </span></div><br />
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<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">For our final 15 hour train ride to take us to the heart of Tamil Nadu we booked to travel comfortably in AC 2 Tier, the highest class of carriage available. Boarding the train at 2 am the train conductor accosts us and correctly observes that our ticket was for the day before and explains that the date changes at midnight (noted). In the face of our bewilderment he enquires “And what do you now propose to do about this?” (Troubleshoot!) The AC class all booked up, in my dreamy valium induced state (I'd intended to pass out) I venture through the jungle classes (a term coined by Indians for second class) to Sleeper class (mid way) to explain our erroneous train escapade to the next officious conductor. Waving my ticket in the air: “this is a worthless piece of paper. You must pay a penalty.” (thanks for the understanding). I press him and he sells me new tickets on Sleeper, not without first fining me £6 for my foolish behaviour. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8m3RqCIQgpf2X2yT_Et3Ufu-XbZiDVVVKFgNVJ9CBBNX70vhYE0Eciw1_Bwubm-FeUYrLjRnVRuC2kcRz1suTMZf3cxrDD7A3KaK9rjankuWrXy1nCB1h18DgxXU1B08AH8cKApOKEdc/s1600/SAM_2625.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8m3RqCIQgpf2X2yT_Et3Ufu-XbZiDVVVKFgNVJ9CBBNX70vhYE0Eciw1_Bwubm-FeUYrLjRnVRuC2kcRz1suTMZf3cxrDD7A3KaK9rjankuWrXy1nCB1h18DgxXU1B08AH8cKApOKEdc/s400/SAM_2625.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I awake to the sound of singing and giggling ladies in red, another group of noisy pilgrims, a jolly village get away which has the added bonus of bestowing religious merit. IBalaji, the grandson of a pilgrim, appears expectantly beside me and I enquire about the pilgrimage, tales of far off important Hindu sites and temples, the more I learn the more confused I get.</span></div><br />
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<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">We reach the flat plains of Tamil Nadu, our final destination. We've travelled thousands of kilometres across the Indian subcontinent from the mighty Himalaya down to the Gangetic plateau, across the deserts of Rajasthan, through the dry state of Gujarat to the sea, transition zone of Maharashtra, drunken Goa, lush, tropical Karnataka and Karnataka to exotic Tamil Nadu. The stone bungalows of Kerala and rich towns give way to mud huts with palm thatch and dusty poor towns like in the Northern states. The ancient Dravidian races of Tamil Nadu, chiselled shades of black, even some curly hair, proud of their Tamil culture and its far distinction from the Hindi heartlands of the North. My Hindi is now forgotten and I attempt a few Tamil words with the help of Balaji my chosen teacher. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The mystical charm of the ancient Chola temples of Tamil Nadu is enforced by their continuing usage by thousands of Hindus today. Compelled to visit at least one, to checklist, from the many famous temple towns we choose Chindambaram and finding the temple alive with activity our temple interest is awoken again. On Monday morning the holy site where Lord Shiva was enthroned as Lord of the Cosmic Dance is littered with the debris of a weekend festival. Four huge colourful gopuras surround the temple site which is administered by Brahmins of the </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1996816396">Dikshitar </a></span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dikshitar" target="_blank">Caste</a>. These friendly, chubby brown skinned guardians with interesting hair arrangements (shaved fronts and buffon knotted buns) perform the daily ritual ceremonies in the inner sanctum where there is a great energy...incense and fire are wafted in front of Lord Shiva as pilgrims crowd eagerly in front of the shrine. </span> </div><br />
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<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">We bus across the plains towards the Bay of Bengal and Puducherry (Pondy) observing the devastation reeked by last week's </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><a href="http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/city/chennai/Cyclone-Thane-batters-Puducherry-TN-33-dead/articleshow/11309942.cms" target="_blank">CycloneThane. </a></span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Precarious thatched huts crushed and forests of palms lying on the ground, pushed over like matchsticks. Pondy is sombre in its recovery from the frightening attack from the heavens, seafront buildings boarded up and avenues lined with timber debris. The curious French colonial town of Pondy with its melange of French and Indian, its Hotel de Ville, Indian men playing boules, policemen with French hats teaching the youth to march and the continued presence of French institutes and cuisine. </span></span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAa880F64V7Yaq2Z_3OY-Av2ILVVY5z8I27jURoHfIb5DUx5fDeRBaaWrYQ3yFEHfuJGYIiSDQKO-0_UEIff40bRfFaku6CtLj-j8cJ-ibNXVEBvi_zYieWdBM7MLN5qJDTQBh1-ti4k8/s1600/SAM_2707.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAa880F64V7Yaq2Z_3OY-Av2ILVVY5z8I27jURoHfIb5DUx5fDeRBaaWrYQ3yFEHfuJGYIiSDQKO-0_UEIff40bRfFaku6CtLj-j8cJ-ibNXVEBvi_zYieWdBM7MLN5qJDTQBh1-ti4k8/s320/SAM_2707.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Fatigued after the travelling and after a blazing domestic row in a tuk tuk, we treat ourselves to a nice hotel....overjoyed to have a modern room with flatscreen TV, cable, internet, air con, a fridge, room service and complimentary toiletries (amazing what £15 per night as opposed to £5 awards). A haven/ office to take stock, eat croissants and forward plan. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">A penultimate stopover at Mamallapuram with its wonderful rock carvings, streets echoing with the chipping away at stone and its ancient craftsmanship. We have a final thali in the village dining hall, luncheon restaurants which feed a cheap, all you can eat with your hands thali to fill up the people for the day. The Tamil thali is served on a palm leave, which we first need to rinse and then later efficiently folds over to tidy away the thali debris. </span> </div><br />
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<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">And Chennai, our final destination, India's fourth largest city, which boasts the world's longest city beach - a huge dustbin. Happy to be moving on but a little sad, 75 days' phlittering has been a great amount of time to get a good flavour of India and time to adapt and appreciate the people and culture but I realise I have become quite attached to the Indian way. I have conquered the Indian way to my current satisfaction and now time for eastern climes. My nervous apprehension on entering the country back in November was rewarded with hectic North Indian towns, filth and hassle, it took weeks to relax into it, adapt and feel some control and then enjoy the rhythm of dealing with people. All the time my fascination of such a rich diverse country sustained and grown; having only peeled a few layers I am coming back one day to continue, meet more people, learn more lingo, learn more Hindu philosophy, appreciate the country further and travel the distant northern state of Kashmir (and of course Punjab)...this can wait a while. As we have heard Indians say, “something is better than nothing.”</span></div></div>FylipoBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14142327128860329747noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852120160757421513.post-51045573929670396782012-01-07T22:09:00.000+07:002012-01-07T22:09:40.571+07:0022 Hours Visit to the Hugging Saint<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0vTKtedhtBWvHm54tcOpz_GSCl60RWaRRXaSc8iPfRCI6JOJ-IFE4PIrwyCbPS-jx9QFU7xcP8LBJyv4FDRYO2X7NIDUjxij7n3nUmVOtnggmZmH9YNCToCCRgGugORbiGR518rpB1D4/s1600/SAM_2450.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0vTKtedhtBWvHm54tcOpz_GSCl60RWaRRXaSc8iPfRCI6JOJ-IFE4PIrwyCbPS-jx9QFU7xcP8LBJyv4FDRYO2X7NIDUjxij7n3nUmVOtnggmZmH9YNCToCCRgGugORbiGR518rpB1D4/s400/SAM_2450.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We visited Amma's Ashram for one night and one night only. A remarkable place not quite like any other I've ever known, an unusual cross between a spiritual retreat, a religious cult, a communal living experiment and a humanitarian aid foundation.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGNkXQWYWBAlbmmLfUdfLnHvCtE9rk2cNtTlMWTXDDJgEkNAgXCqtBcL-0qb1QpzfYicKzU7MTm6kF41YewmW-346Q_TTU309dKs5QnqmjgvUulMKMxSqDbp6krlgvPSffSCf_Q5m82Ks/s1600/SAM_2430.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGNkXQWYWBAlbmmLfUdfLnHvCtE9rk2cNtTlMWTXDDJgEkNAgXCqtBcL-0qb1QpzfYicKzU7MTm6kF41YewmW-346Q_TTU309dKs5QnqmjgvUulMKMxSqDbp6krlgvPSffSCf_Q5m82Ks/s320/SAM_2430.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVBcSFG_4xABgsG6pKbkClLgkhYu9MRwltRQO9vwU2nw-u9ciVBwl3jN1G6185skK8jwkAr5ZT4jkgvD68fa1fC4YqVvKtlU4S1gtC4VVl-cfqIW_LzoK6wyh2tpSNEZn6FWNKT6YTrcY/s1600/SAM_2437.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVBcSFG_4xABgsG6pKbkClLgkhYu9MRwltRQO9vwU2nw-u9ciVBwl3jN1G6185skK8jwkAr5ZT4jkgvD68fa1fC4YqVvKtlU4S1gtC4VVl-cfqIW_LzoK6wyh2tpSNEZn6FWNKT6YTrcY/s320/SAM_2437.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We take a scenic route to Amritapuri by ferry through the dreamy Keralan Backwaters. On arrival we make our way to the temple and the International Office run by helpful white men in white lungis with sweet north American accents who efficiently process new arrivals and issue <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Darshan" target="_blank">darshan</a> tokens (the famous hug and blessing from Amma). Here the bureaucratic epicentre of this busy <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ashram" target="_blank">ashram</a> with Ammatapuri Internet, an Information Office and a cottage printing industry. Groups of Indian ladies and white ladies, all in saris, supported by the youth sitting at tables diligently piling newsletters and Amma pamphlets into labelled batches to be shipped off to Mangalore and beyond. The literature comes hot off the in-house printing press in nearby outhouses, rolled in on barrows across the yard past the holy cow shed. </span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We are issued with our “Code of Conduct” (no kissing or hugging – there is only one hugger around here), assigned a room and advised to attend a guided tour at 5pm. Us boys are housed in the new block on the edge of the sprawling complex in a dorm block that is still mid way in construction, the ashram clearly can' t build dorms fast enough to cope with devotees' demand. It's growing...The girls go to their assigned space in an old block which they are to share with other creatures they will later meet.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The architecture of the ashram is 1960s Soviet communist style, it juts incongruously out of the jungle it inhabits – ugly pink concrete flat blocks stand haphazardly, spreading through the trees. The complex is adorned by posters of Mother adding to her iconic status and sometimes bizarre edicts </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>Darshan</i><i> is reserved today only for people who have not had darshan already this week.”</i> Again the communist analogy is not far away.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We dutifully attend our induction and are presented along with the other 50 new arrivals with a 40 minute video on Amma, a promotional showcase of the incredible achievements of Amma's humanitarian initiatives – millions of dollars spent on disaster relief, slum renovation, education, care homes, healthcare, research for a better world - run through her charitable foundation <i><a href="http://www.embracingtheworld.org/" target="_blank">Embracing the World.</a></i><i> </i></span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It is a sleek marketing video, too sleek, which immediately makes me suspicious but I'm not sure why as there is clearly wonderful work going on...thousands of people being helped, my skeptical mind? Too many statistics? (I later learn that Amma's marketing team is second to none) The most impressive element of the work of this NGO for me is the mobilising of volunteers to drive forward the work thus seemingly allowing greater funds to be focussed on charitable work. The income for this charity is huge and I am left wondering where this money comes from...</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Our guided tour includes a trip to the cow shed where it all started with Amma performing miracles as a child, the attention she received from visiting holy men was much to the consternation of her father who eventually allowed his daughter to follow her spiritual path with the guidance of the persistent saddhus. The complex has grown into the jungle and village from this shed and now homes 3000 residents and hundreds more visitors, people from different religions, all Mother's children come to the ashram and follow the rules. I observe serene ghosts phlittering, contemplating who they are, spaced out with slight deferential smiles on their way to meditation sessions and their seva.<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Selfless_service" target="_blank"> <b>Seva</b> </a>is the selfless service which the armies of residents and visitors are encouraged to partake in daily, working for others without expectation is said to allow individuals to reap the wealth of a peaceful mind and an open heart. Seva includes working in harmony with others cleaning, cooking, building dorms and serving cappuccinos.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In a preparatory talk prior to our darshan, our guide explains that with Amma, the divine mother, “it's not a regular human being that we are dealing with here.” We are warned that she mirrors how we approach her and she can communicate with everyone. My curiosity of this lady is awakened and I am struck by the strength of devotion in her following. We are also advised of additional regulations that Mother has put in place for her visiting flock. </span> </div><br />
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<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The main auditorium stands central to the complex, an imposing functional building consistent with the architecture, the lack of walls allows the tropical air and mosquitoes to wash through. This is where the action and fun happens. An atmosphere of calm with rows of devotees sitting on plastic chairs, dozing, dancing, singing and watching the stage where behind a crowd Amma is hugging. The stage, flanked by two giant iconic kitsch photos of Mother meditating by a waterfall and standing in a meadow,could be the setting for a presidential rally. Speakers pipe out mantras: <i>“absolute bliss”</i>. An infirm Indian woman positioned in her wheel chair below a TV screen gazes in awe at live images of Amma giving darshan on the stage, curiously watching the divine mother thrust head after head to her breast. When Amma goes for a break the screens switch to footage of Amma out and about, in action, with her adoring jubilant fans. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After 3 hours in the queue we realise with irritation that we are being delayed by a rogue “priority darshan queue” which reminds us we are in India. But eventually our group is summoned to the stage, our anticipation heightens and my belly rumbles.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We join the snake of plastic chairs moving along in line from chair to chair in the comical queuing system. Amma sits in the centre of the stage on a golden throne attended by her inner circle of staff, senior holy men in orange and attendees. This inner sanctum is surrounded by a further throng of devotees deep in meditation, residents are rota'd for meditation stage duty. A powerful energy pervades this space; a cumulation of meditative hum resonating with the hush of excited pilgrims moving closer to Mother and vibrations of sanskrit mantras and music piped through the vast auditorium. I close my eyes, letting the incredible energy wash over me, I feel at peace. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After my long wait I find myself near to Amma and the final moments before my darshan move quickly. A line of holy men streams through the pilgrims paying respects and honour to Mother, kissing her hands, touching her feet (normal respectful behaviour in India). Mother's assistants beckon me forward, enquiring of my language in preparation to be passed onto Mother who appears to be multi-tasking. In between hugging her devotees she holds court discussing possible business issues with her aides and laughing. It seems that important issues of her empire are being discussed and although this could potentially distract her from her embracing, she always re-focusses for a second hug and gives different attention to each person, responding to the individual. Sometimes a quick clasp and others a long warm cuddle. An incredibly smooth operation. I am firmly encouraged to my knees alongside pilgrims from a second complimentary queue coming from the other side of the stage. The moment is arriving, my hand placed in preparation on the throne. The busy throng of assistants almost becomes a final tussle which I find overwhelming as I am trying to compose myself for my darshan. Then it happens, my head is pushed forwards to Mother's breast and she is whispering in my ear “Maradona, Maradona, Maradona” (this mantra is a gift), she gives me a sweet and it is over. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As we go to bed Mother is still busy giving darshan on the stage, she has been going for an impressive 12 hours already. These marathon sessions have been known to continue for over 20 hours and have been happening for over 20 years now. Amma has embraced over 30 million people. After the darshan sessions end Mother returns to her room and stays awake on her mobile deep into the night resolving issues across her international network of centres and projects. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We enjoy the peace of the ashram and indulge in bargain cappuccinos and delicious chocolate coconut cake served to us by selfless devotees. Amma recommends the “middle way” - an appealing approach to spirituality which balances meditation, self-discipline and cake. We also do a spot of shopping, perusing the Amma merchandise – stuffed Amma dolls, pens, Amma 2012 calendars – a whole industry. In fact the Amma operation is more than a few dolls, it's a series of well established limited companies – Amrita Enterprises Limited, Amrita Business School.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Amma encourages all visitors to take time to relax and learn how to be peaceful, becoming witness to our thoughts and body. Obediently I silently participate with the communal journey to a divine conciousness, meditating and doing morning yoga on the beach – only sounds of the waves of the Arabian Sea, a Japanese man's breathing exercises, Hindu music and the blaring horns of passing tuk tuks remind me I am in India. The ashram has grown into the village and village houses find themselves in a sea of ashram, perhaps the village road which cuts through will be redirected through an underpass in the future. Interestingly and spookily part of the code of conduct is not to communicate with the villagers.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As I leave the headquarters of Amma International I feel peaceful and calm and ponder on the experience and movement. Amma is clearly an amazing individual and has mobilised a mass movement in a country, culture, psyche and religion which allows greater space for spirituality and for revering individuals as living gods – Indian law even has allowances for living gods and goddesses – something that is quite alien to Westerners.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Further research on the web proves interesting, I discover quite <a href="http://www.cultnews.com/?cat=4" target="_blank">controversial stories </a>about the organisation including an Ex-Amma Forum, a place where ex-devotees come together to support each other with recovery from their ordeal.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The girls, visited by rodents in the night, departed swiftly back to the beach and the boys phlitter further into the backwaters to file reports and play shithead. </span> </div><br />
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</div>FylipoBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14142327128860329747noreply@blogger.com1Piranganattu Devi Temple, Kerala 695310, India8.7712121 76.721869200000015-31.0757489 16.956244200000015 48.6181731 136.48749420000001tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852120160757421513.post-62632711275962955942011-12-31T17:01:00.000+07:002011-12-31T17:01:54.747+07:00Kerala for Christmas<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gDnfjVuMG0c/Tv66vnlxseI/AAAAAAAAAhM/rwfgtUrio-o/s1600/SAM_1948.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gDnfjVuMG0c/Tv66vnlxseI/AAAAAAAAAhM/rwfgtUrio-o/s320/SAM_1948.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ut0FXg8iGV4/Tv7A9sjz8kI/AAAAAAAAAio/lVc1AEnacqw/s1600/SAM_2196.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ut0FXg8iGV4/Tv7A9sjz8kI/AAAAAAAAAio/lVc1AEnacqw/s320/SAM_2196.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Travelling from Gokarna to Fort Kochi in time for Christmas, I reminisce on the usual 23<sup>rd</sup> December struggle home for Christmas. Weary after too many Christmas parties and thoroughly bored of the tedious repetitive conversations acted out at the photocopier about colleagues' Christmas plans. I am usually negotiating right now the pandemonium of Euston Station and the journey to the icy North; this year replaced with the spicy cacophony of the Trivandrum Christmas Express to the steamy South.</span><br />
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</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pog8Q5cSze8/Tv68xhP55AI/AAAAAAAAAhY/OQm4ecyT76o/s1600/SAM_1960.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pog8Q5cSze8/Tv68xhP55AI/AAAAAAAAAhY/OQm4ecyT76o/s320/SAM_1960.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Our Christmas journey begins with departure from the paradisical Om Beach; a wonderful unexploited hideaway in our cocohut amongst the palms. The time to leave is nigh as we have become too firmly fixed into the community of the Sangam cocohuts, if we stay much longer we will be babysitting for the blonde Swiss German boys and intervening in their father's overly strict fathering. Or we would end up not containing our cynicism with the preaching of alternative lifestyles by hippies bound for the Rainbow Gathering on Paradise Beach and their futile demonstrations against natural disasters (speed boats). So...departure.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fn_VJb-g_NI/Tv69BeDmqgI/AAAAAAAAAhg/0Sw2LqYuTkk/s1600/SAM_1980.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fn_VJb-g_NI/Tv69BeDmqgI/AAAAAAAAAhg/0Sw2LqYuTkk/s320/SAM_1980.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> We catch the 9.20 Trivandrum Express, travelling sleeper class (third best out of five, two better than jungle class). Joining a 50 hour express train from Gujarat at hour 34 the now resident families in our carriage are in another zone. Unsurprisingly they are not over welcoming as we cram in. After two months travelling the trains I feel more relaxed now with the comical systems of passengers flowing in and out. My earlier irritation at intrusion into my personal “purchased” zone has gone and I behave as everyone else, my perception changing. A flux of passengers moving about the train, seat sharing, one gets up and another quickly slips into the space. A general relaxed acceptance that trains are overcrowded, that India is overcrowded and that if you suddenly want to lie down forcing five people into the next berth then everyone will adapt but if you go to the toilet they shift back. One passenger phones his daughter then thrusts the phone to Christopher for a three way translation/ interrogation session.</span><br />
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</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We chug through the lush state of Karnataka and into tropical Kerala passing over wide estuaries pouring water from the Ghats of Central India into the Arabian Sea. Simple fishing boats that have worked these waters for hundreds of years are dwarfed by the dramatic water scapes trimmed by steamy jungle. Hot, hot, hot. In the middle of the day there is a palpable hot energy running through the train. Gujarati women in yellow saris, their bare feet taking the air from the window, sprawl gossiping on sacks of grain. I retire to a free upper berth for a semi sweaty sleep accompanied by calls of biryani and a tambourine. </span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Eating my biryani, cheap bland train stodge, I watch the sun sets over dreamy backwaters, a land crowded with tall palms with houses hidden inside. From the train the towns we pass don't have the frenetic energy of the towns in the North. Or is the three weeks on the beach which have relieved the pressure? Let's see....</span></div><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fort Kochi for Christmas - an old colonial city - Portuguese, Dutch and British buildings as well as the Chinese influence who left their ingenious fishing nets in the port. Kochi is the first Indian city which I can say is lovely and calm...very refreshing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Christmas was spent phlittering round the churches, ajurvedic massages, kathakali theatre and cooking curry for Christmas dinner with our host Gigi and her daughters. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Boxing Day and onto the hill station of Munnar, a horrible town full of rich Indians escaping the hot cities but beautiful surroundings. Spoiled of course by the rubbish and noisy traffic... we roamed the hills and tea plantations and met the local kids who taught me a song and leapt into my arms.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">An interesting Keralan christmas scene - this family invited us in for coffee with cardamom and a perusal of the family albums before a photo shoot with santa and a jungle nativity scene.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Moving On...</span></td></tr>
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</div>FylipoBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14142327128860329747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852120160757421513.post-51941847640623181222011-12-22T12:01:00.000+07:002011-12-22T12:01:14.085+07:00See You Soon Before Monsoon<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Some interim reflections/ confessional rant on India:</span><br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">After 7 weeks in India a little time on the beach has allowed for some interim reflections on previous phlittering environment. Adjustment and acceptance levels now stabilising I can move on from the temporary paralysis on Palolem Beach. India invokes strong and sometimes conflicting feelings bouncing from fascination, repulsion, amusement, schizophrenia, shanti, agitation...</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Pleasantly accustomed to the fine things India has to offer I enjoy the comfort and privacy of the better class of trains as well as the cheap passenger trains which chug along sluggishly through the lush southern jungles with warm air washing over my face as I chat to curious locals who have been surreptitiously peering at me with amber eyes while sharing samosas.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1liaMmijBTM/TvKwKAZ2vUI/AAAAAAAAAfE/Olruk3mbTPM/s1600/SAM_1903.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1liaMmijBTM/TvKwKAZ2vUI/AAAAAAAAAfE/Olruk3mbTPM/s320/SAM_1903.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Trusted Thali</span></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I enjoy arriving in a new town and<span style="text-decoration: none;"> taking time</span> to barter good-heartedly for a tuk tuk, the comical little machines which keep the chaos fluid. The comforting familiarity of my old friend the tuk tuk. I enjoy the familiarity. The familiarity of India's culinary delights: mango lassis, prawn curries, vegetable thalis (the safest bet in town for my tea – veg curry, pickles, rice, chappati, curd, daal and if I'm lucky a popadom – all for a quid or thereabouts) and masala chai – served whenever you need it by the ubiquitous chai wallahs whose tinny cry echoes into my railway slumber. And now I know the real costs of the delights and how things work I can relax and enjoy the ten minutes it takes to negotiate down to 15 Rupees for my papaya.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Hello to The Queen – a mysteriously named typical Indian dessert (perhaps only typical for the tourists?).</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-g49TLY0WgIs/TvK0NsCaL7I/AAAAAAAAAg0/DwPXPLdzwYg/s1600/SAM_1918.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-g49TLY0WgIs/TvK0NsCaL7I/AAAAAAAAAg0/DwPXPLdzwYg/s320/SAM_1918.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
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</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8nLtPuAo0Os/TvKwBirwxEI/AAAAAAAAAe8/U4bLIn-SpG8/s1600/SAM_1883.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8nLtPuAo0Os/TvKwBirwxEI/AAAAAAAAAe8/U4bLIn-SpG8/s320/SAM_1883.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The enjoyment eases the challenges of travelling around India. It eases my agitation at the hassle and shoving of the cities. I thought I would be more tolerant of people then find myself reacting to trickery by shouting at hoteliers and ignoring friendly people in the street because I suspect they are trying to sell me a camel safari then I feel guilty for my behaviour. And for every brusque money grabbing tricky person I meet I also meet a gentle curious person who wants to enquire about me, my nice country and profession. And if I soften and consent, he might take a photo to show his wife this strange unmarried white monkey he met on his business trip to Vasco de Gama. I enjoy the mutual photo taking on trains, buses and everywhere really – getting mobbed by excitable school trips or kids on bikes.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6FB72PCC_7Y/TvKxcB_Ry9I/AAAAAAAAAfY/Z4N7-icfURI/s1600/hampi+160+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6FB72PCC_7Y/TvKxcB_Ry9I/AAAAAAAAAfY/Z4N7-icfURI/s320/hampi+160+-+Copy.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1G0BCmh8dW4/TvKx8t_hlQI/AAAAAAAAAf4/dbd0qMNXYVo/s1600/SAM_1769.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1G0BCmh8dW4/TvKx8t_hlQI/AAAAAAAAAf4/dbd0qMNXYVo/s320/SAM_1769.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gjLm0PGU2TI/TvKxtxXYXpI/AAAAAAAAAfw/wwiOIZp-ALA/s1600/SAM_1767.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gjLm0PGU2TI/TvKxtxXYXpI/AAAAAAAAAfw/wwiOIZp-ALA/s320/SAM_1767.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The wonderful trains also provide a challenge to my sentiments with the odour of excrement and urine which drifts in from stations. And the general filth and pollution in India provides also a general challenge. Searching for a non-existent bin on the train I follow my fellow passenger's suggestion and throw my rubbish from the window. Seconds later I am filled with horror at my action, an action which is so normal to millions of Indians who are accustomed to their rubbish being cleaned away by the lower castes. Another common waste disposal system is to burn rubbish at night on the side of the street polluting the air with toxic fumes....a clear lack of litter bins, waste disposal system and education.</span><br />
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</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">But my acceptance of the lack of litter bins is growing. As is my acceptance of how slowly business is carried and my acceptance that I can't walk on city pavements because they are covered with crap and I need to walk into the oncoming blaring stream of motorbikes, dogs, bulls and tuk tuks whilst dodging open sewers. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HS9bLkQ-4jc/TvKyLNBGdCI/AAAAAAAAAgA/SxJTnXQMATw/s1600/SAM_1783.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HS9bLkQ-4jc/TvKyLNBGdCI/AAAAAAAAAgA/SxJTnXQMATw/s320/SAM_1783.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The dogs and cows are tolerated in the name of religion. Perhaps cynically I perceive </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">that greater tolerance is given to animals than to the ragged street children, who are booted into the gutter by shopkeepers. Meanwhile let's paint the holy cow's horns and give money to holy men. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I vow to stop giving money to saddhus, who have chosen their holy path of charity, to irritating hare krishnas and to people providing un-requested services (incl. singing me a welcome song, giving me irrelevant “information” and forcibly decorating my hand with henna). If I am going to be milked for money in India then my funds are going to cripples who wheel themselves painfully (for me or the?) along the street. To the wretched </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">woman sprawled in a crowded street, howling an unsettling repetitive wail, crying for money. Her head on the ground and her face covered with a black veil. She lies in an awkward sprawl with a protruding stump of a leg positioned prominently upwards. The stump is smudged with red and black like a piece of painted wood or old crayon. A nightmarish vision of damnation. Or to the man in dirty white rags, half naked, black grime caked into his skin being chased by a vicious dog.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Sv8L-nG-YvY/TvKywtx_U9I/AAAAAAAAAgc/1DoTzhj4TOU/s1600/jodphur%252C+udaipor%252C+Goa+180.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Sv8L-nG-YvY/TvKywtx_U9I/AAAAAAAAAgc/1DoTzhj4TOU/s320/jodphur%252C+udaipor%252C+Goa+180.JPG" width="240" /></a><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Visions of chaos and a lack of personal space. A palpable sense of one billion people climbing on top of each other to thrust themselves forward. People crush in and out of trains and traders disregarding each other to compete. I hear about “jugaad” which refers to the unique creativity of Indians to overcome constraints in their circumstances to achieve, produce and succeed. This is striking in Mumbai. In Dharavi, Mumbai's main slum, a quarter of a million people work scavenging waste across the city and process the waste recycling in the slums with an annual turnover of $1 billion. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The chasm between slum dwellers and the upper classes is striking. Then the new middle classes with bacardi breezers, contrived manners and stunted old fashioned English Old Chap. I visit glitzy city malls with pale skin teenagers gathering to eat McSpciy Chicken burgers, pizza hut and watch the latest Bollywood movie: Ra One or Rockstar which depict luxurious lives of the Indian upper classes. The movies have a schizophrenic storyline jumping inexplicably from a love scene in Mumbai to a snowy mountaintop in Kashmir, the heroine is dying then living. Scenes are interspersed by brash melodies and slapstick humour causing ripples of chuckles from the audience who interrupt the scene with mobile phone calls. The films blend an American convention of cheesy predictable stories with a unique Indian style of humour and situations.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oATICAbzo2M/TvK4tymJ-KI/AAAAAAAAAhA/MEuBlT1icYk/s1600/rockstar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oATICAbzo2M/TvK4tymJ-KI/AAAAAAAAAhA/MEuBlT1icYk/s1600/rockstar.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The aspirations for wealth clear in Bollywood films are also apparent in other parts of society. There is a clear obsession with money. Traders kiss their first money of the day and say a prayer. Hindus give offerings of money to the gods. Part of a standard tour guide includes a run down of associated costs of things viewed. Meeting new people involves direct questioning about how much your possessions cost and even how much you earn which can be disconcerting. Children walking with their families come and demand money and pens. In fact this obsession with money can seem perverse and crass to my English sensibilities. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">There is an emerging Indian middle class and with this greater aspirations for people to improve their circumstances. This includes a recent increase in the demands of families for huge dowries as part of arranged marriages. Brides are seen as commodities, weddings an opportunity to ameliorate a family's economic status. Poor families cannot afford to have too many daughters. </span> </div><br />
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</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The obsession with money is matched with the strength of religion. The diversity and strength of religion is incredible. Hindus, Buddhists, Jains, Muslims and Christians – a common fervour. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-K1gu0rfP0nI/TvKyp3eSZfI/AAAAAAAAAgU/zF7OFPZWKB0/s1600/PB233079.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-K1gu0rfP0nI/TvKyp3eSZfI/AAAAAAAAAgU/zF7OFPZWKB0/s320/PB233079.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The kitsch Catholic shrines in Goa came as a surprise after the colourful Hindu shrines in the North. Religion is a strong part of peoples' identity and purpose. I read a newspaper article expressing concern at the frequent crushes at pilgrimage sites, a holy rush to get darshan first. Last week we visited the mountain where Hanuman, the monkey god, was born and this week we arrive at Gokarna where Shiva was reborn through the ear of a cow. The land holds an intricate mythological map of Hinduism with a country wide complex of sites providing physical proof to quell any religious doubts although the pilgrims I speak to offer a conflicting range of stories about the strange but complicated stories and significance of events. It is a confusing and exhausting time for pilgrims to visit and understand this mass of places. Perhaps the good faith of the visit is what's important.</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3x_Rt6frWmY/TvKxZ2QUO2I/AAAAAAAAAfQ/y45Yds2_HNQ/s1600/hampi+150.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3x_Rt6frWmY/TvKxZ2QUO2I/AAAAAAAAAfQ/y45Yds2_HNQ/s400/hampi+150.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: purple; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Hanuman</span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">On the road for over two months now and it is amazing how normal it feels but some lurking work ethic guilt thing sometimes creeps in on reflection of my new found indolent and decadent lifestyle. Days spent making difficult decisions. Should I have a boiled or fried egg? Shall I walk to the left or right of the beach today? How many nights to spend in this village? Oh, time to take my malaria pill again – the monotony!</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div></div>FylipoBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14142327128860329747noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852120160757421513.post-10004257970853986172011-12-22T11:18:00.000+07:002011-12-22T12:02:09.511+07:00Lunghi Land<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Gisha, sans-serif;"></span><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Bo0Bk5ZzGQU/TvKsnUZZEpI/AAAAAAAAAeM/TWbfbAW1q6E/s1600/SAM_1868.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Bo0Bk5ZzGQU/TvKsnUZZEpI/AAAAAAAAAeM/TWbfbAW1q6E/s640/SAM_1868.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The boys just popped into town. Phlittering into town is a pleasant 45 minute walk past the beached cattle, up some rocky steps, over the cliffs, down through sandy Kudle Bay and over the headland past the Namaste Yoga Centre into Gokarna Town. After a few days of peace and seclusion on Om Beach it was nice to get some provisions.</span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4QzdxBfZ8iU/TvKsPIJAgQI/AAAAAAAAAd8/I0aVsCczy20/s1600/SAM_1816.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4QzdxBfZ8iU/TvKsPIJAgQI/AAAAAAAAAd8/I0aVsCczy20/s320/SAM_1816.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fm0dFsIfCwQ/TvKsYwlj3bI/AAAAAAAAAeE/TjbN4yNVEAk/s1600/SAM_1863.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fm0dFsIfCwQ/TvKsYwlj3bI/AAAAAAAAAeE/TjbN4yNVEAk/s320/SAM_1863.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ikLtgDawp_Y/TvKsB-bAXrI/AAAAAAAAAd0/oLngOuEgbz4/s1600/SAM_1813.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ikLtgDawp_Y/TvKsB-bAXrI/AAAAAAAAAd0/oLngOuEgbz4/s320/SAM_1813.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Gisha, sans-serif; text-align: left;">Today's provisions were mainly Indian apparel and a few sweet delicacies. We tracked down the cheapest lunghi shop in town and the three boys all selected a fine lunghi of a different colour; deep purple, burnt auburn and emerald green. Each boy happy with his colour we paid attention to our lunghi wearing lesson from the kindly tailor. Lunghis can be worn in various styles: as a long straight evening skirt to protect from mosquitoes, in a double wrap short sexy mini skirt or pulled back through the legs into shorts, Gandhi fashion. They provide a cheap, stylish comfortable alternative for men to trousers which also suit the Indian climate well.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sCirxPaWX04/TvKs0MZROAI/AAAAAAAAAeU/lhi7n6JT67c/s1600/SAM_1870.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sCirxPaWX04/TvKs0MZROAI/AAAAAAAAAeU/lhi7n6JT67c/s320/SAM_1870.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-inVb_KkcJVc/TvKtASYvBgI/AAAAAAAAAec/wsubim1FsuM/s1600/SAM_1882.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-inVb_KkcJVc/TvKtASYvBgI/AAAAAAAAAec/wsubim1FsuM/s320/SAM_1882.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Spot the Indian Man</span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table> <span style="font-family: Gisha, sans-serif;">Phlittering through the streets of Gokarna we stopped for some light pampering at a little barber's shop. The barber shaved my stubble and pruned my moustache (30 rupees – cheapest shave yet but unfortunately no face massage available at this salon) then whipped Yann's hair into shape.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dVmxXjkdUOE/TvKvGH8lm3I/AAAAAAAAAew/JC2rk08owfM/s1600/SAM_1884.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dVmxXjkdUOE/TvKvGH8lm3I/AAAAAAAAAew/JC2rk08owfM/s320/SAM_1884.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Gisha, sans-serif;"> </span> </div><br />
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<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Gisha, sans-serif;">As we walk home bare footed along the beach, Yann reminds me of my remark back in September in Delhi Airport that I would not ever emulate the appearance of a man we saw; dressed in a skirt, long haired, bare footed who had obviously been in India some time. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Gisha, sans-serif;">I reflect on the recent day's activities morning sivananda yoga under the palms of Om Beach, a little chanting, carving coconuts into bowls, purchasing a few bangles and beads, mindless chattering, a swim to the rocks, a couple of hours in the hammock, sitting by the camp fire on the beach listening to bongoing Bob Marley...I realise I have arrived. But not quite arrived to disconnect from society for a month and build my own shack in the isolation of nearby isolated Paradise Beach for the forthcoming month long Rainbow Gathering. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Gisha, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gNZMH-FqkBc/TvKtIej0SXI/AAAAAAAAAek/7Mw9LDK2Q0I/s1600/SAM_1901.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gNZMH-FqkBc/TvKtIej0SXI/AAAAAAAAAek/7Mw9LDK2Q0I/s320/SAM_1901.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Gisha, sans-serif;">Although it is tempting to escape from Rat Attack which has struck our little cocohut for the last two nights. The cocohuts are more primitive on Om Beach but we always must maintain some order. </span> </div></div>FylipoBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14142327128860329747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852120160757421513.post-66715766044831937722011-12-22T11:00:00.000+07:002011-12-22T11:00:05.688+07:00To what nice brand do you belong sir?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
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</span></span></div><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">From the cosy bay of Palolem, fish vindaloo and happy hours we whizzed up, up and up, northwards, into another amalgamation. On Anjuna Beach the party starts at sunset as topless dreaded ravers daubed in garish pink paint jerk to pumping trance music with toddlers on their shoulders. Excitedly we join the party but the evening rave is brief. Extinguished early like a candle in the wind we move to the sands. </span> <br />
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</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">To which nice country do you belong sir?” </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">What brand do you smoke?” </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">What is your good name friend?”</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Have you ever felt the touch of an Indian chick's skin? You can find a chick on <a href="http://cupids.com/">cupids.com</a>”</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Close the circle and hide. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I am down a peg or two myself old chap.”</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">A nonsensical barrage of insistent questioning from inebriated Mumbai weekend trippers. The interrogation cuts through our current limits of social decorum.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RcfFg2kfJcA/TvKnpLhCcmI/AAAAAAAAAdA/5ANDNcaMkow/s1600/SAM_1617+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RcfFg2kfJcA/TvKnpLhCcmI/AAAAAAAAAdA/5ANDNcaMkow/s320/SAM_1617+-+Copy.JPG" width="320" /></a>“<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Ou est ta femme?”</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">My wife is a man. Circle closed and removed. Departure to a disco with scary monsters in a concealed sauna. The toilet's in the kitchen and the spring rolls are going spare. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">OMELETTE, OMELETTE, OMELETTE”</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vDQubRLs7Bk/TvKnj3CHN0I/AAAAAAAAAcw/15VlWe4BkaI/s1600/hampi+058.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vDQubRLs7Bk/TvKnj3CHN0I/AAAAAAAAAcw/15VlWe4BkaI/s320/hampi+058.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The Omelette Lady Brigade is at the ready. Ready to swoop in with tables on their heads and an artillery of eggs to ring all the psychedelic trance parties and terrorise the ravers. But we can command luscious moist egg mayonnaise rolls when we want, everything has a price. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">We recline on sunbeds in disarray with our moon glasses on and enjoy the final minutes of the full moon extravaganza. A shining spectacle plays out in front of our beds with a glistening moon and a golden channel of light sparkling magically off the ocean. The aroma of dirty oil drifting in from the busy shipping lane invades my slumber. I blink and its dawn. Depressed I see the dirty Arabian Sea and the beach littered with bottles and blackened by oil.</span></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-st-wKMhtsuA/TvKobQF9MzI/AAAAAAAAAdg/IbIdgjXfHUI/s1600/SAM_1707.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-st-wKMhtsuA/TvKobQF9MzI/AAAAAAAAAdg/IbIdgjXfHUI/s320/SAM_1707.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZLKZ9kYQO4Q/TvKn2lQ_TdI/AAAAAAAAAdI/kVbHemrOsRA/s1600/SAM_1696.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZLKZ9kYQO4Q/TvKn2lQ_TdI/AAAAAAAAAdI/kVbHemrOsRA/s320/SAM_1696.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tWvLkFrpB30/TvKoDvkYqlI/AAAAAAAAAdQ/QnuSEPjN1jQ/s1600/SAM_1703.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tWvLkFrpB30/TvKoDvkYqlI/AAAAAAAAAdQ/QnuSEPjN1jQ/s320/SAM_1703.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Yessss....ma'am....look at my shop...come....look!”</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Anjuna Beach traders plying their wares. You can always hide a shop up your sari. Or hide behind a luminous orange palm. One glance and you're got. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Massage....look in my book....just thinking!”</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">And I do contemplate the massage...and the negotiation...and contemplate trying to limit the massage prior to price spiralling. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Baba, baba”</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Ten dolphins leaping. Twelve thick jawed Russians drinking. Four ravers resting.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Coconut, watermelon, pineapple, coconut, wmlnapapcnut”</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EtzIV1xltls/TvKoniG1RgI/AAAAAAAAAdo/iSTob_hbVEU/s1600/SAM_1729.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EtzIV1xltls/TvKoniG1RgI/AAAAAAAAAdo/iSTob_hbVEU/s320/SAM_1729.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Return to source, 110 km today back to our Palolem, fish tandoori and the silence of the disco. Lazy afternoons relaxing amongst the cocohuts with fruit tables and Kingfisher from Samson's Kiosk. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The strange state of Goa. In 1961 the Indian troops crossed the border to bring it back to Mother India from the Portuguese. Then came the hippies, the ravers, the backpackers, the package holidays, the Russians, the Mumbaikarans. Its uniqueness continues and the kitsch Catholic Jesus protects our Sea View home. </span> </div></div>FylipoBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14142327128860329747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852120160757421513.post-38460162448195051952011-12-05T21:31:00.000+07:002011-12-05T21:31:55.197+07:00Gotta Get to Goa.....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1hJIHn1GGOu_kyLBf3BCfo7RqAr8txBf3IppEzbk3RWQFSGXpjJW4-vG8J77eeGdI25IGnK1I6ufs1r1SBar810jKHFLD7hsVLxg2Q_cPRPu69Jd-SoNTVHjjkI0kFjSe75btflE3W8c/s1600/SAM_0921.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1hJIHn1GGOu_kyLBf3BCfo7RqAr8txBf3IppEzbk3RWQFSGXpjJW4-vG8J77eeGdI25IGnK1I6ufs1r1SBar810jKHFLD7hsVLxg2Q_cPRPu69Jd-SoNTVHjjkI0kFjSe75btflE3W8c/s320/SAM_0921.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDYj1vd1RryExwoF3NjIzW_E0ygmdYGJDRopRLXGrYoc7iOi1e_3vKUrmJgpNTW2DA6D6vS1CHLkk8PLs_9d7ARpbrjJOmKL_bH4oUPugdGvhIieFNEj_t5HDzxkQDuPjPUW6t7GIgkLw/s1600/jodphur%252C+udaipor%252C+Goa+179.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDYj1vd1RryExwoF3NjIzW_E0ygmdYGJDRopRLXGrYoc7iOi1e_3vKUrmJgpNTW2DA6D6vS1CHLkk8PLs_9d7ARpbrjJOmKL_bH4oUPugdGvhIieFNEj_t5HDzxkQDuPjPUW6t7GIgkLw/s320/jodphur%252C+udaipor%252C+Goa+179.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvVlzXufSadag-CQNsidNgZex_M_-8OT6OjM-YEKu2eMINi-HmV_aifQfjCkpE9R6EVqy03LnMQMcgBh85G49s2tMQyMlLRU5MSAyr7Yp-T1ABAl4yNpxn6q0s3Wl3fefU_dV1Ft-xa94/s1600/jodphur%252C+udaipor%252C+Goa+189.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvVlzXufSadag-CQNsidNgZex_M_-8OT6OjM-YEKu2eMINi-HmV_aifQfjCkpE9R6EVqy03LnMQMcgBh85G49s2tMQyMlLRU5MSAyr7Yp-T1ABAl4yNpxn6q0s3Wl3fefU_dV1Ft-xa94/s320/jodphur%252C+udaipor%252C+Goa+189.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: -0.1cm;"> <span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">We traversed the vast plains and deserts of Northern India riding the magnificent Indian Railways, on our way negotiating hectic cities, camel safaris and damned lies. After a confirmed case of total temple overload and Indian city implosion we finally arrived at our little cocohut in Goa....time to breathe, take stock and get drunk. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: -0.1cm;"> <br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYy13NIcS8VR2jw5ChBAkPQL03nldXSxcdeyfLklEs_SHYhxrk909SMCBA8yvNCUt8x2ZV9vW1SVm7SBCGvVHr6iYYUAiKaYOFK6sGXoBcdreQpXz7ntWsY0E7SNAxL0yLiuNURiDhfMM/s1600/jodphur%252C+udaipor%252C+Goa+197.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYy13NIcS8VR2jw5ChBAkPQL03nldXSxcdeyfLklEs_SHYhxrk909SMCBA8yvNCUt8x2ZV9vW1SVm7SBCGvVHr6iYYUAiKaYOFK6sGXoBcdreQpXz7ntWsY0E7SNAxL0yLiuNURiDhfMM/s320/jodphur%252C+udaipor%252C+Goa+197.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: -0.1cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: -0.1cm;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0Mg-Yuned6uwFj763fiyu3jU2xHqQ4_e7PrzlpIoImeKVKC5fkWJB9cQ7aOtG2pij7ki5oPiYfv_6q31JKMEjWbiozkUXpY7hlX8_8Z9Ozv9YBwdexrdw0EQyPSNP_HnPMCmm1FiE2IA/s1600/orchha+%253D+agra+008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0Mg-Yuned6uwFj763fiyu3jU2xHqQ4_e7PrzlpIoImeKVKC5fkWJB9cQ7aOtG2pij7ki5oPiYfv_6q31JKMEjWbiozkUXpY7hlX8_8Z9Ozv9YBwdexrdw0EQyPSNP_HnPMCmm1FiE2IA/s320/orchha+%253D+agra+008.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">On my first temple visits I was full of fresh curiosity, especially in the mysterious and intricate erotic carvings at the ancient temples of Khajuraho and eagerly followed the full 3 hour audio guide. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: -0.1cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
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</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: -0.1cm;"> <span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">An obligatory stopover in Agra to visit the marvellous Taj Mahal where we joined the throngs of Indian tourists visiting their proud landmark but the throngs appeared distracted mainly by me. Families were queueing up with their babies to have their photo taken with me and I came away a little starstruck. I was distracted by the interesting poses adopted by Indians. The skies above Agra are yellow from traffic pollution, the streets dirty and the hassle immense so we kept our stopover in Agra brief. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: -0.1cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC7Fkw9lS2psjQDk__-baabmJPVhL0KCbpJY5IhuwtrGZK_6Sm-gzyFVq3IB5p0Gwnp1Uyy_1__XS_AuAHJm0r7cgxcHQLIO_csJCO8lQcxeuTzGBAAT0Kr-QeeMU-5GZrGHYAaT9eBl4/s1600/orchha+%253D+agra+112.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC7Fkw9lS2psjQDk__-baabmJPVhL0KCbpJY5IhuwtrGZK_6Sm-gzyFVq3IB5p0Gwnp1Uyy_1__XS_AuAHJm0r7cgxcHQLIO_csJCO8lQcxeuTzGBAAT0Kr-QeeMU-5GZrGHYAaT9eBl4/s320/orchha+%253D+agra+112.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: -0.1cm;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: -0.1cm;"> <span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Departure Agra, we arrive at the station at 5 am, scanning the information board I realise our train is not listed. After a bit of queue barging (helpfully this is normal and acceptable behaviour) the station official's grunts confirm my fear that we are at the wrong station. We quickly engage the emergency services of a hasty tuk tuk. He accordingly meets our demand and drives like a lunatic across the city, Wacky Races, tilting the fragile little machine precariously around roundabouts and gets us to the correct station with two minutes to spare. My indifference to safety is growing by the day as a means to get by. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: -0.1cm;"> <br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqyDeryl28jsPPjqAD0ObhMqAXdRVDJdd7xOuXpYR6_IJi6msZ3tnA_sflb9wG5k_6N76h3rgrMezlovh8SrUSv916K5hA15q7aKw9UGvnQ6Whpo1NvZrvQAKjT3mxrg9QgbAIIx04ss8/s1600/orchha+%253D+agra+001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqyDeryl28jsPPjqAD0ObhMqAXdRVDJdd7xOuXpYR6_IJi6msZ3tnA_sflb9wG5k_6N76h3rgrMezlovh8SrUSv916K5hA15q7aKw9UGvnQ6Whpo1NvZrvQAKjT3mxrg9QgbAIIx04ss8/s320/orchha+%253D+agra+001.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLB3ftxtyj6j_-AkiQWmi2xBSlgp9g7BThVNRhKKR9fqmCOnGcloO2m-v4tnzmbZK_MliyGlW9VA_ZRVoA6yCfsaYEQGpd4ii6AhaGwemMPGTgswxK8-jJbM1rlAyU0HLYds_oTUZ-Gig/s1600/jodphur%252C+udaipor%252C+Goa+185.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLB3ftxtyj6j_-AkiQWmi2xBSlgp9g7BThVNRhKKR9fqmCOnGcloO2m-v4tnzmbZK_MliyGlW9VA_ZRVoA6yCfsaYEQGpd4ii6AhaGwemMPGTgswxK8-jJbM1rlAyU0HLYds_oTUZ-Gig/s320/jodphur%252C+udaipor%252C+Goa+185.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: -0.1cm;"> <span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Arrival Anywhere involves shoving our way out of the train station, focussed on the agreed departure strategy. We battle through the assembled irritants vying for the attention of the “white monkeys” with a barrage of direct (and often impertinent) questions:</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">What can I do for you?”</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">What do you want?”</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Where are you going”</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMCXmGOCC-PAKvTzlsRhnlQXQsrH6h5Gc3wEmNG3XuAKgMjHQOBJhjrTHrJPS3tAen4SABpR0gazs-n4ET9vu15BMjeifCT_JFmsRWi9GueLOTlduG-f81pSjXwVrN-SOXDLnOMFBcDbI/s1600/jodphur%252C+udaipor%252C+Goa+116.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMCXmGOCC-PAKvTzlsRhnlQXQsrH6h5Gc3wEmNG3XuAKgMjHQOBJhjrTHrJPS3tAen4SABpR0gazs-n4ET9vu15BMjeifCT_JFmsRWi9GueLOTlduG-f81pSjXwVrN-SOXDLnOMFBcDbI/s320/jodphur%252C+udaipor%252C+Goa+116.JPG" width="320" /></a>“<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Looking for something?”</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Auto rickshaw?”</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: -0.1cm;"> “<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Hotel?”</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: -0.1cm;"> <br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: -0.1cm;"> <span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Unsure where to start answering some of these questions I resort to my new found Hindi phrase “Nahi chai'iya” - nothing needed</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: -0.1cm;"> <br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">After breaking free from the scrum, the hardcore tuk tuk price bargaining ensues and the struggle to avoid tuk tuk scams which involve taking you to the wrong hotel to get commission or telling that your hotel has burned down. The sheer cheek. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: -0.1cm;"> <br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFWJ0Xj7g4jGwcn7W_FSwBZ7ahMtoyFuoK7-kFhQKD2eLcrRwvMJio3Fh7TO3abgtfoWkfFNgxYs6uvyef0JfUCNeL6JryjCJLwg3SEadOjAPQFHBsdQU_W668ZOMzPxCXadDvJSlSfFU/s1600/jodphur%252C+udaipor%252C+Goa+117.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFWJ0Xj7g4jGwcn7W_FSwBZ7ahMtoyFuoK7-kFhQKD2eLcrRwvMJio3Fh7TO3abgtfoWkfFNgxYs6uvyef0JfUCNeL6JryjCJLwg3SEadOjAPQFHBsdQU_W668ZOMzPxCXadDvJSlSfFU/s320/jodphur%252C+udaipor%252C+Goa+117.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
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</span></span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Late Arrival At Jodhpur and another lunatic tuk tuk driver speeds us through another dirty Indian city. Warm musty wind whistles through the open cab and I look out apprehensive of what this “blue city” holds for me. We foil the first tuk tuk scam to take us to the wrong hotel insistent he takes us through the maze of narrow alleys to Hotel Cosy. Hotel Cosy lies nestled on the steep walls of the magnificent fort. And Hotel Cosy is overbooked but the tricky hotelier is in denial and attempts to claim our room is a mattress in a hallway. Tired, irritated and not amused we haughtily gather our belongings and depart to find another hotel. Marching blindly through the dark streets avoiding cow pats and open sewers we are shadowed by the previous tuk tuk man who is determined to get some commission somewhere but we shoo him away. </span> <br />
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</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">It's midnight and the streets are nearly deserted, a few old men playing cards in doorways and the dogs on guard of their territory... a black scraggy thing is barking ahead and as we approach his attention focusses on me. The scent of my stress. I dart to a small shop still open and hide behind a random Jain monk who giggles good heartedly. As we venture further the snarling black beast returns. He awakens the interest of the pack scattered on doorways down the street, smelling the blood and fear in the air. Yann threatens a ferocious beast with his bag but they are targeting me. I realise why locals only travel the city streets by motorbike after 10. Dog time begins. By day the scruffy dogs of the street are subdued by the roar of the city around them, seemingly docile. But by night they take over, their howls audible all over the city. </span> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4b83D_S7mCtEiKFEEROhZeuPIfa-Dlnroq9FrMuCahfjKlDnS3Q3WN4aTxAVYJkK7rZDH9WRLSIkCAt206TX1WijojgST9mRj-qkqvwCTe0qkzoxR5HRDJCNZIr0eWXlgA4MvfaN-BgI/s1600/jodphur%252C+udaipor%252C+Goa+043.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4b83D_S7mCtEiKFEEROhZeuPIfa-Dlnroq9FrMuCahfjKlDnS3Q3WN4aTxAVYJkK7rZDH9WRLSIkCAt206TX1WijojgST9mRj-qkqvwCTe0qkzoxR5HRDJCNZIr0eWXlgA4MvfaN-BgI/s320/jodphur%252C+udaipor%252C+Goa+043.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjke8xSvEXxTco4JRpzlWUiweaas-W1X0Gdts_GV5Tw-fecTv9iS3N7w7JSDOUlGecv-mtZKfE3eT1YnANCRaF-WkUF2RL5-xq-xnW2v18DNX4EZAhfNUwpqRDePlRGjNlj64CNL8tvkSs/s1600/jodphur%252C+udaipor%252C+Goa+021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjke8xSvEXxTco4JRpzlWUiweaas-W1X0Gdts_GV5Tw-fecTv9iS3N7w7JSDOUlGecv-mtZKfE3eT1YnANCRaF-WkUF2RL5-xq-xnW2v18DNX4EZAhfNUwpqRDePlRGjNlj64CNL8tvkSs/s320/jodphur%252C+udaipor%252C+Goa+021.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8n7n3btwGVxbm6KZ7n_QhyphenhyphenbNe8FT1O1FBwQ9NyIBa-ZA4P4SbITtF6fERZ7SaA2iwBICd5Kh3gUS4wYrkcTcopLv6MAidkVmUtvpTiUmYZsBOU4pZt4Y8KEIoRHBwbMRrWNmmb-97oIA/s1600/jodphur%252C+udaipor%252C+Goa+020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8n7n3btwGVxbm6KZ7n_QhyphenhyphenbNe8FT1O1FBwQ9NyIBa-ZA4P4SbITtF6fERZ7SaA2iwBICd5Kh3gUS4wYrkcTcopLv6MAidkVmUtvpTiUmYZsBOU4pZt4Y8KEIoRHBwbMRrWNmmb-97oIA/s320/jodphur%252C+udaipor%252C+Goa+020.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Our terror is over when we are saved by a passing tuk tuk who whisks us away to safety. We then spend much of our time in the blue city in our bright blue hostel apart from a short trip out to the fort. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">We see a fine selection of Rajasthani splendour including the fort of Jaisalmer and the palaces of Udaipur but the heat of the desert state is oppressive and we wanna get to the beach. The fort of Jaisalmer is a beautiful golden mound of a city glistening in the sunshine, a feel of Arabia with flat roofed houses, desert and carpet merchants. Unfortunately there is a poor Indian approach to protecting its heritage and environment as seen in the fort of Jaisalmer which is plagued by dangerous motorbikes and shamefully littered with discarded plastic bottles. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">We escape to sleep under the stars in the desert. </span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
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</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Udaipur centres round a magical lake surrounded by palaces, famous as the setting for the James Bond film Octopussy. In honour of the great film we attend a screening of the great classic – our best Saturday night in India yet. </span> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-oOMELgnZo3sjDTjnN8m4HA2CRPZ-p3J-eOT6KcdnuEGS23RRi37ZVtCGPFnASdF6fe7SrKE_0cknq4rar5v1-6B45ZZVxOerbtmH3JV6mDTJxrkRliaT4DpwueQgoOJ0RzNRGS5mKEc/s1600/jodphur%252C+udaipor%252C+Goa+083.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-oOMELgnZo3sjDTjnN8m4HA2CRPZ-p3J-eOT6KcdnuEGS23RRi37ZVtCGPFnASdF6fe7SrKE_0cknq4rar5v1-6B45ZZVxOerbtmH3JV6mDTJxrkRliaT4DpwueQgoOJ0RzNRGS5mKEc/s320/jodphur%252C+udaipor%252C+Goa+083.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
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</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Onto Ahmedabad, the great capital city of Gujarat, a dry (in various senses of the word) city of 6 million people with the standard appalling levels of noise and filth. The lack of infrastructure and the levels of poverty are stark. I take a morning walk through the city which depresses me. Awkward lumps shift on the pavement, shrouded in dirty blankets, babies crawl along the dirty pavement, a woman squats over the drain brushing her teeth, dogs calming down after their nightly street patrol, men wake up and sit on benches reading newspapers. Women in dirty saris sweep rubbish with bristly brooms of sticks.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Equally stark is the strict society of Gujarat. I feel for my fellow homosexuals, oppressed by such stifling cultures. There is actually very little for people to do here. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Although Ahmedabad is big, industrial, conservative and busy I feel a certain freedom now away from the stifling tourist towns of Rajasthan, the people who greet me do so with genuine friendly curiosity, no hidden agendas to get me into a shop. I also attend a heritage guided walk and discover the hidden historic soul of the city including the pols – communal living areas, self contained squares where castes have traditionally lived together – lively, friendly places with their own temples and bird tables. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Destination Ahmedabad includes visits to the dance academy and meals with the Indian dancers. An interesting organisation run by a dynasty of influential, philanthropic Gujarati industrialists. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">After a faint glimmer of liberal lights in Ahmedabad I notice them shining brighter down the coast in Mumbai. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRFHx-b6K3H3x49PRbZPkyM1mmKRwOdmp711_t2dGBsh8Eg0ANwd5UhXWV4OXERRCv3M6OeNWH_7DqsVtfEyblAAHr6XFaXBuAUGZUSpaIwL-vSkiyUjxQ9eWUZMNhJHO14Pw1plG-D-E/s1600/jodphur%252C+udaipor%252C+Goa+154.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRFHx-b6K3H3x49PRbZPkyM1mmKRwOdmp711_t2dGBsh8Eg0ANwd5UhXWV4OXERRCv3M6OeNWH_7DqsVtfEyblAAHr6XFaXBuAUGZUSpaIwL-vSkiyUjxQ9eWUZMNhJHO14Pw1plG-D-E/s320/jodphur%252C+udaipor%252C+Goa+154.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
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</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDNnh2kBICdwfPkbo0EfsCdjyzTTC2CYMPn2jm-ds7MT1wJazpXUeKlQ15jzYvBX2htdie4YtoUqwfMXFg2OulXATBCobBbZXl3SzzMgdo7oRS4NXkVa9zzBesPovZ6jXf8hp-fheID4g/s1600/jodphur%252C+udaipor%252C+Goa+134.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDNnh2kBICdwfPkbo0EfsCdjyzTTC2CYMPn2jm-ds7MT1wJazpXUeKlQ15jzYvBX2htdie4YtoUqwfMXFg2OulXATBCobBbZXl3SzzMgdo7oRS4NXkVa9zzBesPovZ6jXf8hp-fheID4g/s320/jodphur%252C+udaipor%252C+Goa+134.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">We couch surf in New Mumbai, a modern urban sprawl which has sprung up rapidly on the mainland as an overspill to escape the claustrophobia of the crowded island city. A day stuck in New Mumbai partly due to The Slap (of a politician which caused the government to close down the transport system to avoid political riots) and partly due to a huge hangover before venturing into town. We join Mumbaikaran morning commuters and take the much used pastel green suburban rail network (which usually sees people hanging out of trains and crowded on the roof) to journey into the centre which takes an hour. The journey passes by the sea, through jungle and past miles of slums. It's shocking. Incomprehensibly around half of Mumbai's 16 million people live in slums, sometimes with 15,000 people sharing one toilet. The most basic slums are bits of tarpaulin with no walls next to piles of rotting rubbish, the “nicer” slums are precariously built brick structures. Like in Rio backpackers are invited from hostels to go on voyeuristic slum tours which is all a bit sick. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
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</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The journey takes you to the tip of the island which is an enclave for modern Mumbaikarans – pretentious moneyed teenagers and Bollywood gliterati. Red London buses and New York style taxis pass down leavy boulevards and past the grand British buildings including the Victoria Terminus modelled on St Pancras and it is very pleasant indeed. We take a boat from the island through the brown sea and take a view of the city shrouded with a beige cloud of smog – all contributing to a film of scum sticking to my body like a parasite. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS9Zhftv6HZtutDUDnWLj6pwZRdrhK9j7yYY4ma1uzFOOj6J4fERiMLSqoICcfJzX44wHtvWspEASc_X0E34ZK8CrgQ4GZdpyB4QaxG1jZLD-kFNr34-U5hh3icv8vb_310khrBODHexM/s1600/jodphur%252C+udaipor%252C+Goa+142.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS9Zhftv6HZtutDUDnWLj6pwZRdrhK9j7yYY4ma1uzFOOj6J4fERiMLSqoICcfJzX44wHtvWspEASc_X0E34ZK8CrgQ4GZdpyB4QaxG1jZLD-kFNr34-U5hh3icv8vb_310khrBODHexM/s320/jodphur%252C+udaipor%252C+Goa+142.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizoIRhngRKwZdIDUK98dbC8bN5bwuonWhksLjlkjEMj73V6qyvi2-QDs7QOwKzqlfM2zt9lQVyyLc0nS3qFRxHHkF2hLZwO34wrKFzyyVFgTrqVMuL571ghJoUBERJX2-wpoXHYrx2ijg/s1600/jodphur%252C+udaipor%252C+Goa+147.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizoIRhngRKwZdIDUK98dbC8bN5bwuonWhksLjlkjEMj73V6qyvi2-QDs7QOwKzqlfM2zt9lQVyyLc0nS3qFRxHHkF2hLZwO34wrKFzyyVFgTrqVMuL571ghJoUBERJX2-wpoXHYrx2ijg/s320/jodphur%252C+udaipor%252C+Goa+147.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The city is like a sad Manhattan island mixed with a dirty version of Rio de Janeiro. Like Rio the extremes of rich and poor are immense. We visit Marine Drive, circular road overlooking the sea which has some of the most expensive property in the world. A huge white hotel sparkles perfectly in the evening, an unworldly vision of luxury. Along the road a wretched woman rolls on the floor with black curly hair and an emaciated body caked in mud. I hand her a note and she squints at it, her mind hallucinating with desperate hunger.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">More about Goa next time kids.</span></div></div>FylipoBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14142327128860329747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852120160757421513.post-84117743416065782012011-11-18T16:25:00.000+07:002011-11-18T16:25:32.147+07:00Pushkar Camel Fair & Kartik Poornima<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgvQKQcgMz1RbQLmMdE7_XZe9p0cRY-c0xJCR2cTsqa9H_cbSSU5VkACIFnSaJPMbloO_lO1MOD5mSgyP3IbBH8hyIFoS4hZFQthWtXX9UGbXeYgEilObSRn3RCXvjMTlo4DgJnhAE55g/s1600/pushka+117.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgvQKQcgMz1RbQLmMdE7_XZe9p0cRY-c0xJCR2cTsqa9H_cbSSU5VkACIFnSaJPMbloO_lO1MOD5mSgyP3IbBH8hyIFoS4hZFQthWtXX9UGbXeYgEilObSRn3RCXvjMTlo4DgJnhAE55g/s320/pushka+117.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi693lu4fJ9f3BJCPOqv9BVidHi8WI5ETquu_Sw7ZzPqMu5F1lYHAtJeMehQT_PgmxT2Yvqi4beaI9eG54TaIujjr-aaY1aFTXmfLk7miHSeqrYK1k53_NoXpyun40iteUFS3tZega8_Vo/s1600/pushka+086.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi693lu4fJ9f3BJCPOqv9BVidHi8WI5ETquu_Sw7ZzPqMu5F1lYHAtJeMehQT_PgmxT2Yvqi4beaI9eG54TaIujjr-aaY1aFTXmfLk7miHSeqrYK1k53_NoXpyun40iteUFS3tZega8_Vo/s320/pushka+086.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Pushkar is set in a shallow valley with 500 temples, a strict Hindu town – eggs, alcohol and meat are banned. The festival is full swing and the town pulsates with activity. A roar of echoes through the shallow valley and across the lake and back again. Noisy chatter, praying, chanting, singing, loudspeaker announcements and car horns fill the air. Hundreds of people march from one side of the town to the other, not quite clear of their purpose. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
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</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Pilgrims bustle to the ghats along the lake, hurried along by boy scouts with sticks, westerners mingling around slyly photographing the strange spectacle along with upper class Mumbairans as foreign as us to this scene. I find myself in a small temple by the lake and a group of old men beckon me over, I sit a while and we study each other curiously. Under a shaded tree by the lake groups of dreadlocked Indian holy men sit smoking weed with groups of dreadlocked travellers.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
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</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Ragged children with gypsy mothers are sent out for a profitable day at the mela, each carrying their silver metal tin, ready for the day's takings. They join the begging queue with the saddhus in their dirty white cloths who have recently descended from the Himalayas for their seasonal migration down to the desert and Ganga plains for the winter mela season. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaefokOH3PiNF7J0NXDb6hZf_5tAL20LaO_wJxIhV8MAhneSJUHIo5c7_Eg-L0cLGCuSo1rrBTTRsWXDEbfXWzgFYUPN907oFEUlQEkazFlbuVxYMCVhQQEiyLmaTzxadEcjgqsY-hFa8/s1600/pushka+130.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaefokOH3PiNF7J0NXDb6hZf_5tAL20LaO_wJxIhV8MAhneSJUHIo5c7_Eg-L0cLGCuSo1rrBTTRsWXDEbfXWzgFYUPN907oFEUlQEkazFlbuVxYMCVhQQEiyLmaTzxadEcjgqsY-hFa8/s1600/pushka+130.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
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</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Desert nomads from across Rajasthan gather at the mela. Tall barefooted men in orange and white cloths baring the wrinkles of a lifetime in the desert, proudly sporting bejewelled ears and an array of colourful turbans – a vibrant range of red, multicoloured and luminous green or pink. They walk separately from the women. Tribal wives bustle around the markets, haggling with traders for pans and cloths; with strong features, eyes of deep ivy green or milky hazel, large exotic gold nose piercings and bangles up to the shoulders, like Amazonian tribes. </span> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeZedWRdZMf0y4lacQhQgruYngbn2aiiqtIZbB2wAUUOhS4BBzT4pnECGlLHwJae22cIViedolRD_lVHNHvBjeQSm30XHUrh0daVOPH-yy7CnhvZzTgYuG5QChVnO6qN4LYF0xPJsrBR8/s1600/SAM_0751.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeZedWRdZMf0y4lacQhQgruYngbn2aiiqtIZbB2wAUUOhS4BBzT4pnECGlLHwJae22cIViedolRD_lVHNHvBjeQSm30XHUrh0daVOPH-yy7CnhvZzTgYuG5QChVnO6qN4LYF0xPJsrBR8/s320/SAM_0751.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Flocks of hawkers from across the region are out in force. I fall victim to a gypsy who hennas me, a dispute ensues and we are surrounded by a pack of vampires smelling a bloody drama.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Every evening a noisy procession phlitters through the town. Wedding parties with <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hijra_(South_Asia)" target="_blank">hijras</a> tagging along, hiding their faces but shooting secret coy looks from under brown shawls, spying out from their secret worlds. Then come the tall white Hare Krishna men with North American accents, shaved heads and random tufts of hair, irritating with their bombastic insistence we contribute money to their party. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv18lJ85eo_3cA-5NVd9DmVt4qckChO37zCSGP-emlK2u9cQV7Cqat5DjVgOr4zsYNepASMR4s5NEFnMOPgscJlJRI1d45cLB-EL_8uSw5IApKPzz2TcKzYcWgKAh9uqoYk87z915cmJ4/s1600/PB093035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv18lJ85eo_3cA-5NVd9DmVt4qckChO37zCSGP-emlK2u9cQV7Cqat5DjVgOr4zsYNepASMR4s5NEFnMOPgscJlJRI1d45cLB-EL_8uSw5IApKPzz2TcKzYcWgKAh9uqoYk87z915cmJ4/s320/PB093035.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5pr844N441jt39y8Qnz2AgJFNtg4tgp4N2kNq-uBKh-Hi_AUfP1zDnroeOIeKdDe38QxVQmkpnZb6JAecvEUZ5S66nBfN3FRBKCqlVgrMQqxJCPDETGcBqYoIm4jIoLqJ3tRPtPyl1QU/s1600/PB093037.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5pr844N441jt39y8Qnz2AgJFNtg4tgp4N2kNq-uBKh-Hi_AUfP1zDnroeOIeKdDe38QxVQmkpnZb6JAecvEUZ5S66nBfN3FRBKCqlVgrMQqxJCPDETGcBqYoIm4jIoLqJ3tRPtPyl1QU/s320/PB093037.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhj-UESWvk3LenvCSyhCLco86W43U5OYO2e4SH8pKullIMXRiSYVptRsuyqzu17i_PiXZk5ET-DUzHQGG3K-2I6TLkL72LXy5q87rSsBtywRjWFlucIR9zBzYOjgV8eQgZepydtkdSyP4/s1600/PB093038.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhj-UESWvk3LenvCSyhCLco86W43U5OYO2e4SH8pKullIMXRiSYVptRsuyqzu17i_PiXZk5ET-DUzHQGG3K-2I6TLkL72LXy5q87rSsBtywRjWFlucIR9zBzYOjgV8eQgZepydtkdSyP4/s320/PB093038.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">In the stadium there are various sports and activities happening. I see a show combining snake charming and the simulated beheading of a young boy, a strange boy sport where they push and shove each other – a cross between rugby (minus the ball) and British bulldogs and the musical chairs – Indian style with people pacing slowly, edging round the ring despite the pushy insistent umpires hurrying them.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFy2-9XHPIYN4HuewIjVnq9AeqOoXquYRpFzdjT1CvYYSWYRTCl0bDzSBom8JDOEJmdpZ0pit1ittyMdNDo4rnigvwpqWLy_9avJfVLndhFsb3caxg-TZIA_QmZWpEU9uStDchBuLolmg/s1600/SAM_0686.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFy2-9XHPIYN4HuewIjVnq9AeqOoXquYRpFzdjT1CvYYSWYRTCl0bDzSBom8JDOEJmdpZ0pit1ittyMdNDo4rnigvwpqWLy_9avJfVLndhFsb3caxg-TZIA_QmZWpEU9uStDchBuLolmg/s320/SAM_0686.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9cIcgBsU7pymn67u7DKg0XU52iIYBeYaUMjKC_dP7VB9WK0Nt8NURazsk4o-aE0FI9p6sqEFIw1k5ObL54XrF6zAarYJ1H_nVPxcVv85CtlIr94Zj90wXu54ALS0GvENIXymBcBA5vYA/s1600/SAM_0711.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9cIcgBsU7pymn67u7DKg0XU52iIYBeYaUMjKC_dP7VB9WK0Nt8NURazsk4o-aE0FI9p6sqEFIw1k5ObL54XrF6zAarYJ1H_nVPxcVv85CtlIr94Zj90wXu54ALS0GvENIXymBcBA5vYA/s320/SAM_0711.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The last day saw a the disorganised closing ceremony with random spurts of “cultural activity”, wacky camel races, music and dancing, a tug-o-war between locals and foreigners and then a cattle show where the bulls run amok stampeding into the crowd – unplanned I think. The thousands of excited pilgrims then rushed off to bathe in the holy waters of<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pushkar_Lake" target="_blank"> Pushkar's lake</a>, Pushkar Sarovar, linked to Brahma – the creator God. Bathing in the sacred lake purifies all your sins, particularly on Kartik Poornima – this day of the year coinciding with the full moon. Like Varanasi I decline the holy dip in dubious looking waters.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU6FWOZSLQ003jmLh6mRqKRATYCcILv79xFUzEoqRYdgz6D-7toNX0q2sdnLhunFSepxp3XZbqs8Fcju42ZUmI4Eic9Iym-pdVVENsk19u7JxczJ6oV27EEeF8zGAB-3xJx17Z9Rtoa9Y/s1600/SAM_0694.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU6FWOZSLQ003jmLh6mRqKRATYCcILv79xFUzEoqRYdgz6D-7toNX0q2sdnLhunFSepxp3XZbqs8Fcju42ZUmI4Eic9Iym-pdVVENsk19u7JxczJ6oV27EEeF8zGAB-3xJx17Z9Rtoa9Y/s320/SAM_0694.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieA4Dr_z1fVw3B8KF2djSWZxYJSkGDITCNvMNQMONZ8MNPSO0vCwprXInso-TG3KRjRrwDsXZUzl_D3U_h8J6m29pSjLK2LUGOY8-3w_2azUS3OYX0ip36760TVT-VxssfV2v61f6uGNE/s1600/SAM_0717.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieA4Dr_z1fVw3B8KF2djSWZxYJSkGDITCNvMNQMONZ8MNPSO0vCwprXInso-TG3KRjRrwDsXZUzl_D3U_h8J6m29pSjLK2LUGOY8-3w_2azUS3OYX0ip36760TVT-VxssfV2v61f6uGNE/s320/SAM_0717.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div></div>FylipoBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14142327128860329747noreply@blogger.com0Pushkar, Rajasthan, India26.4905072 74.55511619999992926.4790947 74.542572199999924 26.5019197 74.567660199999935tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852120160757421513.post-1691937216484075142011-11-17T15:33:00.000+07:002011-11-17T15:33:37.626+07:00Phlittering Indian Boys<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Zxg3KnVllW17KP9VUhMX0THuyMkXFltogqPKuI9Y8SyF0-VriVEwbIC-XT0T1EUttVLldwy3rUSJxFjTotyBQ_Ws3CG1lWxT-xqYgNYaN8lkN9ODNiq6ZDGQqGWRFP4nkQjeoqGisUg/s1600/PB072981.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Zxg3KnVllW17KP9VUhMX0THuyMkXFltogqPKuI9Y8SyF0-VriVEwbIC-XT0T1EUttVLldwy3rUSJxFjTotyBQ_Ws3CG1lWxT-xqYgNYaN8lkN9ODNiq6ZDGQqGWRFP4nkQjeoqGisUg/s320/PB072981.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
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</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBOMfylu5bixq5qZ4bE0yRq1R0yvAF1U9o-gvTmtSgg82TFgbTh_hP1Yues4AIugrXU16NC69pEvrIfIenkAQGs93DVQLmMIUQZ72YceudU4LzIDR0nZjWwYhf5u5vPV30W6hssbsGBk8/s1600/SAM_0354.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBOMfylu5bixq5qZ4bE0yRq1R0yvAF1U9o-gvTmtSgg82TFgbTh_hP1Yues4AIugrXU16NC69pEvrIfIenkAQGs93DVQLmMIUQZ72YceudU4LzIDR0nZjWwYhf5u5vPV30W6hssbsGBk8/s320/SAM_0354.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</tbody></table><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Women labour and you boys roam at leisure</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">clasped together, stroll through town, casual and cool</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">with coy affection in the fluidity of the afternoon.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_3YRfxi23qXry0b__HkjVsCdo9XodNx82D2oC5S-fGr4UPWz2iHN8vwDuvl1PycUc3F7SmWt-3PpVJAbIaawNmNw6ZMK9wvFAazURAsHG4WIocq1C1r_VTRjH_ZzlMJB0NdGA_nZkDqM/s1600/PB082985.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_3YRfxi23qXry0b__HkjVsCdo9XodNx82D2oC5S-fGr4UPWz2iHN8vwDuvl1PycUc3F7SmWt-3PpVJAbIaawNmNw6ZMK9wvFAazURAsHG4WIocq1C1r_VTRjH_ZzlMJB0NdGA_nZkDqM/s320/PB082985.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
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</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Boys, boys, boys</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">wrapped loosely in sweet sweet entanglements, you tousle and tease</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">cruising for a good time.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwtgnznLm9PKPSdnGV2_Nj9EWkiElDbKBSYrLvdCBw_YGwjLU3FYYwq5lWT03Ayjh8PDgWqhcZtkJ1Qo1WvCGU9CRNNFuKkaAPNAgm23OHGdNdojsW1N8DeJ3qMXslwzpIVY76iv5NKtQ/s1600/PB082991.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwtgnznLm9PKPSdnGV2_Nj9EWkiElDbKBSYrLvdCBw_YGwjLU3FYYwq5lWT03Ayjh8PDgWqhcZtkJ1Qo1WvCGU9CRNNFuKkaAPNAgm23OHGdNdojsW1N8DeJ3qMXslwzpIVY76iv5NKtQ/s320/PB082991.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1QAmLtl5rg2qEpatNM3oHvqSPu4A9RVgQhypWw-vsWmY53leSd0kqUBkJq7TULbOPQF3fSZ8DoBhrxqNJXxUYu8Cj85sNBomcaWAySQsPXl_YHOYENN428rZ50PboaQ6s2nk9XTGTdCs/s1600/PB093032.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1QAmLtl5rg2qEpatNM3oHvqSPu4A9RVgQhypWw-vsWmY53leSd0kqUBkJq7TULbOPQF3fSZ8DoBhrxqNJXxUYu8Cj85sNBomcaWAySQsPXl_YHOYENN428rZ50PboaQ6s2nk9XTGTdCs/s320/PB093032.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcWSQYzqQB5MsYGPaKtuCEMQLyPj2FKyLnCI4JwJ02b5AYxE8LGtaGCQKOOP0AcEisyYyBi6dEpUPYslk4iEaj_0wfthB8nBbAvDrG6tyeuzVHAFBX4AkfbgIRtEs0AhdDcuqyZbizER0/s1600/PB072984.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcWSQYzqQB5MsYGPaKtuCEMQLyPj2FKyLnCI4JwJ02b5AYxE8LGtaGCQKOOP0AcEisyYyBi6dEpUPYslk4iEaj_0wfthB8nBbAvDrG6tyeuzVHAFBX4AkfbgIRtEs0AhdDcuqyZbizER0/s320/PB072984.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Out for the day to saunter and play, it's boy time,</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">assert your friendships and phlitter away. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivsPj58_CvxzswSKOJGl764ffYoVbJD-P_3sJqHS2BQ9ufDJJg0OVfakbO1d7cNKI0NOxWadwhOFUc6kriWUX9gC0i68ESLC40N5TBTCtBtH3IXn2Ai1zTWwHS0vmMIMpkIVzCrbnnsK8/s1600/PB093046.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivsPj58_CvxzswSKOJGl764ffYoVbJD-P_3sJqHS2BQ9ufDJJg0OVfakbO1d7cNKI0NOxWadwhOFUc6kriWUX9gC0i68ESLC40N5TBTCtBtH3IXn2Ai1zTWwHS0vmMIMpkIVzCrbnnsK8/s320/PB093046.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6pn_X0-IgXkAKtAjFNISeOQ7ToRpfvsaY_CEvl5N88_7KnfR40btYl2QyzUJ3qI7XXxmmYbf1paIrq8Od6-4uKNFJVRIc_5M0BEYUZsKlRnHe8GsZd3LrENPjfuA_ScmAeLELrXom0G8/s1600/PB093047.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6pn_X0-IgXkAKtAjFNISeOQ7ToRpfvsaY_CEvl5N88_7KnfR40btYl2QyzUJ3qI7XXxmmYbf1paIrq8Od6-4uKNFJVRIc_5M0BEYUZsKlRnHe8GsZd3LrENPjfuA_ScmAeLELrXom0G8/s320/PB093047.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">You linger for a while for chatter and chai and pause your 70s swagger,</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">munching pan your mouths foam a devilish red and stain your teeth dirty brown.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Then led away by your dominant friend's high waistline</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">your deep brown gaze fades away leaving a black and orange streaked sky. </span> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE-70WceVtUXoeZB9r-2LGcSwBn67DJS3tx8epN7gE_zICaDP-qVvgu3tL8rHsGP72zCHFhj_aqljZTsjnWDc2j6Lgdbggcypb9MXBW5nRPueTbcGPhs9VarP_tYG-rBNLmhzkW8CU3Dw/s1600/PB082996.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE-70WceVtUXoeZB9r-2LGcSwBn67DJS3tx8epN7gE_zICaDP-qVvgu3tL8rHsGP72zCHFhj_aqljZTsjnWDc2j6Lgdbggcypb9MXBW5nRPueTbcGPhs9VarP_tYG-rBNLmhzkW8CU3Dw/s320/PB082996.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3wVokkdZOqShtsk9sHJdk9Zz3rQtPRbZ7KVQlTz8BMrKMNHVMQW_qfq5ziawM4RGs36DxdT4riCHGrsNr-oboIoqfw172j6d6u1an6YeZChyGQxMHutVlwUpZoC5fKUNzcdBCO71bRB8/s1600/PB093062.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3wVokkdZOqShtsk9sHJdk9Zz3rQtPRbZ7KVQlTz8BMrKMNHVMQW_qfq5ziawM4RGs36DxdT4riCHGrsNr-oboIoqfw172j6d6u1an6YeZChyGQxMHutVlwUpZoC5fKUNzcdBCO71bRB8/s320/PB093062.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div></div>FylipoBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14142327128860329747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852120160757421513.post-25899284710343860922011-11-10T20:08:00.000+07:002011-11-10T20:08:00.467+07:00Cattle Collection<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIz2RxJ0p7pw7F-_QunXhpoMcj3llTEjy3Sv_h8AdVgCICwVOCD1fr9J2x7lgBAfbEo48OUAtgwWC-LyZr-UOJdlVSIAP8aubqpRpyIKrBGcL_WUh9GRXv_E6QmXaKQVdMCU6LrX50NCI/s1600/Nepal+%2526+India+3+Nov+164.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIz2RxJ0p7pw7F-_QunXhpoMcj3llTEjy3Sv_h8AdVgCICwVOCD1fr9J2x7lgBAfbEo48OUAtgwWC-LyZr-UOJdlVSIAP8aubqpRpyIKrBGcL_WUh9GRXv_E6QmXaKQVdMCU6LrX50NCI/s320/Nepal+%2526+India+3+Nov+164.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Mother Cow, gentle and serene, part of the Indian urban scene. Providing thick milk for our masala chai. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMUAgFed7boqGQwUf7T3R4_WR0qCMOUyjJ_IdaVny1btPwIPYSrkz79YbE8DqZhWFhDSe1BamNhAmSY-Sfc2FyvM0cwSaxGW5pkvSiiQpbSjbW-9UBHfza-gzWchFSwC36mqyuxx0yGas/s1600/PB062968.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMUAgFed7boqGQwUf7T3R4_WR0qCMOUyjJ_IdaVny1btPwIPYSrkz79YbE8DqZhWFhDSe1BamNhAmSY-Sfc2FyvM0cwSaxGW5pkvSiiQpbSjbW-9UBHfza-gzWchFSwC36mqyuxx0yGas/s320/PB062968.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">She wanders through hectic thoroughfares, oblivious to the madness around her, her saggy skin reveals her ribs below, like the canvas of a tent thrown loosely over its poles. Tuk tuks and rickshaws swerve past her as she continues to totter along nonchalantly on her daily round. Knobbly knees as she waddles across the street. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHoenPPJmqWSVQVgOyFUGsK_W7G82rqsdK_HgJqJc34Z8761jbkQ8AvT8ffeVfuZjZyD_EQUaeNnYrCawlqB58ynEWi2GKS5YBvALG5VdtA4VyQ5v2Ew5tegQeR62RxhKOc7_LJBtJaU4/s1600/PB062963.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHoenPPJmqWSVQVgOyFUGsK_W7G82rqsdK_HgJqJc34Z8761jbkQ8AvT8ffeVfuZjZyD_EQUaeNnYrCawlqB58ynEWi2GKS5YBvALG5VdtA4VyQ5v2Ew5tegQeR62RxhKOc7_LJBtJaU4/s320/PB062963.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">She skilfully manages to work her expectant face through the crowd and waits patiently for leftovers from the samosa stall. She knows what she's due. She knows she reigns supreme and she knows where she's going, so get outta her way! Something I learn the hard way when charged at in a dark city alley by a herd of bulls startled by a stray firework. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHIVye56OrJObjQJDhrHuJaIJkkqmzYKuoKelFWeQfjYmK9V36toDWcOXsK85uqc_atWdKX3dAjEOnF9dSLFmdmxyUcKAmbIvBE47ycPm3wjkaKMfT5AP1hxiuiomFTOEkZr_3MMz8wz4/s1600/PB062961.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHIVye56OrJObjQJDhrHuJaIJkkqmzYKuoKelFWeQfjYmK9V36toDWcOXsK85uqc_atWdKX3dAjEOnF9dSLFmdmxyUcKAmbIvBE47ycPm3wjkaKMfT5AP1hxiuiomFTOEkZr_3MMz8wz4/s320/PB062961.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Passing pedestrians brush past the bumped holy creature, often giving her a tender stroke or caress, perhaps even stopping to whisper a prayer to the sweet speckled creature. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimTtIbNDnZtDFbhgWzd2fQSuis_kj87jzH0gJjzhaV4ok5Lf-K8TXBFGKc7d7zHBlTyOMW6x4kw8y1Um9HTPd2_RTmV-9gANzPcYJO0rhxGo0KkDABCJIeqgppylerhn9HFCD0UCOU3yA/s1600/Nepal+%2526+India+3+Nov+152.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimTtIbNDnZtDFbhgWzd2fQSuis_kj87jzH0gJjzhaV4ok5Lf-K8TXBFGKc7d7zHBlTyOMW6x4kw8y1Um9HTPd2_RTmV-9gANzPcYJO0rhxGo0KkDABCJIeqgppylerhn9HFCD0UCOU3yA/s320/Nepal+%2526+India+3+Nov+152.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">After passing the day wandering the city streets this homing cow can somehow find her way home in the evening to her owner. Invisible Urban Farmer. </span> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEcQvQg3loVx9cGNIi9WeWiMVnVK9aFc-zFykHZKZjyDVGD4-a3fZ-qhiB-EDCabdJYYJk4FGGniq7E4c9aPHQJ3lCATVuLQ4Rsl57YBMMBnOHNho448wd2N_S0b37ksbqrv_r_Kb4SOk/s1600/Nepal+%2526+India+3+Nov+172.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEcQvQg3loVx9cGNIi9WeWiMVnVK9aFc-zFykHZKZjyDVGD4-a3fZ-qhiB-EDCabdJYYJk4FGGniq7E4c9aPHQJ3lCATVuLQ4Rsl57YBMMBnOHNho448wd2N_S0b37ksbqrv_r_Kb4SOk/s320/Nepal+%2526+India+3+Nov+172.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimw87lE48QMNCifk_9j-puXslnqgntSLNSo6mOgN0qZ4Ig7KK6R-eWAIJ9YIXIPFaqKSj88rZqC9fFOYUY5C_aBsOFHc9XcZeyHsA3w5wZbMDBuMHI4SbMqP6scTWSUuEJBizxpV3EJ7k/s1600/Nepal+%2526+India+3+Nov+155.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimw87lE48QMNCifk_9j-puXslnqgntSLNSo6mOgN0qZ4Ig7KK6R-eWAIJ9YIXIPFaqKSj88rZqC9fFOYUY5C_aBsOFHc9XcZeyHsA3w5wZbMDBuMHI4SbMqP6scTWSUuEJBizxpV3EJ7k/s320/Nepal+%2526+India+3+Nov+155.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Like many things Indian a strange accepted system that actually works through the chaos – an urban cattle system complete with grazing patterns, ownership and milking. Also aiding a curious city ecosystem where cows scavenge like rats begging and digesting discarded food and shred cardboard boxes. </span> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCaxDlHxoCWEPIvvoL47pO6to9ntCTjYRiP0rle5BHJ9yOhqcjSI_eD51guHw6ovuKeuPlTF2IGk9iJ7IVbW8UAwpoKqI-ETxE7EaAyW9khTwcsUrDW2kOL7FU2CJCSCrjY2jGKO9pz04/s1600/Nepal+%2526+India+3+Nov+175.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCaxDlHxoCWEPIvvoL47pO6to9ntCTjYRiP0rle5BHJ9yOhqcjSI_eD51guHw6ovuKeuPlTF2IGk9iJ7IVbW8UAwpoKqI-ETxE7EaAyW9khTwcsUrDW2kOL7FU2CJCSCrjY2jGKO9pz04/s320/Nepal+%2526+India+3+Nov+175.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Her water buffalo cousins gather at the Ganga for their daily bathing ritual in the holy river. Bringing good luck to festivals and holy occasions, particularly the five legged variety who is worshipped for her strange deformity, adorned with jolly orange decoration and groomed by a holy man. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj192UrJxq72B0NphgUhzqi-FvCUJ48bB-Z4tZdYOpn9KMh0KbmZuEju8hn-tmbyMI2rVvyIZ1td30s2syQkBsn938Dg5fvtaT0-2Y9jf0Y8prHgonnD8tMscfX7gZgndBXLq0XJNAr2Y/s1600/orchha+%253D+agra+060.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj192UrJxq72B0NphgUhzqi-FvCUJ48bB-Z4tZdYOpn9KMh0KbmZuEju8hn-tmbyMI2rVvyIZ1td30s2syQkBsn938Dg5fvtaT0-2Y9jf0Y8prHgonnD8tMscfX7gZgndBXLq0XJNAr2Y/s320/orchha+%253D+agra+060.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Kill a cow and you go to prison. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih9zd3NuY0MFNOvgtuZdAfw2bocEeq7qqVz57pOXvlFQeZPb2z9yz70zEikY0P1pFNUs-n7SvnVB-wK_rmGAb5zDHWD-CvMzbZ_OzmK3Fg8-_Q5HS_GXxSpjmZuNZso3MsQ9DkpmyBZ4I/s1600/Nepal+%2526+India+3+Nov+187.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih9zd3NuY0MFNOvgtuZdAfw2bocEeq7qqVz57pOXvlFQeZPb2z9yz70zEikY0P1pFNUs-n7SvnVB-wK_rmGAb5zDHWD-CvMzbZ_OzmK3Fg8-_Q5HS_GXxSpjmZuNZso3MsQ9DkpmyBZ4I/s320/Nepal+%2526+India+3+Nov+187.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div></div>FylipoBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14142327128860329747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852120160757421513.post-52371910454702005412011-11-08T20:48:00.000+07:002011-11-08T20:48:55.688+07:00Luminous City of Lights<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDbXKEXfEFc00RaOCAz9yTymb4fQdAXzm6Ln464rHKw7qsXBBWM2l4Hs9uKfInWC2gCDJPRyivxTmJnzc743KHquPcPlIaXuNUlr0SQN_U9xUnB1fQfKXPJqDDDLxqq6UuZ3kys3QZZ9s/s1600/varanasi+031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDbXKEXfEFc00RaOCAz9yTymb4fQdAXzm6Ln464rHKw7qsXBBWM2l4Hs9uKfInWC2gCDJPRyivxTmJnzc743KHquPcPlIaXuNUlr0SQN_U9xUnB1fQfKXPJqDDDLxqq6UuZ3kys3QZZ9s/s320/varanasi+031.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A day at the ghats of Varanasi. The holiest of Hindu cities, city of Lord Shiva, variably called Varanasi, Banaras and Kashi – luminous city of lights.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFUZ8IA9t0omSCWu6KA3dO6u1Zw4AFjAfL10jghPudD2vIX2o4wS7faNUSrrhUrHtMRV_NSdzJNHeYxC_O7SarRO2NpFypSxrVtAn3VLJFm2Q7RZ4f9vSFEQ0JovOuZ7-5al-N5IriwEo/s1600/varanasi+015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFUZ8IA9t0omSCWu6KA3dO6u1Zw4AFjAfL10jghPudD2vIX2o4wS7faNUSrrhUrHtMRV_NSdzJNHeYxC_O7SarRO2NpFypSxrVtAn3VLJFm2Q7RZ4f9vSFEQ0JovOuZ7-5al-N5IriwEo/s320/varanasi+015.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Rich and poor pilgrims from across India perform their puja and chant mantras. After performing puja at city shrines and dizzy from circumambulation a rainbow crowd of colourful saris head to the ghats. Barefooted pilgrims descend stone steps, gradually entering and breathing the holy water, elixir of life, they recite statements of intent, offer flowers and with ritualised splashing their whole beings are purified. Immersed with the power of Lord Shiva. In Hindu mythology Shiva has the Ganga in his head and when he smokes ganja he goes mental. </span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW1iVDla1RZ26ZVpjuhg2I1B1m0im8OJrOwJnta2I8Px650oEJKhp-KfxTs1auY7QUs3hyT5MB2IwWoPMGPy68sa1G-UfKGc6FRFH8KUGHh8wUH9VZjRwQyEdC1NJl-n-UZhrj3QutLeY/s1600/Nepal+%2526+India+3+Nov+258.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW1iVDla1RZ26ZVpjuhg2I1B1m0im8OJrOwJnta2I8Px650oEJKhp-KfxTs1auY7QUs3hyT5MB2IwWoPMGPy68sa1G-UfKGc6FRFH8KUGHh8wUH9VZjRwQyEdC1NJl-n-UZhrj3QutLeY/s320/Nepal+%2526+India+3+Nov+258.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The pilgrims join bathers who are scrubbing dirt with dirt, brushing their teeth in the river – a murky green broth scattered with orange petal croutons, drizzled with creamy chemical effluence and spiced with sewage.</span><br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4FhAk190qIBPQPqC2lT3Z93r3TYyYSRu4Zixt9UTgvKtHSQfZ1N4-LHvTWICagaO-4ACFAvbhGo22xYyA_P_KUwN0NOFZ7up1jVer5a4yase4DL9lgtPTQgbfr4t0V_cPI2qWBTrZN78/s1600/Nepal+%2526+India+3+Nov+240.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4FhAk190qIBPQPqC2lT3Z93r3TYyYSRu4Zixt9UTgvKtHSQfZ1N4-LHvTWICagaO-4ACFAvbhGo22xYyA_P_KUwN0NOFZ7up1jVer5a4yase4DL9lgtPTQgbfr4t0V_cPI2qWBTrZN78/s320/Nepal+%2526+India+3+Nov+240.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSTsi6FUrrsLJ6VOtx-z9J3cYeeLzo83Sj6bPU81pHXXeLwDrs-VqozPebS-FzJH985dUWGPIpQaEfosKrCqwjoHuy1IH131s7ua7RhyG8Ww61OBU1nn5uyy8A8gi7tSKEdh0SR5C9yjo/s1600/Nepal+%2526+India+3+Nov+264.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSTsi6FUrrsLJ6VOtx-z9J3cYeeLzo83Sj6bPU81pHXXeLwDrs-VqozPebS-FzJH985dUWGPIpQaEfosKrCqwjoHuy1IH131s7ua7RhyG8Ww61OBU1nn5uyy8A8gi7tSKEdh0SR5C9yjo/s320/Nepal+%2526+India+3+Nov+264.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDefyic1LTvK8T1V351uqP8J2PDxOCtiYU2IhgWLYW_SRGl5cYubsmxUI65thyn59HJQaglcFW7Y_0JAjkkLFciJb7OCiIC02T6LHqNaQHLFdJBSz0jNmosTMkATlGg_HpV3Yj-1reSpw/s1600/varanasi+012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDefyic1LTvK8T1V351uqP8J2PDxOCtiYU2IhgWLYW_SRGl5cYubsmxUI65thyn59HJQaglcFW7Y_0JAjkkLFciJb7OCiIC02T6LHqNaQHLFdJBSz0jNmosTMkATlGg_HpV3Yj-1reSpw/s320/varanasi+012.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Laundrymen stake their place on the ghats. They fiercely beat clothes on wooden slabs before carefully laying out clean sheets on the dusty pink sloping walls. A patchwork of whites, creams and gold silks that have adorned the city walls forever.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9xYd7uOkQ7ihOqXHXXq2HHxxPK4Jn1N5htwP7d1fTAbrpW9ZXpkfYf2ynY4FJVR1LZLom8Tc4zNCShXRdrX74MpszQi_tY0eF6lyiGsL6s4VuIkyO0KaOKitQ_anlRNjn5qja0Cb6ZWo/s1600/varanasi+023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9xYd7uOkQ7ihOqXHXXq2HHxxPK4Jn1N5htwP7d1fTAbrpW9ZXpkfYf2ynY4FJVR1LZLom8Tc4zNCShXRdrX74MpszQi_tY0eF6lyiGsL6s4VuIkyO0KaOKitQ_anlRNjn5qja0Cb6ZWo/s320/varanasi+023.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhATJXX2WxPE5Q9zKDFcmj6xpTA4wz-1AfGw5zsFYN1xy5b_FxFUamqzMFfJAuKjiU5wDTHvPuyLBW1IbqxGzVAOO5V4HLKPzXEC974m1yHdY1rBTPkS1pJXybAKsKL-rm03XbaE-yKxcs/s1600/varanasi+025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhATJXX2WxPE5Q9zKDFcmj6xpTA4wz-1AfGw5zsFYN1xy5b_FxFUamqzMFfJAuKjiU5wDTHvPuyLBW1IbqxGzVAOO5V4HLKPzXEC974m1yHdY1rBTPkS1pJXybAKsKL-rm03XbaE-yKxcs/s320/varanasi+025.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Meanwhile, groups of male relatives trot quickly through the narrow bustling lanes chanting an urgent mantra, carrying corpses wrapped in orange silk. Even the irritant motorbikes stop and the cows step aside respectfully. This funeral procession route has been followed by the mens' ancestors for hundreds of years on a mission to swiftly take their deceased relatives to the Ganga. They dash through the labyrinthine city, a city of folk who continue to observe the trade of their caste – catch fish and weave silk. To Manikarnika Ghat, seeped in mythological history, the most sacred of Hindu cremation grounds. On arrival the family engage in standard Indian negotiation, to procure wood, kerosene and pay Untouchable guardians to facilitate the cremation.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Among the blackened stone ground and temples of the burning ghats a million thoughts and prayers mingle in the smoky air and thicken in the heat of the funeral pyres and midday sun. Three long boats are awaiting to unload large loads of timber. I feel a forbidding mood and am uncomfortably aware of my fascination and voyeurism. It is a vision that takes time to comprehend, segments hover unrealistically in the air, in my mind. A ghostly pink face of a corpse is visible, orange silk shrouds the rest of her body. Her men wash her body for the last time on the shore, surrounded by piles of black ashes. It's an alien scene of a living ancient civilisation that continues to cremate their loved ones 24 hours a day in this sanctified location. For a scene of bereaved family members there is a curious absence of tears, perhaps overtaken by the ritual at hand and happy their relatives are being brought salvation and final release at the ultimately sacred place. The chosen male in the family dressed in a white dhoti leads the ritual cleansing and lighting of the pyre – he won't touch anyone now for ten days.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6TIRZQ3nR4vaKRaVIM3WUJ6wTB2gf1J42SSJ9Iw8tpGWZOiO-7M9Aqly1ABr5QlOQl42zmlTP-_VtfNHHas8yOp9S_ddiAXjNF7i_B9A9TWlWE-oVqLzNWB10CprAM81WZTEtiMsF6Ws/s1600/varanasi+048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6TIRZQ3nR4vaKRaVIM3WUJ6wTB2gf1J42SSJ9Iw8tpGWZOiO-7M9Aqly1ABr5QlOQl42zmlTP-_VtfNHHas8yOp9S_ddiAXjNF7i_B9A9TWlWE-oVqLzNWB10CprAM81WZTEtiMsF6Ws/s320/varanasi+048.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Around the ghats touts vamporise tourists and even here amongst the cremation ceremonies I am sickened by their unashamed behaviour polluting the holy place. Irritated when a vampire attacks, asking me to donate money for the “wood of the pyres” I leave and slide my way further along the ghats. I navigate through the suction operation of monsoon debris and Ganga sludge, dodging stray dogs, cows, monkeys, chai wallahs, weasels and more vampires. Sinister motivations can belie charming faces in this city. Not long ago a group of tourists were deliberately given food poisoning so they needed to enter a fabricated hospital and pay extortionate medical fees – several people died.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
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</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Above the ghats there are great sandstone walls and intriguing buildings with an air of faded glory. Dusty read Maharajah temples now hospices and ashrams housing holy men who have devoted their lives to this holy place. I wander further to the end of the ghats and when I walk past four men excreting I realise I have entered a toilet area and return back towards the ceremony area.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_5skR076YyFL-UNDcAe0fvm0-7lgXcs8yD3cLuuYY2k1zZyGVWHwh9w0yzcGPvBZ6lMbQkRQre6sBqeXYOtjbL39upjwqvjrgyS7pSKeKoxMHVXEOcihQmfQlXXbIVblBFityouWT6UY/s1600/varanasi+051.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_5skR076YyFL-UNDcAe0fvm0-7lgXcs8yD3cLuuYY2k1zZyGVWHwh9w0yzcGPvBZ6lMbQkRQre6sBqeXYOtjbL39upjwqvjrgyS7pSKeKoxMHVXEOcihQmfQlXXbIVblBFityouWT6UY/s320/varanasi+051.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhneqicbHz2JL57lXJXrGYNkb5sBCXuvSbRaYEeLFfqxe7o27bG-ypuFCVAHOLdl5TerzQfTQJ-O6gvRKxf824UENye6-Es7VNVuSTfLgEwlaYd3YIUVDO4Jg5jWUNGSANff5fIg7XyA9Q/s1600/Nepal+%2526+India+3+Nov+228.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhneqicbHz2JL57lXJXrGYNkb5sBCXuvSbRaYEeLFfqxe7o27bG-ypuFCVAHOLdl5TerzQfTQJ-O6gvRKxf824UENye6-Es7VNVuSTfLgEwlaYd3YIUVDO4Jg5jWUNGSANff5fIg7XyA9Q/s320/Nepal+%2526+India+3+Nov+228.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> On the opposite shore of the great Ganga a large sandbank has formed in this dry season where I see a dreamy image that strangely seems to be from the Sahara. A great yellow tent with red flags flying high and men on horseback.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As darkness falls handsome Brahmin boys dressed in cream act out an ancient ritual, firm and proud, elegantly twirling hands, ringing bells and offering fiercely burning urns, an image of perfection. They write a smoky message to Ganga, sweet incense billowing through mosquito ravaged air. A gaggle of tall blonde Germans huddle in the sea of colour of faithful Hindus who happily mouth the words to the catchy religious music pumping out of large speakers. A powerful spirituality is palpable in the air and the atmosphere of positive energy is wonderful.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN1h6M55jhGJejQ7XbbCsbe4gZyaG2NBc7X8IJESAe_1NgQc3SiXRoKKP-HCERmJtZ4bZIH96pTjuOt44yZW-BqAN4EvwNjH1-8d8teJ-9ApSLbwO2SwCJncI6_Iw2uQmCxGk-Hkh2S5g/s1600/Nepal+%2526+India+3+Nov+200.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN1h6M55jhGJejQ7XbbCsbe4gZyaG2NBc7X8IJESAe_1NgQc3SiXRoKKP-HCERmJtZ4bZIH96pTjuOt44yZW-BqAN4EvwNjH1-8d8teJ-9ApSLbwO2SwCJncI6_Iw2uQmCxGk-Hkh2S5g/s320/Nepal+%2526+India+3+Nov+200.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFgafkmprq_CKxxFgZ1uZBDynr-Q1L_5zsFayzJDMrW3m3plaP8P2lv1j7LjG2v5YsoMd0VGgv0UXXDfwYYBx1r5yQ-URMxqR1fcchqr-GRNN6JATTBnYz45mOeQHCXUjXu9HbUtb2qf4/s1600/Nepal+%2526+India+3+Nov+204.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFgafkmprq_CKxxFgZ1uZBDynr-Q1L_5zsFayzJDMrW3m3plaP8P2lv1j7LjG2v5YsoMd0VGgv0UXXDfwYYBx1r5yQ-URMxqR1fcchqr-GRNN6JATTBnYz45mOeQHCXUjXu9HbUtb2qf4/s320/Nepal+%2526+India+3+Nov+204.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi074yoD9HnhZE1hteUTnBlOiicCYMQXzGXg9g7A7l_cXF78YYbqgxuKMMYP-8xPfp4Lrb1wUjlbsptxX8fEyXZwph_er5HHYflbkbfekg9Y6KyV7GNJrG9C4CoqJUBD8TaT7sI0AKyPvs/s1600/Nepal+%2526+India+3+Nov+212.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi074yoD9HnhZE1hteUTnBlOiicCYMQXzGXg9g7A7l_cXF78YYbqgxuKMMYP-8xPfp4Lrb1wUjlbsptxX8fEyXZwph_er5HHYflbkbfekg9Y6KyV7GNJrG9C4CoqJUBD8TaT7sI0AKyPvs/s320/Nepal+%2526+India+3+Nov+212.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I am struck by the draw of the Ganga, Varanasi and Lord Shiva, their powerful symbolism and the conviction of belief. The layers of myth and symbolism of the river and city are complex and intriguing. The whole city is in fact regarded as the great cremation ground for the entire corpse of the universe. I am energised by the spirituality of the city but also a little saddened by the faded glory of the architecture, overcrowded conditions, filth and pollution.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheNEy0tkigcQIF_EtQwCgBXqx4OU-pGlc44DtFFGToxPKnuVwC2G_zbDCxcrVTWSuPEVAvu-iaYgqg-xgV982ePX43cBqj8oNhvEA-VWHOQgqC2JJyz0CD9f1ffQJ_vug1f8a7VJq1KAQ/s1600/Nepal+%2526+India+3+Nov+250.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheNEy0tkigcQIF_EtQwCgBXqx4OU-pGlc44DtFFGToxPKnuVwC2G_zbDCxcrVTWSuPEVAvu-iaYgqg-xgV982ePX43cBqj8oNhvEA-VWHOQgqC2JJyz0CD9f1ffQJ_vug1f8a7VJq1KAQ/s320/Nepal+%2526+India+3+Nov+250.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIZhKXlsx2JeG9eC10XigeXT9teNr-gbflTWSUUXcdx9bDg0RQd-yAMYbVRT2uWA0AwsOKNtquyl8-u1TSQ9X49KZKnCPPEiFE_hT-jJ3eoOsesTzdn3U0PmZjoxCXDYm6R0CGHgYQPfQ/s1600/varanasi+042.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIZhKXlsx2JeG9eC10XigeXT9teNr-gbflTWSUUXcdx9bDg0RQd-yAMYbVRT2uWA0AwsOKNtquyl8-u1TSQ9X49KZKnCPPEiFE_hT-jJ3eoOsesTzdn3U0PmZjoxCXDYm6R0CGHgYQPfQ/s320/varanasi+042.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGxh4skCcyNWnxwM5BoX3MjUfejqfjsqUr_nAE-xNQDG5lc-87W7uNnYKp2gCvaRKSeLIkQpznX0IJGZ2TIwswulfdnIIg3D-x4_0SrLtoUenXL1hWdvNLTeve8gpo6Oii6WAGFLA4AXM/s1600/varanasi+030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGxh4skCcyNWnxwM5BoX3MjUfejqfjsqUr_nAE-xNQDG5lc-87W7uNnYKp2gCvaRKSeLIkQpznX0IJGZ2TIwswulfdnIIg3D-x4_0SrLtoUenXL1hWdvNLTeve8gpo6Oii6WAGFLA4AXM/s320/varanasi+030.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"> </div><br />
</div>FylipoBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14142327128860329747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852120160757421513.post-52224550045499938772011-11-02T16:20:00.000+07:002011-11-02T16:20:25.382+07:00Hunting the Wild Chicken<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Welcome to Chitwan National Park where we can be sucked into the conspiracy for tourists to see the tiger and meet innocent primitive people.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After a day's tiring negotiation we arrange a reduced cost jungle safari. Our chances of seeing the tiger range between 70% and 99% - typical of Nepali calculations generally. How long is this bus to Kathamandu? “3,4,5 hours” “What time does the bus leave? “Maybe half an hour, maybe 2 hours” (actual wait: 4.5 hours) – just plucked out of thin air to appease the request, the best starting point is not to ask these silly western questions and simply assume that things are never going to happen so if and when they do then it is a nice surprise. Sitting on the roof of a bus with 150 people, your butt moulded into an iron bar, a sack of rice on top of you, a pregnant woman wedged behind and a random man stroking your leg – assume it is for eternity then when you arrive 5,6,7 hours later it's a nice surprise.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLz4FZTHj3sF-qky1t8cavMxzdK_IBP5BzTeyoa2Ds_ukL-O6Uc6-vI-4o5wjSDE3fKwUAGthyphenhyphenzaXRQvtSyglKlFZoCG8_sOUQr-zZTuWCWywNUwpESm3z_Aar3GbNlzbCyqCCVa-2mtY/s1600/SAM_1382.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLz4FZTHj3sF-qky1t8cavMxzdK_IBP5BzTeyoa2Ds_ukL-O6Uc6-vI-4o5wjSDE3fKwUAGthyphenhyphenzaXRQvtSyglKlFZoCG8_sOUQr-zZTuWCWywNUwpESm3z_Aar3GbNlzbCyqCCVa-2mtY/s320/SAM_1382.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYpExmIzJntalRBHOLCBkgikY5QkVP7a7Mc6JmrbBS4EgggAiqUX0BkKXkVUtXaW8u-R18gHMLGxh_-zW3PEg1oY_dkMdrxmZHlAar35dtNP2zfSMHoHFWb4N6KCVGeZ6sbhy-u0loZkc/s1600/SAM_1505.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYpExmIzJntalRBHOLCBkgikY5QkVP7a7Mc6JmrbBS4EgggAiqUX0BkKXkVUtXaW8u-R18gHMLGxh_-zW3PEg1oY_dkMdrxmZHlAar35dtNP2zfSMHoHFWb4N6KCVGeZ6sbhy-u0loZkc/s320/SAM_1505.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At the beginning of the jungle trek our safety talk encompasses a quick run down of approaches to death avoidance for respective different animals. Charging rhinos and elephants – climb at least 7 foot up a tree. Tigers and bears – huddle together. If things get hairy then we have two men in their sixties with big sticks to protect us, despite their many years of experience their look of terror is concerning as we observe two fighting rhinos in the bush – we hide behind a tree. The crocodiles we see are a safe distance, the bear we hear roar and the tiger we chase for a kilometre turns out to be a deer.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfOk-UUU3mw8FIS-wCOJi0Sd9DM1mlnruc0VRRzwAgjrXyTYWYQiZtCd0mkR3FbWY2oM2Nxatg2ZN_0oGUElg9XQt7DBMcOKvPy2OtHZpqadqbhkvZoeh6TGhZHVjHv9qi7zVEPcLjPS4/s1600/SAM_1407.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfOk-UUU3mw8FIS-wCOJi0Sd9DM1mlnruc0VRRzwAgjrXyTYWYQiZtCd0mkR3FbWY2oM2Nxatg2ZN_0oGUElg9XQt7DBMcOKvPy2OtHZpqadqbhkvZoeh6TGhZHVjHv9qi7zVEPcLjPS4/s320/SAM_1407.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJvksyKItzrtKh5AfW1fxuOltMWWADLuUKSrRHKPSKeEyzWladcpGQcNnv5g-JUcjrOTBpVagOwUzke29Lq2p7Fiab6ecafDPFJvilRHeU4iaiAYnzpoIAIdfvF8O2JfcgKNsdsNLoYL4/s1600/SAM_1411.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJvksyKItzrtKh5AfW1fxuOltMWWADLuUKSrRHKPSKeEyzWladcpGQcNnv5g-JUcjrOTBpVagOwUzke29Lq2p7Fiab6ecafDPFJvilRHeU4iaiAYnzpoIAIdfvF8O2JfcgKNsdsNLoYL4/s320/SAM_1411.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh88GhIoaTUfrQ_pWbT26AIKaWt0PQ6Kw4ojCihOgkAgLg0Q8yY3K31HvDkqBAGhXyy-89lNBPLBZeECYQxa81Nnz1d2X24x2WtlRb9vFj3Joxlo_squRHn7gxHA1SSei6Ykmm9K0aBPs4/s1600/SAM_1433.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh88GhIoaTUfrQ_pWbT26AIKaWt0PQ6Kw4ojCihOgkAgLg0Q8yY3K31HvDkqBAGhXyy-89lNBPLBZeECYQxa81Nnz1d2X24x2WtlRb9vFj3Joxlo_squRHn7gxHA1SSei6Ykmm9K0aBPs4/s320/SAM_1433.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRzSGSjuA3J0qLfQvDtKgiwnh7_GLfeBTkaQJQ7BW2FLXJvpiUND65Lhk7kU18jLhBXbyrMQvfZLeUM1Cx5qQT-uo1q1hz90M6Zmt5K_dZC5H3ciOKuEyo0LF0-ivr11ykFXO0EZ6KCmM/s1600/SAM_1444.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRzSGSjuA3J0qLfQvDtKgiwnh7_GLfeBTkaQJQ7BW2FLXJvpiUND65Lhk7kU18jLhBXbyrMQvfZLeUM1Cx5qQT-uo1q1hz90M6Zmt5K_dZC5H3ciOKuEyo0LF0-ivr11ykFXO0EZ6KCmM/s320/SAM_1444.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Traumatised Yann doesn't join us for day two – he takes a bus. The peak of excitement in day two involves spotting several wild chickens. Meanwhile Yann discovers a new Nepali family, they treat him like a king and his sister puts tikka on his forehead and adorns him in flowers. </span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhTAdbJQGfgvS-nXlEHOpvkBKDEmdbi3YDAyuRIL9y2mFW73nN4xWUariXZlayn2MFBgjVW8NSNSdObGGer37IMgFeK1vpX9a-Kd3uXSlRQDxUq_1_UJJDUYMmUjapETiAv06F8y8wMqc/s1600/SAM_1474.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhTAdbJQGfgvS-nXlEHOpvkBKDEmdbi3YDAyuRIL9y2mFW73nN4xWUariXZlayn2MFBgjVW8NSNSdObGGer37IMgFeK1vpX9a-Kd3uXSlRQDxUq_1_UJJDUYMmUjapETiAv06F8y8wMqc/s320/SAM_1474.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
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</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After twenty hours trekking I feel like Indiana Jones yet again in Nepal, the long grasses whipping me in the face. Worn, we arrive at the isolated community of Mardi where we are told the people give out of the goodness of their hearts. The week long Tihar Festival is in full swing. Bands of children come dancing round the houses with a tray for money. Rachael mistakes a thousand rupee note for a ten rupee note for her donation – the dancing goes wild. As word travels of the rich tourists in the village our lodging is bombarded until midnight with further groups – looking for massive donations to the “local book appeal” but in vain as we are retired to our concrete slab beds at 8.30pm. Resourcefully the villagers tag an additional day onto the festival and we awake to more dancing which turns into a full audience outside our rooms, observing our every moves, I feel like Madonna. The dancing turns into unashamed demands for money and cigarettes.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4wk7H22PN3LKwWkTs_wXL7hV8i8ztSe1c2E7wwbkS1NMdhO1iPBDQBwJ5B163rQlcsAmgxYGRcmNBiZC2ycZsjqGzQCvZQ7VMnf3hWmuhGozSkf1Ce1Wss_qUyKyGypKl6pxhg1LY1X8/s1600/SAM_1465.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4wk7H22PN3LKwWkTs_wXL7hV8i8ztSe1c2E7wwbkS1NMdhO1iPBDQBwJ5B163rQlcsAmgxYGRcmNBiZC2ycZsjqGzQCvZQ7VMnf3hWmuhGozSkf1Ce1Wss_qUyKyGypKl6pxhg1LY1X8/s320/SAM_1465.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Our guides who we hired for 2 days are still hanging around on day 3, they interfere with any transaction we try to make and suddenly prices suspiciously increase. Although we are not paying them today they are getting free food for hanging around and taking a cut for translating. Irritated we send them away, quite able to buy our own bottles of coke. We escape our audience to walk to the old temple and happily accept the young village boys' offer to accompany us. Later as we leave the village we are harassed by ten year old boys demanding money for this “guided tour” and our 50 rupees offering is apparently insufficient.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Saddened by corrupted human nature we trudge across mud flats to wait 1,2,3 hours for a bus reflecting on the local myths of stupid foreign tourists. </span></div><br />
</div>FylipoBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14142327128860329747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852120160757421513.post-41790636224450003202011-10-30T17:52:00.001+07:002011-10-31T22:08:53.248+07:00Don't Go Back to Jomosom<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dancing with the kids down at the Rock Pokhara Festival the ghurkas befriend me, proudly speaking of their brothers fighting for HM British Army. They share whisky and sachets of white powder. Having wondered at the little metallic wrappers Nepali men discard onto the ground of their beautiful land I am happy to sample but soon disgusted - foul washing powder swill. It seems to be an aid for loud spits of phlegm (perhaps a mating call) that disturb the most serene Nepali moments.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The kids of this country enjoy a good pilgrimage whether joining school mates to celebrate graduation by dressing smartly and journeying 3 days into the Himalaya to bathe in holy springs and embrace the unique Nepali blend of Buddhist and Hindu faiths or by journeying on a 13 hour motorbike trip across half the country to see Miss Nepal present Rock Pokhara in a lakeside field. </span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Most guys I meet turn out to be wannabe tourist guides, even on the local bus, and can sort out anything I need, just call, so sweet, cute and amicable but not necessary. So, happy to meet the gurkhas I enjoy their stories of the pop bands. The boys bounce me up and down in excitement as a new band starts, fronted by a man in his 60s or 70s, topless with a wiry, sweaty body, large head and distinctive powerful face. He shouts to the crowd and the throngs of kids go wild at his inspirational political chat. The inordinate number of police at the festival may feel nervous – the state is paranoid of riots and has introduced an effective curfew and banned fireworks for this week's Divali - festival of lights. It is only 3 years since the end of a ten year civil war, only 20 years since the end of the King's absolute rule and only 60 years since Nepal opened its borders to the world. </span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The kids want hope and a better life and I am struck by the thoughtfulness and insight of those I speak to. Some boys tell me of their work in rural development and the struggle to support Nepal in providing access to drinking water, basic education and roads. The current Maoist president is popular and things are improving but chronic corruption persists. </span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I meet Muslims, Brahmins, Gurungs, Tahrus, Newaris.... Nepal comprises a complex mixture of ethnic groups and castes and I am heartened by a common Nepali welcoming and good nature. The flexible tongued Nepalis can learn any language, I try to learn their language and a minibus howls with laughter then I spend two weeks mistakenly saying “I have got a message for you” instead of “how are you?”</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One of the gurkhas is drunk and excited, he insists that I join them in a van to Jomosom. After spending two full days risking my life escaping from Jomosom this cannot happen so I depart the festival. Back along the tourist funland of barefoot dreaded girls, hunky French paragliders, Israeli trekkers and restaurants which all insist in trying to serve food from every country in the world. </span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Back to my hotel to hide from the revolting overgrown orange haired hippy preaching aloud his rejection of society and The Testament According to Him, an ongoing dialogue since the 1970s regardless of the changing face of his audience. In a place where the locals are desperately trying to increase their material gains there is a convergence of westerners eager to apparently renounce worldly ties. </span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Escaped from the return to Jomosom I will go rafting and camp under the stars with a motley crew.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRgrx7EbzVwE4yXnhGfuvPP1HKfWia2ixiBfO6puexH02erWfSrcGGAsPWsxoWrwMHbafwZcAagDb1GeBl5rHYKCKqVor85FrsXNkTcjMv3q-XUBL5SzWXjeYFlTaNqCH939pNvKBWlRM/s1600/SAM_1373.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRgrx7EbzVwE4yXnhGfuvPP1HKfWia2ixiBfO6puexH02erWfSrcGGAsPWsxoWrwMHbafwZcAagDb1GeBl5rHYKCKqVor85FrsXNkTcjMv3q-XUBL5SzWXjeYFlTaNqCH939pNvKBWlRM/s1600/SAM_1373.JPG" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>FylipoBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14142327128860329747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852120160757421513.post-21535876727222811312011-10-30T17:44:00.000+07:002011-10-30T17:44:41.257+07:00Lessons Learned<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Don't hire sleeping bags nor puffa jackets</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Don't sleep in rooms with no windows</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Always take an emergency blanket</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Beat the mule train</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Sit at back of jeep – this is better for jumping </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Sit at left side of bus roof in crouched position – this is better for jumping</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">don't leave your posh flip flops next to the hot springs in the dark</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">bring a pipe and laxatives</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">sitting behind bus driver = face of phlegm</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">don't rub tiger balm on sunburnt nose</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">don't moisturise the locals, give them itch cream</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Don't let Rachael near your stuff</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Concentrate on game rules</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Apple crumble on the mountain = apples in milky soup</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">don't cut off your circulation with your hair band/ cause + effect = elephantitis</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Don't chase German lesbians after dark</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Collect 26 people for bus journey</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">If you reach your destination alive you are lucky</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Mind the goats/ snow leopard – prepare and make yourself big!</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Hire Yann to redesign your Nepalese room and move your bed</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Don't drive cranes over cliffs</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Ensure your bus driver has started puberty before he drives your jeep down the treacherous mountain track</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">don't ask police silly questions</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Always be yourself and keep quiet in large groups</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Don't buy cheap gangrene rings</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Don't squirt ketchup on the Chinese</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Never tell Thai women your real name and address</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Always pick up random foreign porters to sing in the wind down the lunar valley</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Don't steal apples from old ladies</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">When the villagers come around dancing lock yourself in your room. </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Don't encourage bad tourism by paying people on demand for things you didn't ask for (feet washing, spontaneous dancing, tikka on the forehead, guided tours, random information).</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Always question peoples' motives.</div>FylipoBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14142327128860329747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852120160757421513.post-89073890459926694552011-10-23T17:19:00.000+07:002011-10-23T17:19:04.409+07:00Annapurna Adventure<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Bus ride to the mountains, depart Pokhara, reclining behind the driver dodging his morning phlegm ritual. As the caged machine overfills we clamber onto the roof joining Davy Gravy and Andrew the Great. New found sunspot ruined when 2 men sit on me, bottom moulded to the bars. Rachael and Dana carelessly discard their belongings from the bus in avoidance of wire beheading. We leap into action, off the bus and sprint down the road to retrieve the valuables.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">A trekking group is formed (Andrew the Great of Poland, Davy the Gravy of Amsterdam, Yann the Dealer of Brazil, Doctor Dana of Colorado, Gypo Rachael of Southampton and King Philip) joining forces to harangue indifferent semi-bus-mafia-officialdom barking dodgy foreigner price hikes for forthcoming death cheating bus ride. Limboing under trees and wires as the bumpy bus rumbles along, leaden arms squeezing onto any seemingly static bags, rope and bars.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
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</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The mountain side appears to crumble like Cheshire cheese into the canyon below with a faint dint smudged roughly along its side as if some greater force had created an evil joke land with toy buses rattling through rocky roller coasters. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The bus edges along the dubious track and with each tilt of the bus one way we lean inwards, hopeful our weight and wishes will keep the bus from rocking and rolling over the edge. The full horror of our predicament becoming apparent I close my eyes and cling onto a rusty tyre shuddering until the bus slows to a stop. A group of monkeys jumping and plotting excitedly to jump on us, we howl.... </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Surprised to be alive, giddy with trauma to the disdain of dismayed foreigners caged inside, we arrive high with adrenaline. The trek begins...</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD1oUGVsm9tKSXljeXj7n1lzMi_XXz2_raHZeDgYsceCyx74HrA7oZOwqQdMVBMgurB0_9XocZNk03CPcdTJJij1NR3rBfDdTUOQfT3D2yt93kRgXdvwdQwR3JdqEAA2OE-JHIqvKBTi8/s1600/IMG_0246.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD1oUGVsm9tKSXljeXj7n1lzMi_XXz2_raHZeDgYsceCyx74HrA7oZOwqQdMVBMgurB0_9XocZNk03CPcdTJJij1NR3rBfDdTUOQfT3D2yt93kRgXdvwdQwR3JdqEAA2OE-JHIqvKBTi8/s320/IMG_0246.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Jagat and our hotelier friend confirms our fears about the deadly bus route then offers to be our guide (as does every third Nepali man) to prevent us from getting mountain sickness. We are sea level people and so more susceptible, particularly in the absence of a Nepali mountain man, we fear for Davy who is minus sea level (Netherlands). </span> </span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> <div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Up the mountain we are soon amidst swarms of foreign trekkers sweating in the hot sun across scary Indiana Jones bridges. Stop for lunch to review the same generic and impossibly extensive menu despatched to all mountain restaurants. Aware that restaurant people are prone to run up and down the hill to fetch missing ingredients rather than decline customer requests we are keen not to cause any work and all order the same. Day Two Drama at lunch with Rachael's bed bug affliction revealed from the hired Puffa jacket, she resorts to gypsy kagool and crinkly gold blanket.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPwvhq62sSsZp9SIIXThHdcoVPnzJ9xcbhgmd1w2NjENT_9X4lN2AAdU8xtLAwuLUvwIefC980RDPmd-5rW2oXh6qGeizK2vcRhsgw0DgKb5CFZz1wlrhamiYR3VNwUUzqXTtE9vx_sTU/s1600/IMG_0254.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPwvhq62sSsZp9SIIXThHdcoVPnzJ9xcbhgmd1w2NjENT_9X4lN2AAdU8xtLAwuLUvwIefC980RDPmd-5rW2oXh6qGeizK2vcRhsgw0DgKb5CFZz1wlrhamiYR3VNwUUzqXTtE9vx_sTU/s320/IMG_0254.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg17hyphenhyphenvPuZw6ZiasOtIY9q7pSVPUfIyc3DXoEFSIdHyxZEqWz1RVX8OvJExrSI_OvEWSQ7PKUS_Aw5GnFMK8EW7W6FXyG2dcUEzvyVtc1wItDDqYLbq7c0321jTbbzwkdcCG7wJvs0walo/s1600/IMG_0266.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg17hyphenhyphenvPuZw6ZiasOtIY9q7pSVPUfIyc3DXoEFSIdHyxZEqWz1RVX8OvJExrSI_OvEWSQ7PKUS_Aw5GnFMK8EW7W6FXyG2dcUEzvyVtc1wItDDqYLbq7c0321jTbbzwkdcCG7wJvs0walo/s320/IMG_0266.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9ysOLy2pbz1VABZgNaKWNDS5ZXplO-FTndMVrTc915arrrWS-4nlWGFH-8YlKOGuc3W1X2e2H5c-bkA5aJ3RWVGODl_LkuWTKnuTn9Ga-iinVqfnzyeLnPjPvitZEP1ulA-9K5oM_AWY/s1600/IMG_0255.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9ysOLy2pbz1VABZgNaKWNDS5ZXplO-FTndMVrTc915arrrWS-4nlWGFH-8YlKOGuc3W1X2e2H5c-bkA5aJ3RWVGODl_LkuWTKnuTn9Ga-iinVqfnzyeLnPjPvitZEP1ulA-9K5oM_AWY/s320/IMG_0255.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Day Three: Chame, quaint grey stone village, Tibetan and a man with a big gun guarding the remote bank. On arrival we drink delicious masala tea in a cosy wooden teahouse. A whole family works together to make samosas, children peeling potatos and Dad frying the samosas to a crisp in a large iron pan over a wood fire. Yann the Dealer undertakes his daily duty of hunting down rooms at special price, succeeding in securing space in the hotel of a moody rotund Tibetan lady who scolds us for being late for dinner. Delayed by our dusk visit to the hot spring. We join the local lads' evening gathering in the oblong stone bath to bathe in the murky hot spring water. The boys welcome us demonstrating their ritual of dipping in the water and leaping up into the cold air and sharing their home made whisky. The boys are unfazed by the girls joining in the communal bath. Next to us the Marsyangdi Khola roars past and the surreal spectre of a snow covered peak is etched.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMW5fnGv4vhMmrfE-CiJRAag__wX0WXHJuwtVzi9ucmPR9u824Bury-NvS4qfpL6zUxpCEQ1GBc-yP0FqQQ6VXcPdc2tPnljbVymZ9ZZV6vxX-SdheYYSqgbXtZ-tGhaCZ3rJwK6YB8w8/s1600/IMG_0366.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMW5fnGv4vhMmrfE-CiJRAag__wX0WXHJuwtVzi9ucmPR9u824Bury-NvS4qfpL6zUxpCEQ1GBc-yP0FqQQ6VXcPdc2tPnljbVymZ9ZZV6vxX-SdheYYSqgbXtZ-tGhaCZ3rJwK6YB8w8/s320/IMG_0366.JPG" width="240" /></a></span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXEcsbo4ClO-teygr8qDfuNkB-hcZKIINXjlULWsEZ1DqFJZMOYOXZO_yKc2ZTSLvGDvHvkkQ1590ricyh3z-ghWoQvqsclZAJxG1Ys_ZCSenWRfiqsIQceoNAp3wTdtVA-Gte1BcUGHc/s1600/PA112459.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXEcsbo4ClO-teygr8qDfuNkB-hcZKIINXjlULWsEZ1DqFJZMOYOXZO_yKc2ZTSLvGDvHvkkQ1590ricyh3z-ghWoQvqsclZAJxG1Ys_ZCSenWRfiqsIQceoNAp3wTdtVA-Gte1BcUGHc/s320/PA112459.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> </span>Day four - soldiering on past impossible German hikers in perverse lycra and mule trains. Onto Upper Pisang – a magical mountain village with wild marijuana growing along its steep windy lanes. We jump inside a marijuana field on arrival, aghast at the amount of weed around us. The village resembles a Tuscan farming village with patchwork brown and yellow fields and low brown stone houses. Elderly crooked folk wander the lanes carrying bales of hay and bags of apples on their backs grunting in gruff Gurung, lives unchanged for centuries. A white gompa overlooks the village and the valley at the top of the hill with ornate gold statues of the buddha inside. At the end of the day we climb the hill as a monk announces the daily ritual with an ominous clashing of the cymbal, long subliminal sounds echo deep inside. As the monks begin chanting, a spectacle for chattering tourists, we stretch our stoned bodies on the temple steps, breathing the Himalaya deep inside us, and looking up from our own yoga ritual a kind faced monk presents us with hot tea in metal cups. At one with the moment we sit in the cool air watching the light change, as the sun sets behind the mighty peak of Annapurna II. A patch of rose coloured light glows on its high peak slowly turning auburn, close enough to touch. A monk lights a fire of fir branches in a stone fireplace at the edge of the gompa complex, adding a comforting smell to the occasion and wafting misty smoke over the valley as villagers settle down to watch Goldfinger on satellite TV.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"></span></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> </span></span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> </span> <br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The boys chased out of town with a stoning by an old crone for pinching her apples. The beautiful secret valley opens up into rocky patches, fields of barley and herds of shaggy black yaks. White stupas are scattered around the valley and colourful prayer flags flutter in unlikely locations. Increasingly fascinated at the isolation of the communities we pass where everything is incredibly transported by donkey or man. Televisions, we learn, are brought on the backs of men because donkeys would smash them. </span> </span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> <div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Onto Manang, a dormitory town for masses of tourists acclimatising in grey institution hotels before venturing up the great pass, an industry syphoning money money for electricity, honey and hot water. Respite in Hotel Moonlight, play cards, eat yak burgers and moisturise the locals. Looking out onto the dusty main street of this Wild West town where a random black bull patiently awaits his daily feed.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0uOib8OMm3MFgplIsPplw0_aMna2sUeXCDH9jMBScITLC-NCccj2MXD6C9YyK1_xWIlWGOcfIgbxZWXOdnamgV5Gwetm0-cRRIo1QAa8hddLtF3h5WQFhGqJEUSqh0C9CcY66aql4f_c/s1600/IMG_0450.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0uOib8OMm3MFgplIsPplw0_aMna2sUeXCDH9jMBScITLC-NCccj2MXD6C9YyK1_xWIlWGOcfIgbxZWXOdnamgV5Gwetm0-cRRIo1QAa8hddLtF3h5WQFhGqJEUSqh0C9CcY66aql4f_c/s320/IMG_0450.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Then onwards to Banja and Somin's remote stone hut. Banja proudly welcomes us to his humble home with converted stables into bedrooms, padded with straw and newspaper. Thick mud walls insulate the hut and a sturdy iron range keeps us warm in the cosy kitchen watched over by shocking red eyes of a trophy dead baby deer and Yak head. </span> </span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> <div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">We pass the afternoon performing yoga for an audience of Nepali porters and sitting on a stone wall laughing and smoking. Banja and Somin lie together close by in the sunshine, close, in love, gazing curiously at the afternoon light entertainment. Somin, shy and reticent cannot hide her interest in our gathering who cackles and plots snow leopard avoidance techniques. A beautiful train of white donkeys trots by and in the distance a herd of hazel musk deer blend into the mountain. When a snow leopard kills a musk deer, Banja retrieves the beast for Somin to curry. The light changes in the valley below where three distinct mountains in our viewpoint criss crossing perfectly. A cold white mighty peak provides the backdrop for a dark brown diagonal intersected by a complimentary autumnal patchwork diagonal of greens, reds and browns shining gently in the autumnal sun. As the cold creeps in we retire into the warmth of the kitchen to select a meal from the ubiquitous and impossibly extensive menu.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilOvtvrnnlOQVXJT4F907rWFniHvNtQis7KUMiX4Lp3dB7jsOEIMhaeYLsMzlw0XN6xV7kttTBjOnM4d8zi6pg9dGEKQebM2-YeBo07DUux68wRDM4iaD0-GkG6CrebJkI9vPv6rgO9sM/s1600/IMG_0503.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilOvtvrnnlOQVXJT4F907rWFniHvNtQis7KUMiX4Lp3dB7jsOEIMhaeYLsMzlw0XN6xV7kttTBjOnM4d8zi6pg9dGEKQebM2-YeBo07DUux68wRDM4iaD0-GkG6CrebJkI9vPv6rgO9sM/s320/IMG_0503.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Day 8 and onto Phede Base Camp, a hostile holding pen for foreign hikers and porters in the grip of mountain sickness paranoia, exhausted and nervous before attempting the great Thorung La Pass. The inhabitants of the refugee camp appear dirty, worn and slightly harrowed. In the face of adversity Yann re-designs the bedroom. Today sees The Return of Andrew The Great; the determined Pole storms into camp, hood up, dressed in black. We celebrate with garlic soup to stave off the mountain sickness.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> <div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The fearful day to cross the pass arrives. awake at 4.20am and the bizarre morning trek begins. Beneath the starlight an unlikely trail of head lit zombies trudges up a steep rocky climb and collapses breathless, frostbite setting in at Thorung High Camp. Replenished with milky tea we persevere on, the sun rising to warm the crisp air and the final push punctuated by five minute breaks. Time lengthens and the top of the pass falls further into the distance at every climb. Hillsides of sheer grey crumbling shingle surround the way. The mountain does not welcome us easily.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0vNW1jWs1C6ahIvDJRnIePG3UFBIRR9S6BZV5hZHdKbH-riO0EIHnNHcSBF6igvapGbqV7HC_T4XYVyHx95iuhfpUfdBEuirGzdL6ckam6WD0LzaDr1YnS3s5bx0Z8h-JfWKcz_roIY8/s1600/IMG_0538.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0vNW1jWs1C6ahIvDJRnIePG3UFBIRR9S6BZV5hZHdKbH-riO0EIHnNHcSBF6igvapGbqV7HC_T4XYVyHx95iuhfpUfdBEuirGzdL6ckam6WD0LzaDr1YnS3s5bx0Z8h-JfWKcz_roIY8/s320/IMG_0538.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> </span>As I round the final corner a random group of tourists applaud my arrival and I stumble happily to the pass, embraced by the cute Taiwanese girl. We spend some time celebrating and admiring dramatic views in the sharp bracing air before beginning the steep knee knocking descent into a new dimension. Down to Muktinath, otherworldly with its temples, orchards and dramatic canyon. A meeting of Hindu and Buddhist faith where pilgrims fling themselves into freezing holy water. I try to save my soul by filling my water bottle from the 108 holy spring water taps and giving a saddhu 15 rupees, let's hope it works, to save my soul returning down the mountain.</div></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4EvDtRPt21wrVj6lYZMQD3R4XcGw24-xmdCdub-UmxCnGjusSEeim1kERK-25cqk3jNkRFAVvu3KP0mf7X3WW9F5VdFOhhUCOso5AwLWDN3hRLJAlOj9DOc2ScqM4LE8qGExLHVMnsGc/s1600/IMG_0584.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4EvDtRPt21wrVj6lYZMQD3R4XcGw24-xmdCdub-UmxCnGjusSEeim1kERK-25cqk3jNkRFAVvu3KP0mf7X3WW9F5VdFOhhUCOso5AwLWDN3hRLJAlOj9DOc2ScqM4LE8qGExLHVMnsGc/s320/IMG_0584.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> With Subie, our newfound Indian porter in need, we continue down the mountain and into outer space. Stopping for lunch the hotelier regales us with stories of the neighbouring legendary King of Mustang who rules the neighbouring ancient kingdom of Upper Mustang. We peer in its direction, it looks like America's Grand Canyon.</span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Determined we continue through the moonscape, undeterred by rushing winds onto the ugly settlement of Jomosom then beyond in the dusk Soubie sings happy Punjabi songs Philip shields the troops from deadly dangers and Andrew The Great soldiering in front, heading the troop.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2FQkQCFNBTt43fwSgGakq2HTB8u0JQxVnmyZJbLbVtW_V1cvO75_go6GBbMLdpztf66IrW7jqTaoLWGrbo5cSW9pvSrmv-rdAMULM5keRx9QjFtY9HTw72-jWViy0BRpPOfl4DnPhp6g/s1600/IMG_0599.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2FQkQCFNBTt43fwSgGakq2HTB8u0JQxVnmyZJbLbVtW_V1cvO75_go6GBbMLdpztf66IrW7jqTaoLWGrbo5cSW9pvSrmv-rdAMULM5keRx9QjFtY9HTw72-jWViy0BRpPOfl4DnPhp6g/s320/IMG_0599.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZiKOtFe-IVQWksTJrQuKlVuIloOBRWDeHvrkwpLtLh4Vz0HURxnQxFNmD6jQV0JEBqFanLpWDaR_7kTBJ7QkHTrB9tu2HOXanaSWhiB71v_vL3mlom2c3D10SDq9nYhgfMem1vNAOb58/s1600/IMG_0381.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZiKOtFe-IVQWksTJrQuKlVuIloOBRWDeHvrkwpLtLh4Vz0HURxnQxFNmD6jQV0JEBqFanLpWDaR_7kTBJ7QkHTrB9tu2HOXanaSWhiB71v_vL3mlom2c3D10SDq9nYhgfMem1vNAOb58/s320/IMG_0381.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> </span>Relieved to discover the lovely village of Marpha we locate our friends at Hotel Paradise where we merrily proceed to drink, smoke and laugh. Happy to be alive, feet warmed by coals we fill Paradise with laughter and love, reminding the hotel lady of her youth and pleasing her with our eager purchase of whisky. Party time is over when the teenagers are reprimanded by the Australian gays to halt the party forthwith.</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">A rest day passed with Rachael the Gypo telling our fortunes then day Twelve and to the horror of the lovely hotel lady the group begins to separate so she packs us off with fresh bread and cheese. All disperse on respective life threatening vehicle rides only to meet up again at another miserable mafiose bus station full of buses, no drivers and angry Israelis. After a four hour delay we eventually board a bus, left to sit in a cramped aisle, once again fearing for my life as the bus swerves round hairpin bends rocking unsteadily from side to side, shielding my face from the wafts of dust and from the truth of the cliff drop. It gets dark and the bus is still rocking on through the middle of waterfalls. Stuck another night on the mountain we take shelter then a second day of trauma we take a lift with a teenage boy driving a jeep manically down the treacherous road topped with gas cannisters.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Dirty, weary and desperate we reached Pokhara and proceed to battle with hoteliers for a cheap room.</span></div></span></span></span></span>FylipoBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14142327128860329747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852120160757421513.post-51541866305003122372011-10-07T19:20:00.000+07:002011-10-07T19:20:21.230+07:00Tashi Palkhel<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfyrVBPWQUEyHg7-zhv8Z7e4rhDl7AOdmUErZpJCATNFIjZDRpT9ytIB57We_AXsxmGsSmXSna4HP_Yrh8cO32626g-kZTYNk4n-GKuCkWptL8weECaefPkbIL757E7lN4vhs55a_KMSc/s1600/nepal+7+oct+005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfyrVBPWQUEyHg7-zhv8Z7e4rhDl7AOdmUErZpJCATNFIjZDRpT9ytIB57We_AXsxmGsSmXSna4HP_Yrh8cO32626g-kZTYNk4n-GKuCkWptL8weECaefPkbIL757E7lN4vhs55a_KMSc/s320/nepal+7+oct+005.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Wrinkled round faced ladies wrapped in beige</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">approach the stupa, </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">eyes closed. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Straighten, fold and flatten</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">like caterpillars</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">rise, repeat and circle.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL-vIOZjUCNR79za5aCPqNzjo28MD7a3K4clC32f2dQTJAz1r5xk5aBgLbU7EeiS6SNKWhyphenhyphenew8rc-134gvRD5kd0Pn43fQS3XsaOzN7fo8qT7KQFleRRRpGvncSxTmu9lKcOOhGhjTH6o/s1600/nepal+7+oct+006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL-vIOZjUCNR79za5aCPqNzjo28MD7a3K4clC32f2dQTJAz1r5xk5aBgLbU7EeiS6SNKWhyphenhyphenew8rc-134gvRD5kd0Pn43fQS3XsaOzN7fo8qT7KQFleRRRpGvncSxTmu9lKcOOhGhjTH6o/s320/nepal+7+oct+006.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
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</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Sublime chanting </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">punctuated by deep trumpet </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">echoes in the courtyard.</span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg09CwSVJl6w29kUdZzLWPL7VmlQ7oLrO1RTFUKiIsZ2p5zsllUNJdQ6Mi9Hr4jjBVq1CKR0Wbxxvv9qdH14EEcCpNvaB2Nrnx4SAqLenChPOQe6j24APfFOE8XJUnT7nQa712CKCLaLMk/s1600/nepal+7+oct+011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg09CwSVJl6w29kUdZzLWPL7VmlQ7oLrO1RTFUKiIsZ2p5zsllUNJdQ6Mi9Hr4jjBVq1CKR0Wbxxvv9qdH14EEcCpNvaB2Nrnx4SAqLenChPOQe6j24APfFOE8XJUnT7nQa712CKCLaLMk/s320/nepal+7+oct+011.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> <img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyG6sX-74H2novfhTLGAlgadcx9D4gZ2gm-jyvNT6nBpgL3AukMfOgUAVa7K0_QlBHSdb_XqhzyBSUNJOQTBY3mef3eYfA6pwppxkKyP-OTQ7lmZlMVeDj5iCQRvBFquvtTRf5ZECKAl4/s320/nepal+7+oct+003.JPG" /><br />
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</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Peaceful purple and simple</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">monks welcome and provide</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">stability for a depressed community. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Humanity shines through solemnity </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">of the daily ritual</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">with yawns and baby giggles.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Buddha is honoured, </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">foreign money constructs another grand monastery</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">and rain leaks into tin shack homes. </span> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhidSlgkr3vxUw4cbNrP_nZOyw1YuutZPCwXqj3DfVyPR56STBL3eMZhYG5tF_0LIRngTozxtNc2ZVjaAxydNrhhjwEhgTg4JkFrl6f3I8NPQwN0TwcmQx_PYCJp5XFZhF4AX8WzO754m8/s1600/nepal+7+oct+013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhidSlgkr3vxUw4cbNrP_nZOyw1YuutZPCwXqj3DfVyPR56STBL3eMZhYG5tF_0LIRngTozxtNc2ZVjaAxydNrhhjwEhgTg4JkFrl6f3I8NPQwN0TwcmQx_PYCJp5XFZhF4AX8WzO754m8/s320/nepal+7+oct+013.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Water buffalo roam ramshackle lanes</span><br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">the colours of Tibet flutter in the wind</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">an imaginary flag house on the hill. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Fifty years of exile</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">uncertain acceptance in an alien land</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">a nation cannot be erased. </span> </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">t<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-yf-jhmAlnN4zy9OU7zlcg9z4JG-jnn-6uhfmZ-RH74x4pM80jlDUfwKwT-QJ2-HTHn2FIw3LySomuEynyHRQ81KJgaxz2nWgFF7amdWr6EmoxHqHEp256apLzZZi7GqZY0AfMSPw-go/s1600/nepal+7+oct+026.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-yf-jhmAlnN4zy9OU7zlcg9z4JG-jnn-6uhfmZ-RH74x4pM80jlDUfwKwT-QJ2-HTHn2FIw3LySomuEynyHRQ81KJgaxz2nWgFF7amdWr6EmoxHqHEp256apLzZZi7GqZY0AfMSPw-go/s320/nepal+7+oct+026.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Talshi Palkhel - Tibetan refugee settlement near Pokhara, NepalFylipoBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14142327128860329747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852120160757421513.post-11999972231945330822011-10-06T22:32:00.000+07:002011-10-07T22:57:01.372+07:00Happy Dasain<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My introduction to Dasain came on the plane from London to Delhi. My fellow passenger, a Gujarati lady, on a pilgrimage from Hounslow to the Indian Himalaya to celebrate Dasain with 130 members of her family and free the soul of her recently deceased sister. Already I felt intrigued as she educated me in Hindu spiritualism.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Day 2 of Dasain marked our arrival in Nepal = Nepali Christmas, ten days of festivities, fun and bloodshed. The mood in the streets becomes more excited as the days pass, spirits run high and festival fever takes hold. </span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Dasain Day 5</span></i></b></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We cycled 30 kilometres through the humid Kathmandu Valley. Moving away from the city the choking black clouds billowing out of buses subsided and gave way to smells of fresh cumin in village stores then after the rain onto tracks past the paddy fields with whiffs of wild marijuana plants, freedom. Along the way we saw the many goats tethered outside houses bleating happily, innocent of their barbaric fate awaiting them, or strapped to car roofs or led along lanes by old men and boys. </span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">To our horror the last stretch of the journey was on the frightening Arniko Highway, more facefuls of poison and offensive unnecessary irritating horns , I concentrated to keep my nerve. We passed a grim junction town where hundreds of people were piling onto trucks and buses to return home to the thousands of far flung isolated villages of Nepal. Boys hanging of bus roofs clutching onto each other smoking; it all looks quite fun but hundreds of people die on this road each year. </span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Destination Dhulikel we slept in a simple hotel down a dirt track with magnificent views into the valley. Awoken at 4 by eerie bells echoing through the valley, we then rose at 5. Stumbling down a steep track through a misty forest sweet incense drifted through the trees. I was dreaming, sleepwalking through the mystical twilight, a clearing came into view. Flickering candles and a young boy, poised straight, hands together obediently, preying at a shrine to Ganesh, his mother ringing the bells. Humbly we passed by. </span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We joined villagers ambling along, arms linked loosely, and made the thousand step ascent, past the giant Golden Buddha to the hilltop Kali Temple. A dawn group of locals in the temple yard gathered to perform their morning puja, this could include bizarre, erratic exercises, gossiping, waking up and awaiting sunrise. For some this routine happens everyday. Wonderful to be greeted by this scene and accepted easily I felt happy and relaxed. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3C-rYY2eoEYhX0X5bY4hpA00UJ57EWUn-fKCSfmvNXJea_891YxcS8zHcwsy5gS7xZFQtEzUB6IRxrEJ042IPQxfulG1vuGaOlvfZdecKA9TEBzHTrEtFGR78vANoPVRVea5GW0TfLn0/s1600/SAM_0211.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3C-rYY2eoEYhX0X5bY4hpA00UJ57EWUn-fKCSfmvNXJea_891YxcS8zHcwsy5gS7xZFQtEzUB6IRxrEJ042IPQxfulG1vuGaOlvfZdecKA9TEBzHTrEtFGR78vANoPVRVea5GW0TfLn0/s320/SAM_0211.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This Day 6 of Dasain the crowd is larger than normal, awaiting a ceremony. Girls arrive, bringing silver trays of colour; magical and exotic flowers, paint and rice. A troop of soldiers arrives and hang around playing with their guns and each other. A mini parade - two beautiful boys, serene in orange robes carrying a pole holding swathes of crimson and flowers. Following them; the goat. </span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Meanwhile, the sun begins to rise over the distant mist obscured high Himalaya, my spirits rise. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwS_APGfKRU5MBE-eUVWJvqt8EXOAXWCMY503K99tqJdvfoEhaXo8xT3p6tng5n9aBm2URc372ymBn5Q49z8mlsVlx50CAhn0vWcOzyZKA2gJ-O0lehaFydyIirbbEi7Wp7s74UZYmcsM/s1600/SAM_0162.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwS_APGfKRU5MBE-eUVWJvqt8EXOAXWCMY503K99tqJdvfoEhaXo8xT3p6tng5n9aBm2URc372ymBn5Q49z8mlsVlx50CAhn0vWcOzyZKA2gJ-O0lehaFydyIirbbEi7Wp7s74UZYmcsM/s320/SAM_0162.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A young athletic lad in shorts and trainers strides into the fold with a rusty knife. Then the young purple robed priest and the aged army colonel with his peaked hat appear and kneel together praying at the altar of the shrine of the Goddess Pagote. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIy7630Aik5RJmeQ9LvVIVVU9t00wVise4Tpz77wZn90_Z81M6ZKDM5QdDyO0Ec7MzzkTb-a35nCgIn881OL4F_qzo-mHhQ6ZPUbiNpYOBgTS2Wp1snWzAXC2EJWbhdfhJziYi-fcR1aA/s1600/SAM_0172.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIy7630Aik5RJmeQ9LvVIVVU9t00wVise4Tpz77wZn90_Z81M6ZKDM5QdDyO0Ec7MzzkTb-a35nCgIn881OL4F_qzo-mHhQ6ZPUbiNpYOBgTS2Wp1snWzAXC2EJWbhdfhJziYi-fcR1aA/s320/SAM_0172.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A flurry of activity and the soldiers assemble with a simple but proud formality, we await the shoot, they dissemble and everyone wanders around haphazardly. An apparent disorganised ceremony this morning. </span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But the time comes, a drum roll, the priest preys again, the goat is splashed with water, cleansed in view of Pagote then taken to the young athletic lad who readies the goat then with one foul swoop wallops the head off; surprisingly smooth and efficient. The goat's body twitches, one final tail wag and he's gone. The body is whisked once around the shrine leaving a thick bright smudged trail. The ceremony flows and the women and children excitedly run to the shrine with their offerings to Pagote, the Goddess who will appease the devil. </span><br />
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</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The mighty Himalaya, rear their heads, towering above the cloud. The divine gods abiding there observe the ceremony from afar. </span><br />
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</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><i>Manakamana </i></b></span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As the festivities began to reach a crescendo and the buses leaving Kathmandu are literally overflowing with bodies, people clinging onto every section of the bus inside and out. We decide to miss the ritualistic slaughtering of 108 sheep, goat and water buffalo in Kathmandu's Durbar Square and join the pilgrimage to the ancient Manakamana Temple</span><br />
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</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Seeking mountain air after the horrific pollution of the valley we ventured to Nepal's only cable car (Austrian built), installed to ease the pilgrims' arduous holy mountain trek. Now the masses can merrily whizz up the hill to show their devotion for a fiver and for £1.35 bring along their goat in the special goat cabin on a one way ticket . </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, we joined pilgrims journeying from afar to worship to the Goddess Bhagwati who can grant a wish or two. Ascending the mountain I am curious about the holy destination and the different groups of pilgrims we see: smart and polite middle class Indian families, Nepali newly weds seeking sons and colourful giddy ladies and children. </span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The jolly devotees pile through the village past market stalls in this Hindu Blackpool bursting with garish bracelets, bright tinsel and tacky souvenirs. After the final purchase of bling, shoes are removed and orderly queues are formed with their bleating goats and clutching silver plates with offerings to the gods then make a circuit of the square stupa, phlittering, adorned with bright orange garlands scattering golden petals and smudging thick paint onto the shrines, ringing the bells the taking blessings from the sadhus and holy men; the space permeated by the sweet aroma of incense creating for me a mystical atmosphere. People are relaxed and welcoming as I mingle amongst them, slightly bemused by my presence, I feel slightly apart, then brought into the occasion with a saddhu's blessing and touch on my head.</span><br />
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</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Men lead the goats and the odd chicken around the temple then up the steps to the gory stone shed on the sacrifice conveyor belt to meet their fate. An old blood splattered man performs the deed, the aim always to behead the goat with one sure swipe of the knife; otherwise the sacrifice doesn't count apparently. The sacrifice is made to appease the all powerful Durga, Goddess of Power, and maintain her victory over evil. At this time babies who are susceptible to evil spirits have their eyes painted with thick black eye liner and foreheads pocked with black smudges. This is to spooky effect but the freakily painted dolls are quite endearing.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The severed heads are lopped into piles and men wander the windy village lanes swishing buckets of goat heads and carrier bags of corpses. Gloopy bright red liquid forms in thick pools reminiscent of spilled poster paint in school playgrounds, as we move further down the steps the gruesome droplets of blood stains become thinner and more sporadic. </span><br />
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</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">To quell the revulsion we feel, we walk further into the hills and watch children playing on their Dasain swing - beautifully constructed from bamboo all over Nepal for the festival. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtuLxex4cbiT2_PGhld5E05RgKIOD9Jqdu2vx6THhhj3Yq24UZ1BnhItIpt8yQF1mK2tqDFvAOV0b7fALKIpH4tLGnNWrOmHNbQcERJWENFjVuO68h-LeT2tqeJHIBx8jA8ylK0uMX_qU/s1600/SAM_0274.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtuLxex4cbiT2_PGhld5E05RgKIOD9Jqdu2vx6THhhj3Yq24UZ1BnhItIpt8yQF1mK2tqDFvAOV0b7fALKIpH4tLGnNWrOmHNbQcERJWENFjVuO68h-LeT2tqeJHIBx8jA8ylK0uMX_qU/s320/SAM_0274.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Day 8 – we fail to make the permit office in Pokhara time and learn it will close for 2 days, plans foiled I quell my irritation that we have all the time in the world. We stay around in Pokhara for the end of the celebrations.</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><i>Tika – day 9</i></b> and the family are all together. We are invited to a family's home to join them for food and the ritual of tika. Rice and natural red paints are smudged onto our foreheads firstly by the old man of the house and then randomly by the children playing. I feel the poverty of Nepal and the distance from my life visiting this home, a small house where 38 people live – and 3 water buffalo.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLnDrlSnJT7K1rAIIJ9mNZULG8iYynwGwyxCRkhFtPtc9RVgyhyphenhyphenet-k0hf6a8JAEQ_asqlozxDtYS_EHBBEm46ZpRjnfT-HDNUSn49BCWZEJG8rkORGcr4q4tW15Q8ENlJ6Yfgqo__hck/s1600/Nepal+7+Oct+008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLnDrlSnJT7K1rAIIJ9mNZULG8iYynwGwyxCRkhFtPtc9RVgyhyphenhyphenet-k0hf6a8JAEQ_asqlozxDtYS_EHBBEm46ZpRjnfT-HDNUSn49BCWZEJG8rkORGcr4q4tW15Q8ENlJ6Yfgqo__hck/s320/Nepal+7+Oct+008.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>FylipoBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14142327128860329747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1852120160757421513.post-63773791624635804672011-10-06T21:51:00.000+07:002011-10-07T18:49:39.974+07:00Backstreet Bhangra Barber<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQvhr9WcHnG_z-Awb5RyDxQk0DquRFjKycl6SLfREApIEiq81LEzXgNF4IlbKvsbJvSDIoTi6XQeJDYKaNYM2EEunYGeCYQkzeaprc1om6U9wXBxHQUpvYawmwoXIthyphenhyphenQyhcnCE1t_7JI/s1600/SAM_0063.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQvhr9WcHnG_z-Awb5RyDxQk0DquRFjKycl6SLfREApIEiq81LEzXgNF4IlbKvsbJvSDIoTi6XQeJDYKaNYM2EEunYGeCYQkzeaprc1om6U9wXBxHQUpvYawmwoXIthyphenhyphenQyhcnCE1t_7JI/s320/SAM_0063.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizpc8sjmr5m9qli45NMethOXIqpt1kkYPUmFlY7IIFE6CyOERpYS8gojs5W5qm_s4HSB5_0YpBz66ApRDIUQtjDw6Kx3NuZBoxDsY-EcYeGzphhpAESp0j62Rbv5EOpjddznilq8T45SA/s1600/SAM_0069.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizpc8sjmr5m9qli45NMethOXIqpt1kkYPUmFlY7IIFE6CyOERpYS8gojs5W5qm_s4HSB5_0YpBz66ApRDIUQtjDw6Kx3NuZBoxDsY-EcYeGzphhpAESp0j62Rbv5EOpjddznilq8T45SA/s320/SAM_0069.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Day 2 in Kathmandu and I'm a right mess. Time for a visit to “Best Barber”. A welcome escape from the mayhem messing with my jet-lagged mind. Horrific traffic assaults the senses, incessant and unnecessary horn blowing, vehicles move senselessly yet slowly in all directions. When I later join the madness on my bike I realise that it somehow work, perversely it keeps moving.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFO52Zu3JjYp4ESwgLQwfCm5ub6LIZ1SkZFyDXmb-28-XJ3jAZjXwaafzaDMEtuPSnzqdnWTxJo-MVTBQ5VhPxOhixt0mImufzp5rDX20c_h82o1BP1nMeTyVjg-kFmy4TO2pusfTvOsM/s1600/SAM_0066.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFO52Zu3JjYp4ESwgLQwfCm5ub6LIZ1SkZFyDXmb-28-XJ3jAZjXwaafzaDMEtuPSnzqdnWTxJo-MVTBQ5VhPxOhixt0mImufzp5rDX20c_h82o1BP1nMeTyVjg-kFmy4TO2pusfTvOsM/s320/SAM_0066.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgggQw2HqhygBlzuZz7oQ9lt5t_f3gNU2iq4mIjY83Q3fd27lApymOzPaImRKyVvLFIWzTXPTmy6LIMYcJQEP6P6Uzrqr42UOaFmsnsEtAngSUCNguVdbVkVSC_dEGuC5XHWfECSHCl7A/s1600/SAM_0070.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgggQw2HqhygBlzuZz7oQ9lt5t_f3gNU2iq4mIjY83Q3fd27lApymOzPaImRKyVvLFIWzTXPTmy6LIMYcJQEP6P6Uzrqr42UOaFmsnsEtAngSUCNguVdbVkVSC_dEGuC5XHWfECSHCl7A/s320/SAM_0070.JPG" width="240" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I wandered dirty, messy and bearded through the medieval streets of the old town marvelling at the hutch like shops and workshops where men crafted with basic tools from iron, wood and cloth. Just after the “Opera Eye Wear” shop and the pathologists you can find “Best Barber”. I dive in for a new look.</span></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNtRXUTXt8kuyebV7Lk_pY4DAhnuH_ih_COIwClFS8q1hPLRqnDUSdildLoiS_fddYeipbg7LzUebum7lUcKhyMvc7NTwUauEQbz4wKZ61CZGHDOMAp-hkM_WLE3RdPmU7Cp1yd_oBgSA/s1600/SAM_0081.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNtRXUTXt8kuyebV7Lk_pY4DAhnuH_ih_COIwClFS8q1hPLRqnDUSdildLoiS_fddYeipbg7LzUebum7lUcKhyMvc7NTwUauEQbz4wKZ61CZGHDOMAp-hkM_WLE3RdPmU7Cp1yd_oBgSA/s320/SAM_0081.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ6OFDGOdA4AyGiA2n04h3yYVKf3LbRWgT1TzZgv6vgvuM9xnJC4iR8umIxESuLxB63tiNTesgm95E3nMik-nRzQ3_xfvKqzsuD0JY8zZXJTZ4zfdIe-pZaS4sV9UCtYrprOcKtwpt5lE/s1600/SAM_0082.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ6OFDGOdA4AyGiA2n04h3yYVKf3LbRWgT1TzZgv6vgvuM9xnJC4iR8umIxESuLxB63tiNTesgm95E3nMik-nRzQ3_xfvKqzsuD0JY8zZXJTZ4zfdIe-pZaS4sV9UCtYrprOcKtwpt5lE/s320/SAM_0082.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A pastel green open room, Best Barber Shop is adorned with tinsel and stickers of Hindu deities. Bhangra music blasts. My Best Barber is plump and wears a fine moustache and tries to give me one too, he expertly shaves me but disturbed by a text message he loses concentration and carelessly slashes my face. To make up for it he douses me several times in various creams and oils, massages my head with tiger balm and slaps my forehead with rough, calloused hands. Taking up the offer of a back massage best barber slumps my face into a mucky sink and gets stuck in kneeding my spine and hitting me haphazardly. </span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">All finished off (to Yann's horror) with best barber cleaning my face roughly with a filthy towel.</span></div>FylipoBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14142327128860329747noreply@blogger.com0Kathmandu 44600, Nepal27.702871 85.31824400000005-9.0802610000000037 25.55261900000005 64.486003 145.08386900000005