I have to apologise for telling a few porkies in my past few posts.... I'm no longer in India. I'm at home in Dublin now! In fact, I had no intention of spending Christmas in India and had planned to fly home just for a for a few weeks (a little holiday as such) over Chrimbo. But I wanted to surprise my family and hence the 'white lies' when alluding to my plans for the festive season.
So on Thursday afternoon, I jumped on a long-haul back from Mumbai to the durty ol' town via heathrow and I arrived back here... Thursday afternoon...
I'm flying back to Mumbai on the 5th of January so I have just less than three weeks of festive cheer and banter before the odyssey continues.
I'm pretty sure I ain't gonna be updating this from Ireland so I'll speak to you again in a few weeks. I'm bringing my laptop back to India with me, so the quality of my blog should improve marginally in the New Year.
To keep you ticking over, I've posted some photos below of the last week on the beach before coming home. I was on a beach called Om Beach in Gokarna, Karnataka, where I spent the days spitroasting and the evenings bonfiring on the beach... It was lovely altogether...
Have a good Chrimbo and New Years and I'll update again when I get back to Mumbai.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Friday, December 12, 2008
Where's wally?
This is the exact spot where I am at the moment... I do my yoga in the mornings at that point where the beach juts out into a headland...
View Larger Map
View Larger Map
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Back to Beach
Although the ashram and the yoga and the veganism and the chanting and the meditation and the early rises and the relaxation (you get the idea) were all really good things... the place was starting to wreck my nutz, so I upped and legged it. This post is coming to you from a mind-numbingly unspiritual beach called Gokarna on the coast of Karnataka state (south of Goa, north of Mangalore). I left the ashram yesterday morning and arrived here after a 24 hour train journey, during which I ate meat and didn't meditate... I've also just had a beer so you'll excuse the verbal vomit that follows.
I did enjoy the ashram and would have stayed there longer had I had more time (I.e. Had I been immortal I probably would have given it another day or two). I really found myself getting into the physical side of things and enjoyed each yoga class more than the last one. However, on the spirtual side of things, I just couldn't get down and jiggy with the meditation and found many of the practices and rituals strongly religious, which has never really sat well with me. I tried to keep my mind as open as possible, and in fairness, the experience has awakaned an interest in a variety of topics ranging from energy flows & shakras to buddhist and hindu concepts of enlightenment and oneness. Not being a big fan of religions to begin with, these philosophically based beliefs of mental betterment and eradication of ego go a lot further with me than what I consider the fairytales of the book-based Abrahamic religions.
On a slightly more serious note, my bowels have begun to move again... All the lentils, beans, semolina and chickpeas that they rammed down my throat weren't really in a rush to go anywhere and I've got to confess that I went for only one poo during my week with the yoga nuts. Literally as soon as I set foot outside the door of the place, I started to feel a 'motion in the ocean' if you know what I mean and things have since become more healthy. I think I must be the only person who has ever suffered from constipation in the Subcontinent!
The really great thing about the ashram (as in life in general) was the people I met. I fell in with a group of mildly piss-taking and marginally cynical folks from France, the UK and Oz and we had a good bit of banter poking fun at the die-hard lentil eaters. Although our days were pretty full, we managed to chill out swimming in the crocodile infested lake or else chatting over some fruit juices in the 'Health Hut' (the ashram equivalant to the local boozer)...
I saw my time in the ashram as a little present from me to my body... a lump of flesh and bones that I don't generally think about enough. I felt like I should have stayed there a little longer but I was in dire need of sun and sand, so I compromised and promised myself that I would do some yoga at least for the first few days of the beach, so as to get used to doing it independantly. So today I spread out my yoga mat on the beach and, feeling like a pretencious c*nt (sorry, but there's no other word to describe it), I proceed to do my sun salutations and stretches on the beach. Hopefully I can (a) keep it up for another few days and (b) find a more secret place to do it so that I don't feel like such a wanker.
I've finally managed to upload some photos. Below you can find three albums.
This one is general pics of Helen and me coming down the SouthEast coast from Kolkata to Pondicherry. (Helen didn't come to the ashram, she stayed on the beach but I'm due to meet her here in the next day or two).
This one is a few pics of Kerala, specifically Munnar the hill-station where I went wandering around the tea plantations with a great group of Canadians and Brits.
And finally, ye ol' Ashram... yoga and general paddiwhackery.
I did enjoy the ashram and would have stayed there longer had I had more time (I.e. Had I been immortal I probably would have given it another day or two). I really found myself getting into the physical side of things and enjoyed each yoga class more than the last one. However, on the spirtual side of things, I just couldn't get down and jiggy with the meditation and found many of the practices and rituals strongly religious, which has never really sat well with me. I tried to keep my mind as open as possible, and in fairness, the experience has awakaned an interest in a variety of topics ranging from energy flows & shakras to buddhist and hindu concepts of enlightenment and oneness. Not being a big fan of religions to begin with, these philosophically based beliefs of mental betterment and eradication of ego go a lot further with me than what I consider the fairytales of the book-based Abrahamic religions.
On a slightly more serious note, my bowels have begun to move again... All the lentils, beans, semolina and chickpeas that they rammed down my throat weren't really in a rush to go anywhere and I've got to confess that I went for only one poo during my week with the yoga nuts. Literally as soon as I set foot outside the door of the place, I started to feel a 'motion in the ocean' if you know what I mean and things have since become more healthy. I think I must be the only person who has ever suffered from constipation in the Subcontinent!
The really great thing about the ashram (as in life in general) was the people I met. I fell in with a group of mildly piss-taking and marginally cynical folks from France, the UK and Oz and we had a good bit of banter poking fun at the die-hard lentil eaters. Although our days were pretty full, we managed to chill out swimming in the crocodile infested lake or else chatting over some fruit juices in the 'Health Hut' (the ashram equivalant to the local boozer)...
I saw my time in the ashram as a little present from me to my body... a lump of flesh and bones that I don't generally think about enough. I felt like I should have stayed there a little longer but I was in dire need of sun and sand, so I compromised and promised myself that I would do some yoga at least for the first few days of the beach, so as to get used to doing it independantly. So today I spread out my yoga mat on the beach and, feeling like a pretencious c*nt (sorry, but there's no other word to describe it), I proceed to do my sun salutations and stretches on the beach. Hopefully I can (a) keep it up for another few days and (b) find a more secret place to do it so that I don't feel like such a wanker.
I've finally managed to upload some photos. Below you can find three albums.
This one is general pics of Helen and me coming down the SouthEast coast from Kolkata to Pondicherry. (Helen didn't come to the ashram, she stayed on the beach but I'm due to meet her here in the next day or two).
This one is a few pics of Kerala, specifically Munnar the hill-station where I went wandering around the tea plantations with a great group of Canadians and Brits.
And finally, ye ol' Ashram... yoga and general paddiwhackery.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Sun Howaryah's
OK, so this is an example of some of the mad shite that goes in this place. Both videos are pilfered from the net, but show the kind of craziness that occurs here. The first one is a yoga position called the sun salutation which we have to do a quadrillion times a day and the second one is some of the (slightly manic and culty) chanting that we engage at cockcrow and again before bedtime every day.
I've booked my train outta here... Sunday is my last full day and then it's off to Gokarna, a beach town in the state of Karnataka (between Kerala and Goa) for a break from relaxation. I'll try to stick some photos up then.
I've booked my train outta here... Sunday is my last full day and then it's off to Gokarna, a beach town in the state of Karnataka (between Kerala and Goa) for a break from relaxation. I'll try to stick some photos up then.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Ohmmmmmm
Right, sorry it’s been a while… First of all, I wasn’t anywhere near Mumbai for the incidents a few weeks ago. I was far away from all that and I’m alive and very well indeed.
Can’t remember last time I updated but in brief I’ve been messing around the South of India, particularly in the states of Tamil Nadu and Kerala for the past while. I had a great week on a beach called Varkala, lots of boozing and debauchery. I met a few heads there and decided to make a trip to Munnar, a hill-station in the mountains. So I had three great days walking through tea plantations and the likes by day and drinking bad rum by night. Definitely a place that I’ll return to in the New Year.
By the end of all that, my body was well and thoroughly fucked. I’d consumed more rum, vodka, beer etc. in a space of two weeks than most countries would go through in a year. I’d smoked enough cigarettes to smoke all the salmon in Scotland. I had eaten my way through most of southern India and had a variety of dietary problems (sometimes too much movement, sometimes too little). I had been stung by jellyfish and was nursing a quadrillion mosquito bites on my legs and arms. I was also graced with the attention of a large quantity of leeches while walking through the tea plantations and was plugging and covering the resultant holes in my legs.
So you get the message… I was seriously fuck-arooed and decided that immediate action was necessary. I had been toying with the idea of checking myself into an ashram for a two week yoga course and I decided to take the plunge. I arrived on the steps of Sivananda Ashram last Sunday night. After horsing the last cigarette into my bleeding lungs I passed through the gates and have been living a life of health-freak since then. My daily schedule is as follows:
5.20 Get up outta bed
6.00 – 8.00 Chanting and Meditation
8.00 – 10.00 Yoga Classes
10.00 – 11.00 First Meal
11.00 – 12.30 Chores
12.30 – 2.00 Yoga Personal Coaching
2.00 – 3.00 Yoga Theory Lecture
3.30 – 5.00 Yoga Classes
6.00 – 7.00 Second Meal
8.00 – 10.00 Chanting and Meditation
10.30 Lights Out
We have two vegan meals a day… the only break from veganism is a glass of buttermilk that’s offered to those who want some dairy… Believe it or not, I actually fall into this category.
We have four hours of yoga exercises a day and I can now touch my toes (hadn’t been the case since I was about nine years old). I also haven’t smoked or drank in four days.
So that’s why I haven’t updated… phones and internet are considered not good for karma and are banned. I had to bail on my chores and sneak out to the local town today to update this… I hope you realize that I’m risking my life for you guys…
I’m off now to do some more yoga… I have loads of photos but I don’t think that I’ll find a connection fast enough to upload them for the next week or two…
Until then…. Wish me enlightenment!
Ohmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
Can’t remember last time I updated but in brief I’ve been messing around the South of India, particularly in the states of Tamil Nadu and Kerala for the past while. I had a great week on a beach called Varkala, lots of boozing and debauchery. I met a few heads there and decided to make a trip to Munnar, a hill-station in the mountains. So I had three great days walking through tea plantations and the likes by day and drinking bad rum by night. Definitely a place that I’ll return to in the New Year.
By the end of all that, my body was well and thoroughly fucked. I’d consumed more rum, vodka, beer etc. in a space of two weeks than most countries would go through in a year. I’d smoked enough cigarettes to smoke all the salmon in Scotland. I had eaten my way through most of southern India and had a variety of dietary problems (sometimes too much movement, sometimes too little). I had been stung by jellyfish and was nursing a quadrillion mosquito bites on my legs and arms. I was also graced with the attention of a large quantity of leeches while walking through the tea plantations and was plugging and covering the resultant holes in my legs.
So you get the message… I was seriously fuck-arooed and decided that immediate action was necessary. I had been toying with the idea of checking myself into an ashram for a two week yoga course and I decided to take the plunge. I arrived on the steps of Sivananda Ashram last Sunday night. After horsing the last cigarette into my bleeding lungs I passed through the gates and have been living a life of health-freak since then. My daily schedule is as follows:
5.20 Get up outta bed
6.00 – 8.00 Chanting and Meditation
8.00 – 10.00 Yoga Classes
10.00 – 11.00 First Meal
11.00 – 12.30 Chores
12.30 – 2.00 Yoga Personal Coaching
2.00 – 3.00 Yoga Theory Lecture
3.30 – 5.00 Yoga Classes
6.00 – 7.00 Second Meal
8.00 – 10.00 Chanting and Meditation
10.30 Lights Out
We have two vegan meals a day… the only break from veganism is a glass of buttermilk that’s offered to those who want some dairy… Believe it or not, I actually fall into this category.
We have four hours of yoga exercises a day and I can now touch my toes (hadn’t been the case since I was about nine years old). I also haven’t smoked or drank in four days.
So that’s why I haven’t updated… phones and internet are considered not good for karma and are banned. I had to bail on my chores and sneak out to the local town today to update this… I hope you realize that I’m risking my life for you guys…
I’m off now to do some more yoga… I have loads of photos but I don’t think that I’ll find a connection fast enough to upload them for the next week or two…
Until then…. Wish me enlightenment!
Ohmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
Friday, November 21, 2008
Struttin' in me shalwar
I decided yesterday to throw on the ol' shalwar kameez, which some of you might remember is the pyjama-like clothing that I got in Pakistan. So there I was strutting along the beach front with my tails flowing in the afternoon breeze... you should have seen the respect I was getting. "Hey man, cool shalwar", "nice clothes buddy"... and no-one tried to flog me anything (this is unheard of) as I was clearly a soul brother just goin' for a walk! There were a couple of Muslims boppin' around as well, and they were chuffed to pieces when they saw me. It was Friday afternoon and they were all done up in their shalwars as well for prayers. One of them saw me coming and tried to trick me to see if I was the 'real deal'... He mumbled asalaam aleikum as I passed (the arabic greeting common to all Muslim countries) and I rolled back at him with the response ma aleikum a-salaam.... he broke out in an ear to ear grin, it was deadly!
So apart from getting down and jiggy with my Muslim brothers, there ain't too much else goin' on. I'm in a beautiful beach resort called Varkala, halfway between Trivandurum and Quillon in the state of Kerala on the West Coast of India by the Arabian Sea. The village is set up along a cliff edge here with a nice beach about a hundred feet below us. It's pretty touristy and there are lots of heads here, but it's nice and relaxed.
We had a nice few days in Pondicherry, but Helen was sick so we didn't get up to too much. Spent most of the time reading my book and walking around the French quarter. Then we jumped on a sleeper crossing the Southern tip of the country to the West coast. The trains here are pretty good. It's far from the chaos and mayhem that used to reign (as portrayed in films like Ghandi) with people hangin' out of the rafters and sitting on the roof etc. There are a plethora of different classes, starting with first class (two berth private compartments with AC), to second class two-tiered compartments with AC, to second class three tiered compartments with AC, to second class three-tiered compartments without AC to third class wooden seats.
I've always gone for the second class three tiered compartments without AC, this is sleeper class and it's what the vast majority of people travel in. You have open carriages with eight 'compartments' (all open, no doors or anything). Each compartment has seating for nine people, three facing backwards, three facing forwards and three facing across the train on the other side of the walkway. At night time, you can pull down beds so that there are three beds on each wall, lower, middle and upper berths. I always try to go for the upper berth, because it doesn't get folded away so you can always just lie down on it (it's also quite comfy to sit on), you're higher up and therefore more out of the action and you've got the fans right above you so you tend to be cooler. For some reason, Indian's don't really like this berth so it's quite easy to get one. The downside is that you have to look at cockroaches crawling across the ceiling as you prepare for sleep.
The journey's have always been very pleasant as well. Usually you get a night train so that you can spend the vast majority of the journey sleeping. You have to bail on to the train pretty quickly to make sure that you get to store your bags under the seats or else they're just knockin' around the aisles. But once you're installed, everyone's always really friendly, happy to chat away with you and inviting you for teas from one of the hundreds of chai sellers who roll through the carraiges.
It's been raining heavily here this morning, but it's stopping now and the sun is coming out so I'm off down the beach. Peace out.
C.
View Larger Map
So apart from getting down and jiggy with my Muslim brothers, there ain't too much else goin' on. I'm in a beautiful beach resort called Varkala, halfway between Trivandurum and Quillon in the state of Kerala on the West Coast of India by the Arabian Sea. The village is set up along a cliff edge here with a nice beach about a hundred feet below us. It's pretty touristy and there are lots of heads here, but it's nice and relaxed.
We had a nice few days in Pondicherry, but Helen was sick so we didn't get up to too much. Spent most of the time reading my book and walking around the French quarter. Then we jumped on a sleeper crossing the Southern tip of the country to the West coast. The trains here are pretty good. It's far from the chaos and mayhem that used to reign (as portrayed in films like Ghandi) with people hangin' out of the rafters and sitting on the roof etc. There are a plethora of different classes, starting with first class (two berth private compartments with AC), to second class two-tiered compartments with AC, to second class three tiered compartments with AC, to second class three-tiered compartments without AC to third class wooden seats.
I've always gone for the second class three tiered compartments without AC, this is sleeper class and it's what the vast majority of people travel in. You have open carriages with eight 'compartments' (all open, no doors or anything). Each compartment has seating for nine people, three facing backwards, three facing forwards and three facing across the train on the other side of the walkway. At night time, you can pull down beds so that there are three beds on each wall, lower, middle and upper berths. I always try to go for the upper berth, because it doesn't get folded away so you can always just lie down on it (it's also quite comfy to sit on), you're higher up and therefore more out of the action and you've got the fans right above you so you tend to be cooler. For some reason, Indian's don't really like this berth so it's quite easy to get one. The downside is that you have to look at cockroaches crawling across the ceiling as you prepare for sleep.
The journey's have always been very pleasant as well. Usually you get a night train so that you can spend the vast majority of the journey sleeping. You have to bail on to the train pretty quickly to make sure that you get to store your bags under the seats or else they're just knockin' around the aisles. But once you're installed, everyone's always really friendly, happy to chat away with you and inviting you for teas from one of the hundreds of chai sellers who roll through the carraiges.
It's been raining heavily here this morning, but it's stopping now and the sun is coming out so I'm off down the beach. Peace out.
C.
View Larger Map
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Sleepers Galore
I finished a book today called "Three Cups of Tea"... It's a lovely read about an American guy who founds girls schools in Pakistan. Inspiring stuff. Now I've moved on to "Shantaram" about an Aussie ex-con who makes a new live for himself in Mumbai. I'm only into Chapter 2, but it's good reading so far...
I sat out in the sun this morning, starting the first few chapters of the new book and got sunburned on my shoulders. First time I've got sunburned since i came away. It's not too bad but I've lathered myself up in Aloe Vera hoping to ward off any nasty developments. Apart from that my body is holding up well. I've got occasional bouts of stomach problems, but I'm taking probiotic supplements and keeping it in play.
The food is good here in India... I mean really really good. There's a snowball's chance in hell of me losing any weight here. Everyone was telling me before I came out that the weight would 'fall off me' in India, but jesus, I'm eating rings around me. And it's all so rich! I'm a big fan of masala with chicken or fish tikka, samosa's by the bucketful, aloo gobi (cauliflower and spud), chaat (a kind of indian salad with chickpeas, coriander, spring onions, chillis and a million billion other things), raita (cucumber and veg mixed with yoghurt)... the list goes on. Since hitting the Eastern coast, I've been horsing into the seafood, huge grilled tuna's with lemon rice, kingfisher curry etc.
So I think that the last time I did a decent post would have been Amritsar, in the northwest of the country, after crossing the Pakistani border. I have since traversed the whole of india, passed down the Eastern coast and am almost at the southern tip of the Subcontinent.
After staying a night with the pilgrims in Amritsar, I hopped on an overnight train to Delhi and met up with Helen, a friend of mine I'll be traveling with until Christmas. Six hours after my arrival in Delhi, I was straight back onto the Rajastani Express, an 18 hour sleeper to Kolkata (Calcutta), the city of Joy in West Bengal, where we met up with Emily, a good friend of Helen's from back home. Emily is volunteering for the Hope Foundation, a very professional and efficient Irish charity working with Kolkata's street children, and Helen had previously helped to organise fundraising for an affiliated charity back in Ireland. So we were given some really interesting tours of Kolkata's slums and shown projects ranging from slum schools, orphanages, addiction centres to women's vocational centres. Emily and her friend Niamh also introduced us to Kolkata's groovy social scene. Far from being the cesspool that we are led to believe from abroad (the black hole et al.). Kolkata is actually India's cultural and chill-out hub. We went to Bengali music nights, had a few slap up Bengali meals (de-fuckin'-licious), had a few nights out on the booze and even went to a local party. Basically we had an absolute ball of a week and I can't wait to make it back there in the New Year. It was a fantastic introduction to India and Emily and Niamh did a sterling job of giving us the 360.
Since then we hopped on another sleeper train down to Puri, a seaside city in the state of Odissa, where we spent a few nights in the beautiful Z Hotel, and saw some slick temples (it's all about the temples in India). Then another sleeper to Chennai, for a quick night on the booze in a big city, and finally a bus to Malalapuram, where we are now, a sleepy little village between Pondi and Chennai, in the state of Tamil Nadu.
And hey presto, it's time for me to fill my gut with some fine seafood (we're thinking of splashing out on a lobster one of these nights, although at ten euros, I'm not sure we can afford it)... so I'll be smelling you all later.
Peace out from Tamil Nadu...
C.
PS: Pics from Kolkata and a map of India below
View Larger Map
I sat out in the sun this morning, starting the first few chapters of the new book and got sunburned on my shoulders. First time I've got sunburned since i came away. It's not too bad but I've lathered myself up in Aloe Vera hoping to ward off any nasty developments. Apart from that my body is holding up well. I've got occasional bouts of stomach problems, but I'm taking probiotic supplements and keeping it in play.
The food is good here in India... I mean really really good. There's a snowball's chance in hell of me losing any weight here. Everyone was telling me before I came out that the weight would 'fall off me' in India, but jesus, I'm eating rings around me. And it's all so rich! I'm a big fan of masala with chicken or fish tikka, samosa's by the bucketful, aloo gobi (cauliflower and spud), chaat (a kind of indian salad with chickpeas, coriander, spring onions, chillis and a million billion other things), raita (cucumber and veg mixed with yoghurt)... the list goes on. Since hitting the Eastern coast, I've been horsing into the seafood, huge grilled tuna's with lemon rice, kingfisher curry etc.
So I think that the last time I did a decent post would have been Amritsar, in the northwest of the country, after crossing the Pakistani border. I have since traversed the whole of india, passed down the Eastern coast and am almost at the southern tip of the Subcontinent.
After staying a night with the pilgrims in Amritsar, I hopped on an overnight train to Delhi and met up with Helen, a friend of mine I'll be traveling with until Christmas. Six hours after my arrival in Delhi, I was straight back onto the Rajastani Express, an 18 hour sleeper to Kolkata (Calcutta), the city of Joy in West Bengal, where we met up with Emily, a good friend of Helen's from back home. Emily is volunteering for the Hope Foundation, a very professional and efficient Irish charity working with Kolkata's street children, and Helen had previously helped to organise fundraising for an affiliated charity back in Ireland. So we were given some really interesting tours of Kolkata's slums and shown projects ranging from slum schools, orphanages, addiction centres to women's vocational centres. Emily and her friend Niamh also introduced us to Kolkata's groovy social scene. Far from being the cesspool that we are led to believe from abroad (the black hole et al.). Kolkata is actually India's cultural and chill-out hub. We went to Bengali music nights, had a few slap up Bengali meals (de-fuckin'-licious), had a few nights out on the booze and even went to a local party. Basically we had an absolute ball of a week and I can't wait to make it back there in the New Year. It was a fantastic introduction to India and Emily and Niamh did a sterling job of giving us the 360.
Since then we hopped on another sleeper train down to Puri, a seaside city in the state of Odissa, where we spent a few nights in the beautiful Z Hotel, and saw some slick temples (it's all about the temples in India). Then another sleeper to Chennai, for a quick night on the booze in a big city, and finally a bus to Malalapuram, where we are now, a sleepy little village between Pondi and Chennai, in the state of Tamil Nadu.
And hey presto, it's time for me to fill my gut with some fine seafood (we're thinking of splashing out on a lobster one of these nights, although at ten euros, I'm not sure we can afford it)... so I'll be smelling you all later.
Peace out from Tamil Nadu...
C.
PS: Pics from Kolkata and a map of India below
View Larger Map
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
almost there...
...Must ...update ...blog...
...Must ...do ... it ... for ... the... people....
argh fuck it, I couldn't be arsed... I've eaten too much fish and my belly is full and I need to lie down!
...Must ...do ... it ... for ... the... people....
argh fuck it, I couldn't be arsed... I've eaten too much fish and my belly is full and I need to lie down!
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Pics from the Golden Temple
And here very quickly some pics from Atari, the border crossing to India and also of the Golden Temple in Amritsar.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Final Photos of Pakistan
Just a quickie to post some photos.... I'm in Calcutta with Helen now, but here are some photos of what we got up to in the north of Pakistan... i.e. trekking of the Karakoram Highway
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Namaste from Amritsar
My entrance into India has been quite exceptional. The first port of call was the aforementioned border ceremony. The Pakistani side of the border was mobbed by Pakistan Hindu pilgrims (apparantly 70% of the people travelling in India at any one time are pilgrims), but luckily a women adopted me and ushered me past everyone to the top of the queue. This is about standard in Pakistan where I have always been treated like some kind of royalty. Someone had warned me previously that the difference between the Indian and Pakistani border ceremonies is that you're not treated like royalty on the Indian side. Nothing could have been truer: As soon as I had passed through Indian customs and immigration, past the sign that said: 'Welcome to India, the largest democracy in the world', I tried my best to resist being thrown out into the crowds and tried to reserve myself a little seat before they let in the masses. However, I was no different to anyone else, and was duly ejected out into the waiting throngs.
At first, I wasn't too happy about this, but then I slowly began to realise that this is what makes India different from Pakistan. The throngs were different here: women mingling freely with men, music and dancing, a distinct lack of head-scarves and more western clothing. I got some stares but nothing compared with what I'm used to in Pakistan. I paid 60 rupees to get my bags looked after while I went to the border ceremony. Waiting for the floodgates to open, the masses were getting impatient, everyone pushing up against everyone else, babies crying etc. Eventually, they opened the gates, and the mob spilled into the border area. By this point I was quite elated... everyone was happy, smiling, laughing, singing, dancing... it seemed so much more liberated and at ease than the sometimes awkward formality of Pakistan. I ran to the grandstands to try to get a good seat. I could see some other Westerners being ushered into a VIP area but decided that I can sit with Westerners in the West. In the East, I wanted to sit with the Easterns, so I ignored all attempts to separate me from the crowd and made my way into the throws of the Indian section of the grandstand.
The ceremony went on for about half an hour, Pakistani crowds roaring, then Indian crowds roaring, soldiers from both sides goose stepping ridiculously into each others faces... At the end, I repatriated my bags and hopped on a local bus to Amritsar.
And it is from the Golden Temple in Amritsar that this post is now coming to you. I have never really been anywhere like this before. The Golden Temple or Harmandir Sahib is to the Sikh religion what Mecca is to Islam. It is there holiest place.
I am staying with the pilgrims in the Temple's free hostel. The temple provides accommodation for thousands of people every night. Anyone, regardless of race or religion is allowed stay at the temple for free and is fed as many times as they like 24 hours a day. Everything is done on a grand scale here, the dining rooms catering for thousands of people every hour.
The place is maintained by an army of volunteer Sikhs, who wash it from head to toe every single day. Every shred of barrier is polished every night, every inch of marble buffed.
Everyone is very friendly and respectful here. I had heard this about the Sikhs and am very impressed by this complex. To read more about Sikhism (they're the ones with the Turbans), click here.
I'm off to Delhi tonite on the night train, and then directly to Kolkata tomorrow... I hope you can survive a few days without a posting (yeah, as if anyone will have a problem with that).
Ur man in India.... C.
At first, I wasn't too happy about this, but then I slowly began to realise that this is what makes India different from Pakistan. The throngs were different here: women mingling freely with men, music and dancing, a distinct lack of head-scarves and more western clothing. I got some stares but nothing compared with what I'm used to in Pakistan. I paid 60 rupees to get my bags looked after while I went to the border ceremony. Waiting for the floodgates to open, the masses were getting impatient, everyone pushing up against everyone else, babies crying etc. Eventually, they opened the gates, and the mob spilled into the border area. By this point I was quite elated... everyone was happy, smiling, laughing, singing, dancing... it seemed so much more liberated and at ease than the sometimes awkward formality of Pakistan. I ran to the grandstands to try to get a good seat. I could see some other Westerners being ushered into a VIP area but decided that I can sit with Westerners in the West. In the East, I wanted to sit with the Easterns, so I ignored all attempts to separate me from the crowd and made my way into the throws of the Indian section of the grandstand.
The ceremony went on for about half an hour, Pakistani crowds roaring, then Indian crowds roaring, soldiers from both sides goose stepping ridiculously into each others faces... At the end, I repatriated my bags and hopped on a local bus to Amritsar.
And it is from the Golden Temple in Amritsar that this post is now coming to you. I have never really been anywhere like this before. The Golden Temple or Harmandir Sahib is to the Sikh religion what Mecca is to Islam. It is there holiest place.
I am staying with the pilgrims in the Temple's free hostel. The temple provides accommodation for thousands of people every night. Anyone, regardless of race or religion is allowed stay at the temple for free and is fed as many times as they like 24 hours a day. Everything is done on a grand scale here, the dining rooms catering for thousands of people every hour.
The place is maintained by an army of volunteer Sikhs, who wash it from head to toe every single day. Every shred of barrier is polished every night, every inch of marble buffed.
Everyone is very friendly and respectful here. I had heard this about the Sikhs and am very impressed by this complex. To read more about Sikhism (they're the ones with the Turbans), click here.
I'm off to Delhi tonite on the night train, and then directly to Kolkata tomorrow... I hope you can survive a few days without a posting (yeah, as if anyone will have a problem with that).
Ur man in India.... C.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Indo Pakistani relations in my head
hello there horsies...
So I figured it would only be fair that before I left Pakistan I would grace your screens with a quick brain dump.
Unfortunately, all attempts to upload photos have proven unsuccessful, but I promise that as soon as I get to Calcutta, it will be my first priority.
I'm leaving Pakistan for India today. At the border to Amritsar I'll witness the border closing ceremony, which has occurred on a daily basis since Partition in the late '40s. It's a choreographed act of pomp and indigence whereby both sides stomp their feet marching to and fro in mock disgust at each other, slamming the border gate shut for the night. These theatricals started up after Partition and have been built on and dramatised since then, making it an occasion attended by crowds of cheering onlookers. On the Pakistani side, they shout 'Long live Pakistan' and similar hopes for longevity of the Indian State are expressed from the other side of the fence. I've embedded Michael Palin's coverage of this event below so you can see what I'm talking about.
I have a conflict of my own going on in my head as I move towards India. India was one of the main reasons that I chose this particular route. In my 'virtual agenda' I have dedicated more time to it than to any other country. Yet for the past month, travelers I have met coming from there, have not been very positive. I've heard stories of rip offs en masse, dirt, poverty, unfriendliness, an absolutely overwhelming lack of private space... the list goes on. However, I've also heard that these extremes are what make the rich thread of Indian life so appealing, so I'm going to try to keep my mind open and to 'go with the flow'.
Pakistan, a country I had planned to 'transit' through, on my way from Iran to India (maybe two weeks is what I was originally giving it), has turned out to be an absolute gem. The people express their authentic interest in an outgoing, relaxed, helpful and overwhelmingly friendly manner. The land is beautiful beyond my wildest expectations: From the Balochi plateau through the green valleys of Punjab to the jagged edges of the Northern Areas, I would never have dreamed of Pakistan as a tourist destination. Yet I am determined that I'm going to recruit some trekkers when I get home and will return here to see the K2 base camp, Chitral, Peshawar, the Kyber Pass and some other places that I have missed this time around. It is fair to say that if I wasn't meeting my friend in India I would have stayed here for two months at least.
So with this in mind, I'm going to up and go to the Indo-Pakistani border (literally as soon as I hit post on this) and we'll see what happens.
Signing off for the last time in Pakistan: Ur man in Lahore, C
So I figured it would only be fair that before I left Pakistan I would grace your screens with a quick brain dump.
Unfortunately, all attempts to upload photos have proven unsuccessful, but I promise that as soon as I get to Calcutta, it will be my first priority.
I'm leaving Pakistan for India today. At the border to Amritsar I'll witness the border closing ceremony, which has occurred on a daily basis since Partition in the late '40s. It's a choreographed act of pomp and indigence whereby both sides stomp their feet marching to and fro in mock disgust at each other, slamming the border gate shut for the night. These theatricals started up after Partition and have been built on and dramatised since then, making it an occasion attended by crowds of cheering onlookers. On the Pakistani side, they shout 'Long live Pakistan' and similar hopes for longevity of the Indian State are expressed from the other side of the fence. I've embedded Michael Palin's coverage of this event below so you can see what I'm talking about.
I have a conflict of my own going on in my head as I move towards India. India was one of the main reasons that I chose this particular route. In my 'virtual agenda' I have dedicated more time to it than to any other country. Yet for the past month, travelers I have met coming from there, have not been very positive. I've heard stories of rip offs en masse, dirt, poverty, unfriendliness, an absolutely overwhelming lack of private space... the list goes on. However, I've also heard that these extremes are what make the rich thread of Indian life so appealing, so I'm going to try to keep my mind open and to 'go with the flow'.
Pakistan, a country I had planned to 'transit' through, on my way from Iran to India (maybe two weeks is what I was originally giving it), has turned out to be an absolute gem. The people express their authentic interest in an outgoing, relaxed, helpful and overwhelmingly friendly manner. The land is beautiful beyond my wildest expectations: From the Balochi plateau through the green valleys of Punjab to the jagged edges of the Northern Areas, I would never have dreamed of Pakistan as a tourist destination. Yet I am determined that I'm going to recruit some trekkers when I get home and will return here to see the K2 base camp, Chitral, Peshawar, the Kyber Pass and some other places that I have missed this time around. It is fair to say that if I wasn't meeting my friend in India I would have stayed here for two months at least.
So with this in mind, I'm going to up and go to the Indo-Pakistani border (literally as soon as I hit post on this) and we'll see what happens.
Signing off for the last time in Pakistan: Ur man in Lahore, C
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Alive and well
Just a quickie to say that I was nowhere near Quetta and did not die in the earthquake there (see story here)... I'm just off the 24 hour bus from Gilgit to Lahore and all is good!
C.
C.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Near Death Illegality
I've been procrastinating on the blog front for a while... a number of factors have influenced this:
1. Was trying to upload my photos so that you could marvel at these while my written commentary astounds you...
2. The Internet has either been unbelievably slow or not present at all
3. I've been doing too much shit and haven't been bothered.
However, you'll be glad to hear that I'm currently sitting in front of a computer with acceptably fast Internet and have therefore decided to grace your screens with a short monologue. Unfortunately I still can't upload photos so you'll have to wait a few days for these.
Last week, the five of us joined three other solo travellers and embarked on a climb to the base camp of Rakaposhi Mountain. I have to admit that it was the first thing that I've done in a while which has really put me out of my comfort zone.
On day 1 we started our trek with a leisurely stroll through Minapin village (and it's marijuana plants). The pace and incline belied what was to come and we were relaxed as we waved at the gawking kids we passed. After about half an hour, we came to a river and things started getting more challenging. For about an hour we walked zig-zag up a rocky pass which eventually opened up to a grassy plateau. The incline was still considerable and we slowly made our way up the plateau, stopping to have lunch with our donkeys. This was the last time that we were to see our donkeys and porters for some time as we set off ahead of them, the porters assuring us that they would follow closely.
Having left tardy (we had to wait for an extra donkey to come), it was getting quite late now and at about three o'clock in the afternoon, we moved off the plateau and up across a near vertical mountain face. For four hours we plodded one foot in front of the other following our guide. It was the most difficult walk that I've ever done. Not only was the incline very substantial but once the sun went behind the mountain, the wind turned icy cold. By six o'clock we had passed the snowline and were trudging through snow with darkness falling quickly. The majority of us had left our jackets with the donkeys assuming that things wouldn't get too cold but we were wrong. After several episodes of my legs seizing up, only being spurred on by the knowledge that to stay in one place would result in frostbite, we eventually arrived at the Rakaposhi base camp, each of us absolutely shattered.
However, what was to make the base camp; cold weather gear, tents, cookers, etc, hadn't actually arrived yet and was imprecisely located somewhere down the mountain behind us on our dangerously overladen donkeys. It was dark now and the cold was biting. We had no jackets, gloves or hats, some of us were only in t-shirts. We started a fire with a few pieces of wood left over by the last group of trekkers. Then suddenly one of the porters shouted something in Urdu from the darkness and our guide ran off, leaving the eight of us to battle the elements. This was about seven o'clock. Our fire was small and insufficient against the encroaching cold. Immediately one of the group, Alex, started showing signs of serious cold, which could have escalated to something worse. One of the guys, Alby, acted immediately; taking any spare clothing and anything that could possibly insulate, he wrapped him up, fed him some peanuts and biscuits, literally sat him on the fired and rubbed him up until the colour returned to his face. That was pretty scary and brought the reality of the situation home to us. The fire was slowly going out and we were taking turns to search for firewood, but it was difficult to stay away from the reducing fire for more than a few minutes. Given that we had no torches (they were on the donkeys) and the area was a rocky moraine, any attempts to locate firewood failed miserably. I was getting pretty worried since I couldn't stop shivering myself.
Eventually at nine o'clock the guide, porters and donkeys appeared in the darkness. They were carrying bundles of firewood and had all our cold weather clothes, torches and food. The relief was thick in the air, everyone throwing on every layer of clothing that they had. The guides and porters set up our tents as we thawed out by the fire and after a late dinner jumped into our freezing tents and slept like babies.
The next day the group went on a trek across the Minapin glacier. Myself and two others then called it a day (not wanting to overstretch our aching muscles after the previous days antics) while the rest of the group continued up to a lake. That evening after dinner, it started snowing. At first it was quite light, but the snow got heavier and heavier until we couldn't really sit by the fire any longer. Unfortunately for Alby, Alex and I, we had drawn the short straw with the tents as ours was a summer tent without an outer sheet. By this stage it had a wall of snow creeping up its sides and we weren't going to be able to sleep in it without touching the edges. Ergo we weren't going to be able to sleep in it without getting very wet and cold. The guide had mentioned to us that there was a stone hut on the other side of the base camp. Alby and I decided to check it out and walked the 100ft across the base camp. It was a bit cold and breezy but it was going to keep us dry so we decided to relocate for the night. As soon as we got our stuff from the tent, the snow started to come down in droves and we could only look down and follow our footprints on our way across the base camp to the hut.
Eventually Alby and I arrived at the hut and he started setting up camp while I went back to help Alex find the way. I also grabbed some timber and took some embers from the fire to start our own fire in the hut. Unfortunately, having a fire in the hut meant having the door open to allow the smoke to escape... which was far too breezy, so we forgot about the fire and decided to go to sleep instead. As soon as we had settled down and things got quiet, a noise started to pour out of the walls on all sides... I turned my torch on to find that we were sharing the hut with at least three or four rats. Didn't sleep a wink for the first two hours fretting that I had rats nibbling at my toes, but then we all got too tired and slept for the rest of the night, occasionally waking up to rat noises which I learned to ignore and go back to sleep. It was a mad night altogether.
The next morning, after some brekkie of porridge and scrambled eggs we made our way back down the mountain. It took us a good four hours of fairly treacherous downhill walking to get back to the friendly town of Minapin where we had chips and coke before the jeep took us back to Karimabad.
Sooooo, back in Karimabad, we took it nice and easy for a few days. It's a lovely place. It's located in the Hunza Valley, a fantastic valley through which the Indus river flows. Currently, it's washed in autumnal colours, poplar trees demarcating the vegetation line against a backdrop of high snow-capped peaks over which the sun plays its daily light show. As soon as I can, I'll throw up some pics and you can see for yourselves.
Tom and Anna left our little group of five last week, meaning that it's only myself that's travelling with Alex and Alby now.
Three days ago, we continued up north to a little village called Passu. No phone reception, no Internet, about five people... that kind of place. Passu is the most north that we want to go on the KKH, with the next stop being the Chinese border and Kashgar. Along the route, we saw loads of Chinese workers, givin' it socks, blowing the living bejayzus out of the mountainside. The Chinese are extending and widening the KKH for the Pakistanis (mainly because they want to use it as a trade route).
Up in Passu we did two short treks. The first took about five hours and brought us over two very shaky suspension bridges where there was a wooden slat about every two to three feet and you had to jump from one to the next with the river flowing beneath you. The other trek brought us up to the Passu Glacier. We walked (perhaps quite perilously) right up to the mouth of the glacier, to an ice cave from where a river sprouted. There were huge ice boulders around everywhere and everything was quite unstable. It was just Alby and I and while we were taking pictures of each others in a variety of stupid poses, a huge ice boulder slid down about three feet from Alby's foot. That shocked the shit out of us and we got out of there quicksmart with ice debris falling away beneath our feet. That was the second and final out-of-comfort-zone situation for this particular posting (I'm sure my Mum won't be able to handle any more).
So now that we're back on terra-firma in Karimabad, I rang my mate Helen today. Helen was my flatmate/landlord before I set off on this journey and she's currently in India where we've decided to meet on Sunday (this day week). We're going to meet in Delhi and then jump on a train to Calcutta where she has to open some kind of foundation thingamajig (whatever, she has something to do there and I'm coming along for the ride). So I have to make my way to Delhi within a week and within ten days I'll be in Calcutta, on the other side of the Subcontinent beside Bangladesh. In the next ten days, I have to cover approximately as much ground as I covered in the first three months of the trip, so it's gonna be a lot of trains, buses and taxis for Conor.
I don't know if I've mentioned this yet, but I'm illegal in Pakistan. My visa was good for a journey up until the 20th of October, i.e. one week ago. I would have had my visa extended, which isn't particularly difficult, only I forgot my passport in Lahore. Aha, I hear you say... that's a pertinent fact which I have happily omitted for some time now. The fact is that I forgot my passport in the hostel I was staying in in Lahore. Lucky for me, that particular hostel is run by the best connected, most honest and trustworthy Pakistani around... Malek... who has assured me per telephone, that he has my passport, that it is safe and should I run into any authorities, I should just call him on his mobile and pass over the phone. The unfortunate side effect of all this, is that a visa cannot be extended without passport and not wanting to leave Pakistan prematurely, I'm in a predicament of the illegal immigrant nature.
I have, however, been told that the first fourteen days of overstaying are without penalty, so I should be good once I get to the border. However, if the border guards decide to act up and charge me the 20 Euros per day of overstay that are rumoured, then I'm going to find my budget for Pakistan being completely blown out of the water.
This post has turned into an essay and it's time for dinner. Dinner in our hostel is a communal affair, around a big table with a soup, curry with rice, an apple and a tea... and I've just been called for it... So take it easy and once I get back to Lahore, I promise to let you know if my passport is still there....
Ur man in Pakistan.
C.
1. Was trying to upload my photos so that you could marvel at these while my written commentary astounds you...
2. The Internet has either been unbelievably slow or not present at all
3. I've been doing too much shit and haven't been bothered.
However, you'll be glad to hear that I'm currently sitting in front of a computer with acceptably fast Internet and have therefore decided to grace your screens with a short monologue. Unfortunately I still can't upload photos so you'll have to wait a few days for these.
Last week, the five of us joined three other solo travellers and embarked on a climb to the base camp of Rakaposhi Mountain. I have to admit that it was the first thing that I've done in a while which has really put me out of my comfort zone.
On day 1 we started our trek with a leisurely stroll through Minapin village (and it's marijuana plants). The pace and incline belied what was to come and we were relaxed as we waved at the gawking kids we passed. After about half an hour, we came to a river and things started getting more challenging. For about an hour we walked zig-zag up a rocky pass which eventually opened up to a grassy plateau. The incline was still considerable and we slowly made our way up the plateau, stopping to have lunch with our donkeys. This was the last time that we were to see our donkeys and porters for some time as we set off ahead of them, the porters assuring us that they would follow closely.
Having left tardy (we had to wait for an extra donkey to come), it was getting quite late now and at about three o'clock in the afternoon, we moved off the plateau and up across a near vertical mountain face. For four hours we plodded one foot in front of the other following our guide. It was the most difficult walk that I've ever done. Not only was the incline very substantial but once the sun went behind the mountain, the wind turned icy cold. By six o'clock we had passed the snowline and were trudging through snow with darkness falling quickly. The majority of us had left our jackets with the donkeys assuming that things wouldn't get too cold but we were wrong. After several episodes of my legs seizing up, only being spurred on by the knowledge that to stay in one place would result in frostbite, we eventually arrived at the Rakaposhi base camp, each of us absolutely shattered.
However, what was to make the base camp; cold weather gear, tents, cookers, etc, hadn't actually arrived yet and was imprecisely located somewhere down the mountain behind us on our dangerously overladen donkeys. It was dark now and the cold was biting. We had no jackets, gloves or hats, some of us were only in t-shirts. We started a fire with a few pieces of wood left over by the last group of trekkers. Then suddenly one of the porters shouted something in Urdu from the darkness and our guide ran off, leaving the eight of us to battle the elements. This was about seven o'clock. Our fire was small and insufficient against the encroaching cold. Immediately one of the group, Alex, started showing signs of serious cold, which could have escalated to something worse. One of the guys, Alby, acted immediately; taking any spare clothing and anything that could possibly insulate, he wrapped him up, fed him some peanuts and biscuits, literally sat him on the fired and rubbed him up until the colour returned to his face. That was pretty scary and brought the reality of the situation home to us. The fire was slowly going out and we were taking turns to search for firewood, but it was difficult to stay away from the reducing fire for more than a few minutes. Given that we had no torches (they were on the donkeys) and the area was a rocky moraine, any attempts to locate firewood failed miserably. I was getting pretty worried since I couldn't stop shivering myself.
Eventually at nine o'clock the guide, porters and donkeys appeared in the darkness. They were carrying bundles of firewood and had all our cold weather clothes, torches and food. The relief was thick in the air, everyone throwing on every layer of clothing that they had. The guides and porters set up our tents as we thawed out by the fire and after a late dinner jumped into our freezing tents and slept like babies.
The next day the group went on a trek across the Minapin glacier. Myself and two others then called it a day (not wanting to overstretch our aching muscles after the previous days antics) while the rest of the group continued up to a lake. That evening after dinner, it started snowing. At first it was quite light, but the snow got heavier and heavier until we couldn't really sit by the fire any longer. Unfortunately for Alby, Alex and I, we had drawn the short straw with the tents as ours was a summer tent without an outer sheet. By this stage it had a wall of snow creeping up its sides and we weren't going to be able to sleep in it without touching the edges. Ergo we weren't going to be able to sleep in it without getting very wet and cold. The guide had mentioned to us that there was a stone hut on the other side of the base camp. Alby and I decided to check it out and walked the 100ft across the base camp. It was a bit cold and breezy but it was going to keep us dry so we decided to relocate for the night. As soon as we got our stuff from the tent, the snow started to come down in droves and we could only look down and follow our footprints on our way across the base camp to the hut.
Eventually Alby and I arrived at the hut and he started setting up camp while I went back to help Alex find the way. I also grabbed some timber and took some embers from the fire to start our own fire in the hut. Unfortunately, having a fire in the hut meant having the door open to allow the smoke to escape... which was far too breezy, so we forgot about the fire and decided to go to sleep instead. As soon as we had settled down and things got quiet, a noise started to pour out of the walls on all sides... I turned my torch on to find that we were sharing the hut with at least three or four rats. Didn't sleep a wink for the first two hours fretting that I had rats nibbling at my toes, but then we all got too tired and slept for the rest of the night, occasionally waking up to rat noises which I learned to ignore and go back to sleep. It was a mad night altogether.
The next morning, after some brekkie of porridge and scrambled eggs we made our way back down the mountain. It took us a good four hours of fairly treacherous downhill walking to get back to the friendly town of Minapin where we had chips and coke before the jeep took us back to Karimabad.
Sooooo, back in Karimabad, we took it nice and easy for a few days. It's a lovely place. It's located in the Hunza Valley, a fantastic valley through which the Indus river flows. Currently, it's washed in autumnal colours, poplar trees demarcating the vegetation line against a backdrop of high snow-capped peaks over which the sun plays its daily light show. As soon as I can, I'll throw up some pics and you can see for yourselves.
Tom and Anna left our little group of five last week, meaning that it's only myself that's travelling with Alex and Alby now.
Three days ago, we continued up north to a little village called Passu. No phone reception, no Internet, about five people... that kind of place. Passu is the most north that we want to go on the KKH, with the next stop being the Chinese border and Kashgar. Along the route, we saw loads of Chinese workers, givin' it socks, blowing the living bejayzus out of the mountainside. The Chinese are extending and widening the KKH for the Pakistanis (mainly because they want to use it as a trade route).
Up in Passu we did two short treks. The first took about five hours and brought us over two very shaky suspension bridges where there was a wooden slat about every two to three feet and you had to jump from one to the next with the river flowing beneath you. The other trek brought us up to the Passu Glacier. We walked (perhaps quite perilously) right up to the mouth of the glacier, to an ice cave from where a river sprouted. There were huge ice boulders around everywhere and everything was quite unstable. It was just Alby and I and while we were taking pictures of each others in a variety of stupid poses, a huge ice boulder slid down about three feet from Alby's foot. That shocked the shit out of us and we got out of there quicksmart with ice debris falling away beneath our feet. That was the second and final out-of-comfort-zone situation for this particular posting (I'm sure my Mum won't be able to handle any more).
So now that we're back on terra-firma in Karimabad, I rang my mate Helen today. Helen was my flatmate/landlord before I set off on this journey and she's currently in India where we've decided to meet on Sunday (this day week). We're going to meet in Delhi and then jump on a train to Calcutta where she has to open some kind of foundation thingamajig (whatever, she has something to do there and I'm coming along for the ride). So I have to make my way to Delhi within a week and within ten days I'll be in Calcutta, on the other side of the Subcontinent beside Bangladesh. In the next ten days, I have to cover approximately as much ground as I covered in the first three months of the trip, so it's gonna be a lot of trains, buses and taxis for Conor.
I don't know if I've mentioned this yet, but I'm illegal in Pakistan. My visa was good for a journey up until the 20th of October, i.e. one week ago. I would have had my visa extended, which isn't particularly difficult, only I forgot my passport in Lahore. Aha, I hear you say... that's a pertinent fact which I have happily omitted for some time now. The fact is that I forgot my passport in the hostel I was staying in in Lahore. Lucky for me, that particular hostel is run by the best connected, most honest and trustworthy Pakistani around... Malek... who has assured me per telephone, that he has my passport, that it is safe and should I run into any authorities, I should just call him on his mobile and pass over the phone. The unfortunate side effect of all this, is that a visa cannot be extended without passport and not wanting to leave Pakistan prematurely, I'm in a predicament of the illegal immigrant nature.
I have, however, been told that the first fourteen days of overstaying are without penalty, so I should be good once I get to the border. However, if the border guards decide to act up and charge me the 20 Euros per day of overstay that are rumoured, then I'm going to find my budget for Pakistan being completely blown out of the water.
This post has turned into an essay and it's time for dinner. Dinner in our hostel is a communal affair, around a big table with a soup, curry with rice, an apple and a tea... and I've just been called for it... So take it easy and once I get back to Lahore, I promise to let you know if my passport is still there....
Ur man in Pakistan.
C.
Friday, October 17, 2008
More trekking
We drove from Gilgit north to Karimabad today and already I've been roped into a trek starting at eight o'clock tomorrow morning leaving for the base camp of Rakaposhi, standing at 7788m in the Karakoram range, so a couple more days of radio silence are on the cards... three to be precise.
Apart from that, all is good. We spent a few days chilling out in Gilgit in the fantastically comfortable Madina Hostel. Last night we went for a chinese meal and then we got baked, watched Cannonball Run and rolled around the floor laughing... great flic!
I'll try to post some photos when I get back from tomorrow's trek.
L8r... C.
Apart from that, all is good. We spent a few days chilling out in Gilgit in the fantastically comfortable Madina Hostel. Last night we went for a chinese meal and then we got baked, watched Cannonball Run and rolled around the floor laughing... great flic!
I'll try to post some photos when I get back from tomorrow's trek.
L8r... C.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Killer mountain
Left the twin cities of Islamabad and Rawalpindi about five days ago, embarking on the Karakoram Highway (KKH) up to the Chinese border. We spent two days driving from Rawalpindi to Gilgit, a little town about halfway up the KKH wedged in the middle of the Karakoram range of mountains. Checked into a lovely little hostel from where we organised our first trek: a light three-day trek bringing us up to 3900m which would serve to acclimatise us for higher elevations. It was called Fairy Meadows (no jokes please!)
We left Gilgit on the morning of the first day and got a three hour jeep to Raikot Bridge where we changed into another jeep and embarked on the most terrifying journey that I have ever experienced. For only fifteen kilometres we drove on a road that had somehow been affixed to the side of mountains and was just about wide enough to get a jeep past. The driver really wasn't taking it easy and the five of us were absolutely shitting ourselves as we teetered on the cliff edge and looked down the sheer drop below. An hour later, with unfettered relief at having survived, we clambered out of the jeep and continued up the mountain face for another three hours until we reached the camp.
The camp was a collection of wooden huts on a mountain-top plain cut out of an apline-esque pine forest. It faced one of the most amazing views I have ever seen: Nanga Parbat mountain with the Raikot glacier flowing from it. Nanga Parbat is the eight highest mountain in the world and is in the Himilayan mountain range (where it meets the Karakoram range). It's also known as Killer mountain as it's ascent has claimed quite a few lives.
Given that the internet connection here is so amazingly shit, I can't upload any photos, so you're going to have wait for the usual crap shots that I grace you with every now and then. In the meantime, I've found an image on the internet which should show the same view. However, the internet is so slow here that I can't actually view pictures, so it's a bit of a gamble. The image on the left is supposed to be Nanga Parbat and the Raikot Glacier... if it's not then sorry!
On day two, we walked up to the snowline of Nanga Parbat for a better view of the mountain and glacier. That brought us from 3300m, where our camp was, to 3900m. Although these altitudes aren't significant, it's good acclimatisation for further treks, but you also notice a distinct change in how your body reacts to extertion (mine has never reacted very well to it).
Staying in the lodge was great fun as well. We watched a chick chick gets it's neck cut halal-style for our dinner. (Halal is the Muslim way of preparing food: chick chick needs to be facing a certain direction when it gets the chop and the chopper needs to mutter stuff in Arabic). We also drank lassi, which is what's left over when butter is made out of goats milk. (We all pretended to love it, but it was fucking terrible, terrible stuff). In the evenings, we had a big campfire which we sat around listening to the locals lads singin' away and your correspondant even graced the Pakistani wilderness with a woeful rendition of the Green Fields of France.
It was pretty cold as well. When the sun was out, all was good as long as you were walking, but as soon as it went down, it got really really cold and we slept under three duvets each in our little wooden huts.
So we're back in Gilgit now, relaxing and recovering while we consider what trek is going to be graced by our blistered feet next.
Take it easy folks... C.
We left Gilgit on the morning of the first day and got a three hour jeep to Raikot Bridge where we changed into another jeep and embarked on the most terrifying journey that I have ever experienced. For only fifteen kilometres we drove on a road that had somehow been affixed to the side of mountains and was just about wide enough to get a jeep past. The driver really wasn't taking it easy and the five of us were absolutely shitting ourselves as we teetered on the cliff edge and looked down the sheer drop below. An hour later, with unfettered relief at having survived, we clambered out of the jeep and continued up the mountain face for another three hours until we reached the camp.
The camp was a collection of wooden huts on a mountain-top plain cut out of an apline-esque pine forest. It faced one of the most amazing views I have ever seen: Nanga Parbat mountain with the Raikot glacier flowing from it. Nanga Parbat is the eight highest mountain in the world and is in the Himilayan mountain range (where it meets the Karakoram range). It's also known as Killer mountain as it's ascent has claimed quite a few lives.
Given that the internet connection here is so amazingly shit, I can't upload any photos, so you're going to have wait for the usual crap shots that I grace you with every now and then. In the meantime, I've found an image on the internet which should show the same view. However, the internet is so slow here that I can't actually view pictures, so it's a bit of a gamble. The image on the left is supposed to be Nanga Parbat and the Raikot Glacier... if it's not then sorry!
On day two, we walked up to the snowline of Nanga Parbat for a better view of the mountain and glacier. That brought us from 3300m, where our camp was, to 3900m. Although these altitudes aren't significant, it's good acclimatisation for further treks, but you also notice a distinct change in how your body reacts to extertion (mine has never reacted very well to it).
Staying in the lodge was great fun as well. We watched a chick chick gets it's neck cut halal-style for our dinner. (Halal is the Muslim way of preparing food: chick chick needs to be facing a certain direction when it gets the chop and the chopper needs to mutter stuff in Arabic). We also drank lassi, which is what's left over when butter is made out of goats milk. (We all pretended to love it, but it was fucking terrible, terrible stuff). In the evenings, we had a big campfire which we sat around listening to the locals lads singin' away and your correspondant even graced the Pakistani wilderness with a woeful rendition of the Green Fields of France.
It was pretty cold as well. When the sun was out, all was good as long as you were walking, but as soon as it went down, it got really really cold and we slept under three duvets each in our little wooden huts.
So we're back in Gilgit now, relaxing and recovering while we consider what trek is going to be graced by our blistered feet next.
Take it easy folks... C.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Eid in Lahore
so, continuing my chronology (not for ever, just during the crazy times)...
Wednesday, 1st of October
Apparently the moon was in the right place and the right shape last night, so Ramadan was officially declared over and as such, Eid, the equivalent of Christmas, begun.
Malek arranged for us to go to an Eid festival which was one of the most surreal things I have ever witnessed in my life. When we arrived we were immediately throbbed by people and brought to see horse dancing. Having being received by the event organiser, seats were brought for us and the horses were made to dance right in front of us, bring them right up over us... It was freaky stuff. Next was a Kabaddi match where groups of half naked men wrestled in mud and bitch-slapped each other... Twas great craic altogether.
When it started getting dark, we were brought to the rooftop of a nearby building for dinner with the Kabaddi players. Many of them were international and had played in India, the UK and around the world.
After dinner we were brought back into the melee of the carnival, being ushered through tents with lady boys, actual ladies (without headscarves), motorbike stunts, dancing shows etc. etc. etc. Eventually, the night culminated in a concert where about 7000 onlookers cheered their little hearts out as we were brought up on stage. We sat on stage for the entire show, getting fabrics (of respect) draped around our necks. One of the English lads, Alby, looks 'a bit alternative' (long hair, beard, nose ring etc.) and he was invited up on stage to dance with one of the singers. He gave it a good fifteen minutes of cringy 80's moves (he even threw in the ol' drawing the V-fingers across his eyes number). The crowd were going absolutely mental and when he went to go off stage they all surged forward and were cheering like crazy mofo's... it was unbe-frickin'-lievable.
We finally managed to drag ourselves away from the place at about three o'clock in the morning and came back to the hotel on an absolute high...
Thursday, 2nd of October
Thursday's in Lahore are famous. It's the 'Sufi night' where Sufi's or practitioners of Sufism, a mystic strain of Islam, get down and jiggy with it at the shrine of Shah Jamal. This is by far the most interesting cultural event I have ever been to. I've embedded a video of it below. This isn't mine, I just found it on the Internet, but I took no photos on this night (it was a night not to be interrupted by camera clicks).
Basically, there were two drummers with large drums hanging around their necks. They beat these in differing tempos and a group of young men (or dervishes) danced maniacally to the beat. The dancing mainly involved shaking their heads at frantic speeds and a lot of swirling around. The idea is to lull themselves into trance like states whereby they can get closer to God through the music.
The shrine was full of people that night and it was pretty clear that opium and hash is used in vast (vast, vast, vast) quantities so as to ease people into trances. I've never seen anything like it before.
After that Thursday, things started to calm down a bit... Eid drew to a close with only the occasional round of celebratory gunshots cracking through Lahore's heavy evenings and we retreated to hostel, watched some DVD's and took it easy.
Unfortunately on Saturday night, my gut started acting up and I spent Saturday night and all day Sunday on the toilet. I won't go into any more detail on that particular incident. Suffice to say that I was happy when things started staying in my stomach on Monday morning again.
So now I've left Lahore and am in Islamabad. We had to get tires for the jeep here and tomorrow morning, we're going to set off on a tour of the Karakoram highway. This is a roadway blown through the foothills of the Himilayas. It's a joint Pakistani and Chinese project back in the day and is supposed to be great for trekking...
So that's all for right now... will update from the KKH (that's what the cool cats call it)...
Also, a big word up for the McNamara's girls who have finally figured out how to use the comments function....
Ur man in Islamabad. C...
Wednesday, 1st of October
Apparently the moon was in the right place and the right shape last night, so Ramadan was officially declared over and as such, Eid, the equivalent of Christmas, begun.
Malek arranged for us to go to an Eid festival which was one of the most surreal things I have ever witnessed in my life. When we arrived we were immediately throbbed by people and brought to see horse dancing. Having being received by the event organiser, seats were brought for us and the horses were made to dance right in front of us, bring them right up over us... It was freaky stuff. Next was a Kabaddi match where groups of half naked men wrestled in mud and bitch-slapped each other... Twas great craic altogether.
When it started getting dark, we were brought to the rooftop of a nearby building for dinner with the Kabaddi players. Many of them were international and had played in India, the UK and around the world.
After dinner we were brought back into the melee of the carnival, being ushered through tents with lady boys, actual ladies (without headscarves), motorbike stunts, dancing shows etc. etc. etc. Eventually, the night culminated in a concert where about 7000 onlookers cheered their little hearts out as we were brought up on stage. We sat on stage for the entire show, getting fabrics (of respect) draped around our necks. One of the English lads, Alby, looks 'a bit alternative' (long hair, beard, nose ring etc.) and he was invited up on stage to dance with one of the singers. He gave it a good fifteen minutes of cringy 80's moves (he even threw in the ol' drawing the V-fingers across his eyes number). The crowd were going absolutely mental and when he went to go off stage they all surged forward and were cheering like crazy mofo's... it was unbe-frickin'-lievable.
We finally managed to drag ourselves away from the place at about three o'clock in the morning and came back to the hotel on an absolute high...
Thursday, 2nd of October
Thursday's in Lahore are famous. It's the 'Sufi night' where Sufi's or practitioners of Sufism, a mystic strain of Islam, get down and jiggy with it at the shrine of Shah Jamal. This is by far the most interesting cultural event I have ever been to. I've embedded a video of it below. This isn't mine, I just found it on the Internet, but I took no photos on this night (it was a night not to be interrupted by camera clicks).
Basically, there were two drummers with large drums hanging around their necks. They beat these in differing tempos and a group of young men (or dervishes) danced maniacally to the beat. The dancing mainly involved shaking their heads at frantic speeds and a lot of swirling around. The idea is to lull themselves into trance like states whereby they can get closer to God through the music.
The shrine was full of people that night and it was pretty clear that opium and hash is used in vast (vast, vast, vast) quantities so as to ease people into trances. I've never seen anything like it before.
After that Thursday, things started to calm down a bit... Eid drew to a close with only the occasional round of celebratory gunshots cracking through Lahore's heavy evenings and we retreated to hostel, watched some DVD's and took it easy.
Unfortunately on Saturday night, my gut started acting up and I spent Saturday night and all day Sunday on the toilet. I won't go into any more detail on that particular incident. Suffice to say that I was happy when things started staying in my stomach on Monday morning again.
So now I've left Lahore and am in Islamabad. We had to get tires for the jeep here and tomorrow morning, we're going to set off on a tour of the Karakoram highway. This is a roadway blown through the foothills of the Himilayas. It's a joint Pakistani and Chinese project back in the day and is supposed to be great for trekking...
So that's all for right now... will update from the KKH (that's what the cool cats call it)...
Also, a big word up for the McNamara's girls who have finally figured out how to use the comments function....
Ur man in Islamabad. C...
Friday, October 3, 2008
Welcome to the Subcontinent
I've been procrastinating... those of you who know me will no doubt find this an absolutely shocking admission, but it's true! I've been putting off updating my blog for the simple reason that too much has happened and I don't know if I have the ability to do it all written justice.
I've decided to simplify things for this posting with a chronology outlining what I did on different days. This is the only way I can kick my brain into action and provide some insight as to what Pakistan has been like for the past eight days.
Thursday, 25th of September
Arrived in Quetta as outlined in previous posting. Quetta is the capital of the province of Baluchistan, a fairly unruly province of Pakistan whose cultural borders extend into Southern Afghanistan (it's only a hop, skip and jump to Kandahar) and Eastern Iran. Balochistan is generally considered ungovernable due to its sparse population, extreme conditions and diverse peoples. So it's kind of wild-west out here!
Look at the photos below and you'll see what I mean. There's a fair few turbans bobbing around and it's the kind of place where you might expect to bump into Osama Bin Laden around any corner. (We tried to find him, but apparantly he's not on facebook, so we couldn't).
Friday, 26th of September
In the hostel in Quetta, I bumped into four Brits whom I had met in Esfahan and again in Yadz in Iran. Alby & Alex left the UK in a converted landrover (Stumpy - a machine for pushing planes around airports) and somewhere en route, they were joined by Anna Rose and Tom.
We decided that we were going to get down and dirty with the local fashions so we marched off to buy ourselves chalwar & kameez, which is a loose, long shirt and even looser pants that they wear here. We went to the smartest tailor in town and spent 1000 rupees (a tenner) on some groovy clothes.
We also walked around Quetta for quite a bit and got our first taste of the subcontinental curiosity. Foreigners obviously don't pass through here so often and when we walked down the street, pretty much everyone on the street stops what they're doing and looks at you. This can be quite disconcerting when the streets are packed with people. Especially when you have a women in your group (you hardly see any women on the street here, it's almost only men), things can get pretty heavy. You can't really afford to stop... as soon as you do, people start to gather around you and within a minute you'll be absolutely surrounded by people staring. It's not that intrusive, only very few people would actually harangue you in any way but having that many people surrounding you and staring is a little bit weird.
Saturday, 27th of September
Having made the nightmare crossing from Iran, we had fallen on our feet with a nice hostel in Quetta and were quite happy to spend a few nights there, before continuing north towards Lahore.
Ramazan was coming close to its end and people were preparing for Eid, the Islamic equivalent of Christmas, which goes on for four or five days after Ramazan. Unfortunately this meant that everyone was going home for Eid and the trains to Lahore were all booked out. Luckily, the Brits decided to save me and invited me to come along with them. They were planning a three-day drive to Lahore, over the lesser worn mountain route due east.
We also bumped into the Bufards, a French family who had been travelling around the world in their camping van for the past year. They had three daughters of 16, 14 and 10 and a dog... the picture perfect family, although slightly bizarre bumping into them in Balochistan. We went for a meal with them before heading off the next morning. (They were going to come convoy with us, but the French embassy suggested that our itinerary mightn't be suitable for younger girls... some advice that turned out to be very good indeed).
Sunday, 28th of September
We got up at cockcrow and started driving towards the Balochi village of Loreili. It was a six hour drive, but the roads were dirt roads so we couldn't open the back door for fear of being covered in dust and it was very warm in the truck. The terrain was mountainous and plateau. It was high, but at least it was dry (something we would appreciate when we got to the lower-lying Punjab).
When we arrived into Loreili that afternoon, we went to the police station to register ourselves. After shaking hands with everyone in the police station, we were brought to the Captain, who wasn't quite as friendly. He demanded to know what we were doing there and asked to see our permit (something we didn't have). He got quite aggressive and insisted that we shouldn't be there. Luckily, Alby had a got a letter from the Pakistani authorities in Quetta saying that we were tourists passing through. When he read this, his demeanour changed immediately and he became ueber friendly. He even offered to let us stay in the barracks and gave us an armed escort.
So once we had bedded down in the barracks we decided to go for a walk around the village. We tried to persuade the armed escort that we didn't need them but they insisted on coming with us. In retrospect, I'm happy they came, as the sheer volume of people who started surrounding us would have been a lot more daunting without the knowledge of an AK47 watching over us.
We cooked egg fried rice in the barracks that night, and one of the eggs we broke into it had a baby chick in it, so we were all a bit grossed out. Despite that and the onslaught of a trizillion mosquitos, we slept quite well.
Monday, 29th of September
Knowing that it would be a long journey to Multan, our next port of call, we got started at 7am. Again, we shook hands with everyone in the barracks before we left. (I'm not too happy about all this handshaking malarky as rumour has it, that the Pakistani's... ehh... clean themselves... after the toilet like... with their... ehh... hands... ). Anyway, accompanied by our armed escort, we set off for Multan.
The drive took about twelve hours and we decended from the high Balochi plateaux down through some incredible mountain scenery into the irrigated plains of Punjab and the Indus valley. Historically, the Indus river was seen as the western frontier of the Indian Subcontinent.
Decending into Punjab, we also got our first taste of the humidity for which this region is known. We arrived in Multan that night, checked into the cockroach infested shithole that passed for a hotel, showered and washed and went for some dinner. Then we each tried our best to sleep in rooms that would pass as saunas in Ireland.
Tuesday, 30th of September
The next morning we got on the road early and drove the six hours to Lahore. Multan is on the backbone of Pakistan, with the Indus plains acting as a conduit all the way from Karachi in the South, so luckily the road was good.
Although we did have a minor incidedent whereby we nearly creamed a tuc-tuc (autorickshaw). We were speeding along the motorway at about 55 mph when a tuc-tuc wtih about twenty people in it (a common sight) coming towards us decided to do a U-Turn in front of us. Alby swerved to miss it but it swerved in the same direction, so he swerved the other way and we sped past it clipping the rear corner. It nearly fell over but somehow didn't and just rocked from one side to the other... I'll never forget the faces of the women who were sitting in the back of it as they saw us coming... I'm pretty sure that they thought they were gonners.
After our near death experience, we arrived in Lahore that evening and checked into the Regale Internet Inn, where Malek, the head honcho here, had organised a Qawwali Music concert that evening. So we got ourselves some beers from the local five-star hotel and settled down for the night.
Right, that's all for now... I have much more to report on but I have no more time... I'll try to update with the rest in the next day or two... See photos and map below...
Ur man in Pakistan... Conor
View Larger Map
I've decided to simplify things for this posting with a chronology outlining what I did on different days. This is the only way I can kick my brain into action and provide some insight as to what Pakistan has been like for the past eight days.
Thursday, 25th of September
Arrived in Quetta as outlined in previous posting. Quetta is the capital of the province of Baluchistan, a fairly unruly province of Pakistan whose cultural borders extend into Southern Afghanistan (it's only a hop, skip and jump to Kandahar) and Eastern Iran. Balochistan is generally considered ungovernable due to its sparse population, extreme conditions and diverse peoples. So it's kind of wild-west out here!
Look at the photos below and you'll see what I mean. There's a fair few turbans bobbing around and it's the kind of place where you might expect to bump into Osama Bin Laden around any corner. (We tried to find him, but apparantly he's not on facebook, so we couldn't).
Friday, 26th of September
In the hostel in Quetta, I bumped into four Brits whom I had met in Esfahan and again in Yadz in Iran. Alby & Alex left the UK in a converted landrover (Stumpy - a machine for pushing planes around airports) and somewhere en route, they were joined by Anna Rose and Tom.
We decided that we were going to get down and dirty with the local fashions so we marched off to buy ourselves chalwar & kameez, which is a loose, long shirt and even looser pants that they wear here. We went to the smartest tailor in town and spent 1000 rupees (a tenner) on some groovy clothes.
We also walked around Quetta for quite a bit and got our first taste of the subcontinental curiosity. Foreigners obviously don't pass through here so often and when we walked down the street, pretty much everyone on the street stops what they're doing and looks at you. This can be quite disconcerting when the streets are packed with people. Especially when you have a women in your group (you hardly see any women on the street here, it's almost only men), things can get pretty heavy. You can't really afford to stop... as soon as you do, people start to gather around you and within a minute you'll be absolutely surrounded by people staring. It's not that intrusive, only very few people would actually harangue you in any way but having that many people surrounding you and staring is a little bit weird.
Saturday, 27th of September
Having made the nightmare crossing from Iran, we had fallen on our feet with a nice hostel in Quetta and were quite happy to spend a few nights there, before continuing north towards Lahore.
Ramazan was coming close to its end and people were preparing for Eid, the Islamic equivalent of Christmas, which goes on for four or five days after Ramazan. Unfortunately this meant that everyone was going home for Eid and the trains to Lahore were all booked out. Luckily, the Brits decided to save me and invited me to come along with them. They were planning a three-day drive to Lahore, over the lesser worn mountain route due east.
We also bumped into the Bufards, a French family who had been travelling around the world in their camping van for the past year. They had three daughters of 16, 14 and 10 and a dog... the picture perfect family, although slightly bizarre bumping into them in Balochistan. We went for a meal with them before heading off the next morning. (They were going to come convoy with us, but the French embassy suggested that our itinerary mightn't be suitable for younger girls... some advice that turned out to be very good indeed).
Sunday, 28th of September
We got up at cockcrow and started driving towards the Balochi village of Loreili. It was a six hour drive, but the roads were dirt roads so we couldn't open the back door for fear of being covered in dust and it was very warm in the truck. The terrain was mountainous and plateau. It was high, but at least it was dry (something we would appreciate when we got to the lower-lying Punjab).
When we arrived into Loreili that afternoon, we went to the police station to register ourselves. After shaking hands with everyone in the police station, we were brought to the Captain, who wasn't quite as friendly. He demanded to know what we were doing there and asked to see our permit (something we didn't have). He got quite aggressive and insisted that we shouldn't be there. Luckily, Alby had a got a letter from the Pakistani authorities in Quetta saying that we were tourists passing through. When he read this, his demeanour changed immediately and he became ueber friendly. He even offered to let us stay in the barracks and gave us an armed escort.
So once we had bedded down in the barracks we decided to go for a walk around the village. We tried to persuade the armed escort that we didn't need them but they insisted on coming with us. In retrospect, I'm happy they came, as the sheer volume of people who started surrounding us would have been a lot more daunting without the knowledge of an AK47 watching over us.
We cooked egg fried rice in the barracks that night, and one of the eggs we broke into it had a baby chick in it, so we were all a bit grossed out. Despite that and the onslaught of a trizillion mosquitos, we slept quite well.
Monday, 29th of September
Knowing that it would be a long journey to Multan, our next port of call, we got started at 7am. Again, we shook hands with everyone in the barracks before we left. (I'm not too happy about all this handshaking malarky as rumour has it, that the Pakistani's... ehh... clean themselves... after the toilet like... with their... ehh... hands... ). Anyway, accompanied by our armed escort, we set off for Multan.
The drive took about twelve hours and we decended from the high Balochi plateaux down through some incredible mountain scenery into the irrigated plains of Punjab and the Indus valley. Historically, the Indus river was seen as the western frontier of the Indian Subcontinent.
Decending into Punjab, we also got our first taste of the humidity for which this region is known. We arrived in Multan that night, checked into the cockroach infested shithole that passed for a hotel, showered and washed and went for some dinner. Then we each tried our best to sleep in rooms that would pass as saunas in Ireland.
Tuesday, 30th of September
The next morning we got on the road early and drove the six hours to Lahore. Multan is on the backbone of Pakistan, with the Indus plains acting as a conduit all the way from Karachi in the South, so luckily the road was good.
Although we did have a minor incidedent whereby we nearly creamed a tuc-tuc (autorickshaw). We were speeding along the motorway at about 55 mph when a tuc-tuc wtih about twenty people in it (a common sight) coming towards us decided to do a U-Turn in front of us. Alby swerved to miss it but it swerved in the same direction, so he swerved the other way and we sped past it clipping the rear corner. It nearly fell over but somehow didn't and just rocked from one side to the other... I'll never forget the faces of the women who were sitting in the back of it as they saw us coming... I'm pretty sure that they thought they were gonners.
After our near death experience, we arrived in Lahore that evening and checked into the Regale Internet Inn, where Malek, the head honcho here, had organised a Qawwali Music concert that evening. So we got ourselves some beers from the local five-star hotel and settled down for the night.
Right, that's all for now... I have much more to report on but I have no more time... I'll try to update with the rest in the next day or two... See photos and map below...
Ur man in Pakistan... Conor
View Larger Map
Friday, September 26, 2008
Iran Pakistan border
Have just arrived in Quetta, in the Balochistan province of Pakistan, after a crazy 24 hour journey. I got up at six o' clock yesterday and got a taxi to the main road, where a bus to Zahedan picked me up. I sat behind this guy with the worst breath on the face of the planet and had to stick pieces of tissue paper up my nose. After four hours of that, I arrived in Zahedan, the fairly lawless frontier town of Iran, where I immediately jumped in a taxi to take me the 85 kilometres to the border. At the border, I was adopted by a Pakistani family who ushered me through customs, changed some money and then jumped in a joe maxi to Tatfan, the border town on the Pakistani side and aptly described by lonely planet as hell on earth. I hung around Tatfan with my Pakistani family eating lamb stew with my fingers until about four o'clock when we all got on the bus to Quetta. 16 hours of backbreaking roads, we arrived in Quetta at six o'clock this morning. I'm absolutely fucked!
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Camel breath
I think this will be my last post from Iran. I decided to leave Yazd yesterday and jumped on bus to Bam in the Southeast of Iran. My visa's up tomorrow and I have to leave Iran, so I'm going to go to the Pakistani border at Zahedan tomorrow morning (about a five hour drive).
I've noticed that the Iranian buses don't like to stop and they go quite a while without stopping for a toilet break (and they don't have toilets on board). Yesterday I got on the bus at 4pm and it still hadn't stop by 9.00pm that night. I was about to burst my gut and eventually it stopped at a police checkpoint and all the men rushed to the front of the bus. I was thinking to myself "Thank fuck I'm not the only one who needs to piss" and I jumped up and followed them all. There was a sand dune that would have fit my needs perfectly, but they all ran out into the desert. Presuming that they knew something I didn't (maybe it was a sacred sand dune or something) I followed them thinking they would eventually all stop to relieve themselves... So I was with this group of Iranian men and suddenly they all dropped to their knees in prostration and started praying... and there was I standing in their midst with my zip half down... It was ...ehh... slightly embarrassing... I had two choices: drop to my knees and start praying or obviously turn around like an eejit and retreat. I chose the latter since I couldn't have feigned praying had my life depended on it... I decided to make use of the sand dune on the way back from my embarrassment and with quite some relief, I contributed my bladder contents to the battle against desertification.
Arrived in Bam late last night and spent today walking around the ruins of the Arg-e-Bam. Some of you may remember that shortly after Christmas 2007, Bam was hit by a very serious earthquake during which 35000 people died... the town is a bit of a disaster zone (click here for news coverage). The castle and citadel here (Arg-e-Bam) used to be the jewels in crown of the Iranian historical sites, but they've been reduced to rubble. They're trying to rebuild it like it used to be, but it's going to take them decades and millions of euros...
Also, see below for some pictures of Yazd... I went camel riding, saw some Zoroastrian stuff, some old citadels etc. It was very nice and relaxing with a good mix of seeing shit and then chilling out in the hotel, getting my ass kicked in chess, playing cards etc.
Zoroastrianism was the principle religion of ancient Persia and survived until the Islamic armies marched in. There are still 1m Zoroastrians in Iran (also in India and Pakistan). It's a pretty cool religion. Their god is Ahura Mazda and they have a prophet called Zoroaster (who looks a bit like Jesus in pictures). They believe in good and evil, truth and falsehood etc. They also place strong importance on the four elements: Wind, Water, Earth and Fire. They don't want to impurify earth or fire by burying or burning their dead, so they used to leave the cadavers to rot and the bones to be picked clean by vultures after death. They did this by leaving them in so called towers of silence. This has been discontinued since the sixties and now they bury their dead in tombs lined with cement so that contamination of the earth doesn't occur.
In other news, before I left Yadz, I collected books from the post office that my mum sent me (yay mum!)... so I've got books again and am very happy. currently reading 'Among the believers' by VS Naipul... which seems to be very interesting.
I also discovered that I really, really dislike camels and camel riding. Camels are ugly, smelly, fly infested, Starwars-esque beasts and to ride on them is paramount to letting someone with high heels do a jig on your genitals... I could not recommend it any less. I don't know how these Silk Road traders did it.
Here are some pictures of Yadz, more to come when I get a decent Internet connection (I've heard it ain't so good in Pakistan though... )
Signing off for the last time in Iran... C.
I've noticed that the Iranian buses don't like to stop and they go quite a while without stopping for a toilet break (and they don't have toilets on board). Yesterday I got on the bus at 4pm and it still hadn't stop by 9.00pm that night. I was about to burst my gut and eventually it stopped at a police checkpoint and all the men rushed to the front of the bus. I was thinking to myself "Thank fuck I'm not the only one who needs to piss" and I jumped up and followed them all. There was a sand dune that would have fit my needs perfectly, but they all ran out into the desert. Presuming that they knew something I didn't (maybe it was a sacred sand dune or something) I followed them thinking they would eventually all stop to relieve themselves... So I was with this group of Iranian men and suddenly they all dropped to their knees in prostration and started praying... and there was I standing in their midst with my zip half down... It was ...ehh... slightly embarrassing... I had two choices: drop to my knees and start praying or obviously turn around like an eejit and retreat. I chose the latter since I couldn't have feigned praying had my life depended on it... I decided to make use of the sand dune on the way back from my embarrassment and with quite some relief, I contributed my bladder contents to the battle against desertification.
Arrived in Bam late last night and spent today walking around the ruins of the Arg-e-Bam. Some of you may remember that shortly after Christmas 2007, Bam was hit by a very serious earthquake during which 35000 people died... the town is a bit of a disaster zone (click here for news coverage). The castle and citadel here (Arg-e-Bam) used to be the jewels in crown of the Iranian historical sites, but they've been reduced to rubble. They're trying to rebuild it like it used to be, but it's going to take them decades and millions of euros...
Also, see below for some pictures of Yazd... I went camel riding, saw some Zoroastrian stuff, some old citadels etc. It was very nice and relaxing with a good mix of seeing shit and then chilling out in the hotel, getting my ass kicked in chess, playing cards etc.
Zoroastrianism was the principle religion of ancient Persia and survived until the Islamic armies marched in. There are still 1m Zoroastrians in Iran (also in India and Pakistan). It's a pretty cool religion. Their god is Ahura Mazda and they have a prophet called Zoroaster (who looks a bit like Jesus in pictures). They believe in good and evil, truth and falsehood etc. They also place strong importance on the four elements: Wind, Water, Earth and Fire. They don't want to impurify earth or fire by burying or burning their dead, so they used to leave the cadavers to rot and the bones to be picked clean by vultures after death. They did this by leaving them in so called towers of silence. This has been discontinued since the sixties and now they bury their dead in tombs lined with cement so that contamination of the earth doesn't occur.
In other news, before I left Yadz, I collected books from the post office that my mum sent me (yay mum!)... so I've got books again and am very happy. currently reading 'Among the believers' by VS Naipul... which seems to be very interesting.
I also discovered that I really, really dislike camels and camel riding. Camels are ugly, smelly, fly infested, Starwars-esque beasts and to ride on them is paramount to letting someone with high heels do a jig on your genitals... I could not recommend it any less. I don't know how these Silk Road traders did it.
Here are some pictures of Yadz, more to come when I get a decent Internet connection (I've heard it ain't so good in Pakistan though... )
Signing off for the last time in Iran... C.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
camel steaks... two for a foiver!
Well hullo there folkaroonies... for your information, the following is a prioritised list of things I would like to eat/drink:
I've lashed in some photos from Shiraz and Persepolis, the Archemeden city of Xerxes which it's most known for. Persepolis is quite impressive. It was built around 500BC and then burned down by Alexander the muppet in 330BC (although its rumoured that his troops just got drunk and accidently started a fire... how we've progressed since then). I spent a good half day there with a canadian dude just wandering around musing about civilisations past.
So here in Yadz, I'm staying in this nice little hostel called the Silk Road. Its the most backpackery hostel in Iran and it's good to mingle with some foreigners again.
One thing that I keep on noticing though, is that even amongst backpackers and travellers, there's a kind of snobbery as to what they've 'done' and 'not done'... Inevitably when you meet people, they reel off the list of shit they've 'done': "Yeah, so I DID Turkey and then I DID Greece and Slovenia... after that I DID Georgia and once I've DONE Iran, then I'll DO Pakistan... yah, yah... sooper!". People are almost judged by the amount of shit they've DONE... with wilder off-piste stuff gaining particular kudos: "Oh, yah... loike I've totally DONE iraq... yah, yah... brill... best country ever! The jihadists ore loike sooooo friendly!"
Still though, I am adamant that my Irishness is my most significant asset when travelling. People are automatically postively predisposed to you... even if you're a complete tosser! There's two asian guys in the hostel... one is from London and the other from Amsterdam, but when the Iranians ask them "what country mista?" and they reply England or Holland, the iranians burst their shits and start with "Japan, Korea, China...", so these two guys have just resigned themselves to it and now reply to their heritage questions with an Asian country, just to save themselves going crazy! Ti-hi-hi... the concepts of multiculturalism havn't spread this far yet...
So when I arrived at the hostel last night, they didn't have any rooms in the dorms and I was fooked if I was gonna fork out for a single room so they let me sleep on the roof. But it was deadly, there was a brilliant view on the mosques and save the 4.30am call to prayers, the cool breeze let me sleep like a little babby. Although I did have to get up early this morning cos the sun was burning me...
I'd like to see some comments from McNamara's people... are you all dead or what! (note that redundancy is no excuse for not commenting)
Speaking about work, I'm reading that armageddon has hit the banking system with the collapse of the Lehman brothers etc.... I used to know this guy... a right dickhead (no names mentioned) who worked there... so I'm happy about that. I hear that they're not gonna pay salaries at the end of the month and that these swish bankers are reduced to clearing their canteen cards by stocking up on chocolate bars... What a funny thought! Only two weeks ago, they were jetting around on super-dooper expense accounts sucking the economy dry... Aah no, only joking, poor them! (-ish)... But seriously, economic decline brings it's own opportunities so I'm not worried (yet)... My dad keeps tellin' me that I've never lived through an 80's-esque recession and that I shouldn't be such a smart-ass, but in fairness, if you bought property in Ireland in the past year or two, I have no sympathy for you! (Did you think prices would rise into perpetuity).
One final piece of useless drivel is that I can't figure out how to go overland from India into SouthEast Asia. Burma seems to be a black hole that you can't get into from the north. So my options are a flight (boo-hiss...) or else going from Kathmandu in Nepal to Lhasa in Tibet up into China and then back down around into Vietnam... this would add considerable expense and time and bureacratic visa effort, but it could be interesting to stick China into the itinerary...
Apparantly there's an 'all-you-can-eat-for-60000-rials' on camel steaks at a hotel around the corner tonite so I'm off to stretch my stomach muscles and get into form...
Ur man in Iran... C to the P ;-)
- A Beer... a cold one... maybe an Erdinger or something...
- A sausage (as in a pork sausage - you durty bastards! Superquinn would do nicely)
- A bag of king cheese and onion crisps... hmmmmmmmmmmm.... tasty!
- A rasher (well, lots of rashers)
- A whiskey and ginger ale with a lime (again, several of these would be good, just enough to get me tipsy)
- A glass of white wine
- Sunday Roast
- And I'd also luv a burger king whopper meal (yes, I don't care what you think, all you French people out there... I can hear you now: "Zat is rreally onbelievabal zat you wud wont one of zose gressy omburgurs de merde")
I've lashed in some photos from Shiraz and Persepolis, the Archemeden city of Xerxes which it's most known for. Persepolis is quite impressive. It was built around 500BC and then burned down by Alexander the muppet in 330BC (although its rumoured that his troops just got drunk and accidently started a fire... how we've progressed since then). I spent a good half day there with a canadian dude just wandering around musing about civilisations past.
So here in Yadz, I'm staying in this nice little hostel called the Silk Road. Its the most backpackery hostel in Iran and it's good to mingle with some foreigners again.
One thing that I keep on noticing though, is that even amongst backpackers and travellers, there's a kind of snobbery as to what they've 'done' and 'not done'... Inevitably when you meet people, they reel off the list of shit they've 'done': "Yeah, so I DID Turkey and then I DID Greece and Slovenia... after that I DID Georgia and once I've DONE Iran, then I'll DO Pakistan... yah, yah... sooper!". People are almost judged by the amount of shit they've DONE... with wilder off-piste stuff gaining particular kudos: "Oh, yah... loike I've totally DONE iraq... yah, yah... brill... best country ever! The jihadists ore loike sooooo friendly!"
Still though, I am adamant that my Irishness is my most significant asset when travelling. People are automatically postively predisposed to you... even if you're a complete tosser! There's two asian guys in the hostel... one is from London and the other from Amsterdam, but when the Iranians ask them "what country mista?" and they reply England or Holland, the iranians burst their shits and start with "Japan, Korea, China...", so these two guys have just resigned themselves to it and now reply to their heritage questions with an Asian country, just to save themselves going crazy! Ti-hi-hi... the concepts of multiculturalism havn't spread this far yet...
So when I arrived at the hostel last night, they didn't have any rooms in the dorms and I was fooked if I was gonna fork out for a single room so they let me sleep on the roof. But it was deadly, there was a brilliant view on the mosques and save the 4.30am call to prayers, the cool breeze let me sleep like a little babby. Although I did have to get up early this morning cos the sun was burning me...
I'd like to see some comments from McNamara's people... are you all dead or what! (note that redundancy is no excuse for not commenting)
Speaking about work, I'm reading that armageddon has hit the banking system with the collapse of the Lehman brothers etc.... I used to know this guy... a right dickhead (no names mentioned) who worked there... so I'm happy about that. I hear that they're not gonna pay salaries at the end of the month and that these swish bankers are reduced to clearing their canteen cards by stocking up on chocolate bars... What a funny thought! Only two weeks ago, they were jetting around on super-dooper expense accounts sucking the economy dry... Aah no, only joking, poor them! (-ish)... But seriously, economic decline brings it's own opportunities so I'm not worried (yet)... My dad keeps tellin' me that I've never lived through an 80's-esque recession and that I shouldn't be such a smart-ass, but in fairness, if you bought property in Ireland in the past year or two, I have no sympathy for you! (Did you think prices would rise into perpetuity).
One final piece of useless drivel is that I can't figure out how to go overland from India into SouthEast Asia. Burma seems to be a black hole that you can't get into from the north. So my options are a flight (boo-hiss...) or else going from Kathmandu in Nepal to Lhasa in Tibet up into China and then back down around into Vietnam... this would add considerable expense and time and bureacratic visa effort, but it could be interesting to stick China into the itinerary...
Apparantly there's an 'all-you-can-eat-for-60000-rials' on camel steaks at a hotel around the corner tonite so I'm off to stretch my stomach muscles and get into form...
Ur man in Iran... C to the P ;-)
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Cold Sore suck @$$
eugghghhghghg, what... what do you want... why are you bugging me...? Oooooowwww, you wanna know what's going on, you want a new post do you? Why do you torment me for updates, your prying eyes raping my soul to feed your sordid desires for information...
Eh... ahem...!
A bit dark is it? A lil' bit crrraaazzzzyyyy!?! I'm only joking... AHAHAHAHA... ROFL... HEE HEE... but you know sometimes it's not so frickin' easy to write this thing... (not like it's a literary masterpiece) but even to know what to drivel on about... During the day, I keep on seeing things and think to myself "Oh by jove, that would make suuuuuch an interessssting anecdote on my little bloggy-woggy!" and then I skip off and instantly forget about it. I try to keep my diary and a pen with me so that I can write down in bullet point form (consultancy training) the little episodes that so illustrate the kaleidoscope of my life, so that I can remember them later. But inevitably I forget to do that, and instead I find my diary filling up with the Farsi phonetic translation for "Top or Bottom?" or "Son of a donkey" (very helpful as an exclamation when haggling). And by the time I get to an internet cafe, my posts end up like some kind of horse manure: And then I went to the loo and after that I saw a sign and then I farted and after that a car beeped and then... and after that... and then... and after that...! You get the idea!
Sooooooooooo, today I went to Persepolis, the foremost attraction in Iran. It was nice! I've also got a cold sore which PISSES ME OFF IMMENSELY!
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Last day in Esfahan
shit, shit, shit... my booze plan fell through... I thought I had it all lined up perfectly, feic sake! Anyway, I'm off to Shiraz tonite where I have to try to get some of that famous wine!
Went out for dinner and a qualyun with some folks from the hostel last night. We all got different things so as to taste everything. Really nice aubergine dishes and meat wrapped in vine leaves and kebabs and stuff like that... Then we went to a deadly little tavern for smoking waterpipes. We had two girls with us so we had to sit down the back (girls aren't usually allowed in, but they make an exception for western birds).
On that point, I forgot to tell you that when I arrived in tehran, I got a bus to my hostel with all my various bags and shit hanging out of me. I got up onto the bus at the middle entrance and put my bags down and sat down (sweat running off me). I was surrounded by all these girls who were giggling at me and all the men started shouting at me beckoning for me to come to them... I didnt know what they were ranting about and then this man came up and started pointing to the women shouting "WOO MAN, WOO MAN... no, no..." and pointing to the front of the bus. And finally the penny dropped that the buses were segregated with women sitting at the back, men at the front and that I had sat in the WOOMAN section. So I had to get all my bags on again, trapse off the bus and back on via the the front door where I sat down and was surrounded by men laughing and pointing to the back of the bus saying "WOOMAN".
Anyway, so beyond that, all is going rather well. I'm managing to keep to my budget (partially cos the Iranians won't let me pay for anything) and am eating relatively healthily. My bowels are in good working order (a rarity) and any cuts or scratches that I've got have been kept free of infection... I still have a bit of a cold and am snuffling away to myself as I type but I'm gonna go to the hammam today to sweat it out of me!
There was 6.1 earthquake in Bandar Abbas yesterday but that's miles away from me so all is hunky dorey here. I am preparing myself for a shudder though as they hit Iran very frequently. (Remember Bam in '04).
Nightbus to Shiraz tonite and then some more sightseeing malarky, particularly Persepolis.
Peace out!
Went out for dinner and a qualyun with some folks from the hostel last night. We all got different things so as to taste everything. Really nice aubergine dishes and meat wrapped in vine leaves and kebabs and stuff like that... Then we went to a deadly little tavern for smoking waterpipes. We had two girls with us so we had to sit down the back (girls aren't usually allowed in, but they make an exception for western birds).
On that point, I forgot to tell you that when I arrived in tehran, I got a bus to my hostel with all my various bags and shit hanging out of me. I got up onto the bus at the middle entrance and put my bags down and sat down (sweat running off me). I was surrounded by all these girls who were giggling at me and all the men started shouting at me beckoning for me to come to them... I didnt know what they were ranting about and then this man came up and started pointing to the women shouting "WOO MAN, WOO MAN... no, no..." and pointing to the front of the bus. And finally the penny dropped that the buses were segregated with women sitting at the back, men at the front and that I had sat in the WOOMAN section. So I had to get all my bags on again, trapse off the bus and back on via the the front door where I sat down and was surrounded by men laughing and pointing to the back of the bus saying "WOOMAN".
Anyway, so beyond that, all is going rather well. I'm managing to keep to my budget (partially cos the Iranians won't let me pay for anything) and am eating relatively healthily. My bowels are in good working order (a rarity) and any cuts or scratches that I've got have been kept free of infection... I still have a bit of a cold and am snuffling away to myself as I type but I'm gonna go to the hammam today to sweat it out of me!
There was 6.1 earthquake in Bandar Abbas yesterday but that's miles away from me so all is hunky dorey here. I am preparing myself for a shudder though as they hit Iran very frequently. (Remember Bam in '04).
Nightbus to Shiraz tonite and then some more sightseeing malarky, particularly Persepolis.
Peace out!
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Tourist adoption
Got back to the hostel last night at about one o' clock in the morning and I bumped into two other backpackers who were also just returning. "How was your day?" we asked each other, only to find that we had each suffered a similar fate: Our adoption by non-English speaking Iranians... it's a hardcore situation!
What happens is that you're strolling along and inevitably someone will stop you to ask you where you're from, what you think of Iran etc... (the ability to speak english is not a prequisite here... Hey mista, country wha?). Eventually, they invite you for a tea, which turns into a lunch, which turns into an afternoon, which turns into dinner, which turns into invitations to stay in their house that night... etc. etc. etc. So it's all very friendly.
On Monday, I went to see these shaking minarets and bumped into four lads from the north of iran on their holidays... not a word of english between them but somehow we managed to spend two days together and actually had great craic ripping the piss out of each other with charades and face gestures (hey mista conor, you mista bean!). They brought me for lunch and dinner and gilyan (sheesha type water pipes) and didn't let me put my hand in my pocket. At one stage, I snuck off and bought us all some ice creams and they got very angry and tried to force the money for the ice creams on me... (you guest, you guest...).
We kept on getting lost in translation though... We were talking about countries and I wanted to make the off-hand remark that Iceland is really small and that they're all interbred (my apologies to anyone from Iceland) but somehow they ended up tut-tutting at length and believing that in Iceland everyone must sleep with their family members (Again, my apologies to anyone from Iceland).
One thing was pretty funny. We were sitting around eating our Ice Cream when four girls passed us, two iranians and two obvious backpackers (who had been 'adopted'). We started talking to them and one of the girls was from County Clare, so we started having a bit of banter and talking about the iranians etc. She said she had her high heels in her handbag and that they were on their way to a rave, at which I broke my shits laughing. We were generally chatting and laughing and when eventually we bid them farewell (for single lads talking to single ladies would quickly earn the ire of the fun police), the Iranian guys asked me whether the girl was my sister. They coulnd't believe that I had just met her and would speak so openly and loudly with an unknown woman. They were convinced that we must be related... twas mad!
What happens is that you're strolling along and inevitably someone will stop you to ask you where you're from, what you think of Iran etc... (the ability to speak english is not a prequisite here... Hey mista, country wha?). Eventually, they invite you for a tea, which turns into a lunch, which turns into an afternoon, which turns into dinner, which turns into invitations to stay in their house that night... etc. etc. etc. So it's all very friendly.
On Monday, I went to see these shaking minarets and bumped into four lads from the north of iran on their holidays... not a word of english between them but somehow we managed to spend two days together and actually had great craic ripping the piss out of each other with charades and face gestures (hey mista conor, you mista bean!). They brought me for lunch and dinner and gilyan (sheesha type water pipes) and didn't let me put my hand in my pocket. At one stage, I snuck off and bought us all some ice creams and they got very angry and tried to force the money for the ice creams on me... (you guest, you guest...).
We kept on getting lost in translation though... We were talking about countries and I wanted to make the off-hand remark that Iceland is really small and that they're all interbred (my apologies to anyone from Iceland) but somehow they ended up tut-tutting at length and believing that in Iceland everyone must sleep with their family members (Again, my apologies to anyone from Iceland).
One thing was pretty funny. We were sitting around eating our Ice Cream when four girls passed us, two iranians and two obvious backpackers (who had been 'adopted'). We started talking to them and one of the girls was from County Clare, so we started having a bit of banter and talking about the iranians etc. She said she had her high heels in her handbag and that they were on their way to a rave, at which I broke my shits laughing. We were generally chatting and laughing and when eventually we bid them farewell (for single lads talking to single ladies would quickly earn the ire of the fun police), the Iranian guys asked me whether the girl was my sister. They coulnd't believe that I had just met her and would speak so openly and loudly with an unknown woman. They were convinced that we must be related... twas mad!
In other news, I was walking down the street yesterday engrossed in my copy of 'Iran Daily' (Ahmadinejad mouthpiece) and went to cross what I thought was a piece of grass, only to find myself up to my hips in the most putrid pool of sickening foul water, with a scum on top that grass had started to grow on... I was not impressed and went to the fountain in Imam Square to clean myself... Fucking revolting stuff and I spent the whole day squelching around in my shoes.
Also, my various attempts to procure a bottle of whiskey have not been fruitful. I have a last ditch attempt tonight when this Iranian I met is supposed to meet me at the hostel with 'da moichendice'.
Ramazan is still as annoying as ever (I think this is having a negative effect on my whiskey adventures)... especially since I'm now convinced that there's no-one in Iran who actually follows it and fasts. I see everyone smoking and taking sly drinks of water and I'm sure that they're all eating in their homes.
So I've done some research on Pakistan and am really looking forward to it now. I'm going to make a beeline straight for the north (Lahore) and spend my time in the northern mountains there doing some trekking etc. Unfortunately the Kyber Pass into Afghanistan seems to be closed to foreigners so I won't be visiting that (I'm only joking mum, relax, I'm not going near Afghanistan).
I'm also looking forward to going to Shiraz (which I'm gonna do tomorrow) and then Yadz before making my way east. I've put myself in contact with the Irish embassies in both Tehran and Islamabad letting them know that I'm arsing around and they've asked me to keep them up-to-date.... very nice guys!
That's it for today... be good and would someone please leave me a frickin' comment or two?
C.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Alco-holy Armenians
I've been trying to find some booze here in Esfahan... A friend gave me a name of a street in the Armenian quarter. (The Armenians have always been a large immigrant community in Iran, they have their own parts of each city and are Christian. It is 'informally tolerated' that they use wine in their religious ceremonies and as such, they have become the source of illegal booze).
So, off I went to the Armenian quarter, to the road which my friend had told me to walk down. Apparently it was certain that someone would come up to me and offer "whiskey, vodka" under their breath. So I walked up and down this very long road for about an hour, trying my best to look like an alcoholic foreigner, but alas... no-one came up to me... I tried my best to give 'the eye' to any dodgy lookin' characters, but I'd say they all just thought I was a fruitcake. So... long story short... I got no booze! And then, last night when I came back to the hostel, I was speaking to a French guy who said that he'd been offered whiskey twice that day... Is there something about me that suggests tee-totaller? (Of course, the french eejit didn't accept it!).
Not much else going on apart from that, but I was speaking to someone who has just come from Pakistan and they said that they loved it. For some reason, I was planning on barging through Pakistan very quickly, but I think I need to research more about it. Apparently the north is very nice.
I'm still enjoying Esfahan. I spend a lot of time just walking around looking at mosques or shit like that. The people here are really friendly. Even the carpet sellers are nice... they want you to buy a carpet but they're not militant about it. They invite you in for a tea and say "don't worry about carpets, I won't try to sell you one!". In general people don't try to flog you stuff here, they seem to be more interested in speaking to you and finding out what you think of Iran. I think they're used to the western foreigners being 'backpacker' types with no spare funds to indulge in knick-knacks... they have the Arab tourist for that!
Despite what you all think (as per the poll to the right), I shaved my beard today... but don't worry, it'll grow back quickly. I can't believe you people, telling me that I look better with a beard is paramount to saying that my face is so hideous, it needs to be covered! You should be ashamed of yourselves.
Also Ramazan is really wrecking my nutz. There's all these little 'secret' places to eat during the day, but no-one ever tells me about them. And then, as soon as the sun goes down (and the Imam does his little song and dance), people can start eating again. But the restaurants don't let people in (or else they'd get overflown) and instead just set up a stand on the road from which they sell the standard post-fast grub (lentil stews and the like).
I think I've cracked the currency though. I can now ask how much something is, understand the response, choose the correct notes and pay in a timely manner :-) Progress!
So I believe that it's Monday morning and you're all in work... tihihi...
Anyone who works in McNamara's reading this post should click on comments below and leave me a little message...
Take it easy... ur man in iran... C.
So, off I went to the Armenian quarter, to the road which my friend had told me to walk down. Apparently it was certain that someone would come up to me and offer "whiskey, vodka" under their breath. So I walked up and down this very long road for about an hour, trying my best to look like an alcoholic foreigner, but alas... no-one came up to me... I tried my best to give 'the eye' to any dodgy lookin' characters, but I'd say they all just thought I was a fruitcake. So... long story short... I got no booze! And then, last night when I came back to the hostel, I was speaking to a French guy who said that he'd been offered whiskey twice that day... Is there something about me that suggests tee-totaller? (Of course, the french eejit didn't accept it!).
Not much else going on apart from that, but I was speaking to someone who has just come from Pakistan and they said that they loved it. For some reason, I was planning on barging through Pakistan very quickly, but I think I need to research more about it. Apparently the north is very nice.
I'm still enjoying Esfahan. I spend a lot of time just walking around looking at mosques or shit like that. The people here are really friendly. Even the carpet sellers are nice... they want you to buy a carpet but they're not militant about it. They invite you in for a tea and say "don't worry about carpets, I won't try to sell you one!". In general people don't try to flog you stuff here, they seem to be more interested in speaking to you and finding out what you think of Iran. I think they're used to the western foreigners being 'backpacker' types with no spare funds to indulge in knick-knacks... they have the Arab tourist for that!
Despite what you all think (as per the poll to the right), I shaved my beard today... but don't worry, it'll grow back quickly. I can't believe you people, telling me that I look better with a beard is paramount to saying that my face is so hideous, it needs to be covered! You should be ashamed of yourselves.
Also Ramazan is really wrecking my nutz. There's all these little 'secret' places to eat during the day, but no-one ever tells me about them. And then, as soon as the sun goes down (and the Imam does his little song and dance), people can start eating again. But the restaurants don't let people in (or else they'd get overflown) and instead just set up a stand on the road from which they sell the standard post-fast grub (lentil stews and the like).
I think I've cracked the currency though. I can now ask how much something is, understand the response, choose the correct notes and pay in a timely manner :-) Progress!
So I believe that it's Monday morning and you're all in work... tihihi...
Anyone who works in McNamara's reading this post should click on comments below and leave me a little message...
Take it easy... ur man in iran... C.
Friday, September 5, 2008
Goin' South
It rained on Thursday in Tehran a bit... a nice kind of cooling rain with a bit of an electrical storm. Apart from that the weather has been hot, but not unbearable. It's probably in and around the 35 C mark at the peak of the day, but generally quite dry. You wouldn't want to be walking around outside too much around midday but it gets nice and cool in the evening and at night. Unfortunately these frickin' Iranians feel the need to air condition everything and I've got a huge big head-cold with a snuffly nose, sore throat and general shittiness from sleeping in uber-airconditioned rooms (where you can't control the AC yourself).
I'm almost finished my book and as soon as I do, I'm up the swannee with a toothpick for a paddle as I have no more (unread) books left. I'm reading 'The Idiot' by Fyodor Dostoevsky at the moment and it's taking its time on getting to the point. My favourite book so far has been Captain Corelli's Mandolin, which kind of reminded me of the Magus, one of my favourite books of all time.
I had a good few days in Tehran. I spent 8 of my 30 visa days here, which is probably a little more than I should have, but I reckon that it was well worth it. The capital cities are always important as they reveal a lot about a people and I've really enjoyed myself here. I was put in contact with one of the locals here, a really nice guy, who took me under his wing and made sure that I got to see some of the "other" sides of the Islamic Republic. The other night, he brought me along to a bit of a party... and well... I got hammered on this stuff called arac, which is a locally brewed concoction known for its effect of making you blind. The guys at the party assured me that the particular batch had been tested by them on many an occasion without any resulting blindness and so, I conceded and drank myself to oblivion. I woke up the next morning (well, more afternoon than morning really) with a pounding headache. I don't know if this is all in the spirit of Ramazan, but whatyagonna do... when in Rome...!!!
So I hopped on a Super-VIP-ComfyComfy-Super-Super bus from Tehran for a quick six hour blitz to Esfahan in Central Iran yesterday. Arrived here last night after having the ear yapped off me by this friendly Iranian guy with no English... but apparently this city is the THE thing to do in Iran so lets see what the craic is. I'm going to stay here for a couple of days and then move south towards Shiraz. Then I'll spend a few days in the desert in Yadz before putting the head down and doing a legger to Zahedan and then directly across the Pakistani border to Quetta and Karachi.
I had the maddest dream last night... (In fact it was kinda a whole night of mad dreams but I just remember one): I was skateboarding (as I do) down this mad mountain and fell off the cliff and kept on falling for ages before I was able to grab onto a random ledge. And then I was worried about my skateboard had been lent to me by my brother, while hanging there from the ledge. I spent half the fucking night hanging from that ledge worrying about the skateboard until I was interrupted by some Saudi/Qatari/generic Arab who burst into our dormitory at 7.00am this morning ranting and raving about people not sitting on this bed (the dream was over by this stage).
I had other stuff to tell you but I can't remember it now...
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I'm almost finished my book and as soon as I do, I'm up the swannee with a toothpick for a paddle as I have no more (unread) books left. I'm reading 'The Idiot' by Fyodor Dostoevsky at the moment and it's taking its time on getting to the point. My favourite book so far has been Captain Corelli's Mandolin, which kind of reminded me of the Magus, one of my favourite books of all time.
I had a good few days in Tehran. I spent 8 of my 30 visa days here, which is probably a little more than I should have, but I reckon that it was well worth it. The capital cities are always important as they reveal a lot about a people and I've really enjoyed myself here. I was put in contact with one of the locals here, a really nice guy, who took me under his wing and made sure that I got to see some of the "other" sides of the Islamic Republic. The other night, he brought me along to a bit of a party... and well... I got hammered on this stuff called arac, which is a locally brewed concoction known for its effect of making you blind. The guys at the party assured me that the particular batch had been tested by them on many an occasion without any resulting blindness and so, I conceded and drank myself to oblivion. I woke up the next morning (well, more afternoon than morning really) with a pounding headache. I don't know if this is all in the spirit of Ramazan, but whatyagonna do... when in Rome...!!!
So I hopped on a Super-VIP-ComfyComfy-Super-Super bus from Tehran for a quick six hour blitz to Esfahan in Central Iran yesterday. Arrived here last night after having the ear yapped off me by this friendly Iranian guy with no English... but apparently this city is the THE thing to do in Iran so lets see what the craic is. I'm going to stay here for a couple of days and then move south towards Shiraz. Then I'll spend a few days in the desert in Yadz before putting the head down and doing a legger to Zahedan and then directly across the Pakistani border to Quetta and Karachi.
I had the maddest dream last night... (In fact it was kinda a whole night of mad dreams but I just remember one): I was skateboarding (as I do) down this mad mountain and fell off the cliff and kept on falling for ages before I was able to grab onto a random ledge. And then I was worried about my skateboard had been lent to me by my brother, while hanging there from the ledge. I spent half the fucking night hanging from that ledge worrying about the skateboard until I was interrupted by some Saudi/Qatari/generic Arab who burst into our dormitory at 7.00am this morning ranting and raving about people not sitting on this bed (the dream was over by this stage).
I had other stuff to tell you but I can't remember it now...
View Larger Map
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Crazy Traffic
The traffic is mental here... Apparently some tourists have a really difficult time crossing the road. There's no lights for pedestrians so you just have to barge through the traffic... You look up a road which is choc-a-bloc with speeding cars, vans, buses, motorbikes and can't even imagine yourself crossing it. But if you need to cross, then there's no other option. You basically just have to walk and the majority of cars swerve to avoid you and you try to stop and start to make the best of the gaps, keeping your tummy and arse tucked in tightly while two buses sandwich you to a hair's breadth... Exiting stuff.
Here a short video generically found on the web.
Here a short video generically found on the web.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Friendly Iran
Before I left Ireland, when I told people I was coming to Iran, the standard response was 'Why?'. Given the generally unfavorable coverage that Iran gets in the media, I suppose this is understandable. In fact, I was a little apprehensive coming here myself. I remember how as soon as I entered into the grounds of the Iranian embassy in Dublin, my heart skipped a beat or two and I was kind of 'on edge'. However, in the past few days, a lot of the prejudices that I had about Iran have been demystified.
I've been speaking to people about what's going on in Iran and there are a lot of varying opinions. First of all, a (very) brief recent history lesson (full lesson here). The Persians have a history going back thousands and thousands of years. It is suggested that the first civilisations began here and much thinking went on here while Europe was still hanging around in the Dark Ages. Persia was ruled by various caliphates (or muslim kings) and then by the somewhat more secular Shah's until 1979. Things were pretty liberal back then, although it could be argued that the shah was a bit of a plonker and tended to spend the country's cash a tad freely. Due primarily to this financial imprudence in '79, religious traditionalists, communists and nationalists all came together to overthrow the shah during the iranian revolution. In the power vacuum that followed, an exiled religious leader, Ayatollah Khomeini, returned to Iran and claimed the country as an islamic republic, imprisoning and killing many of the non-islamic revolutionaries who had helped bring about the Iranian revolution (now retrospectively known as the Islamic revolution by the Iranian government) and founding a nation state where Shia Islam is not only the national religion but infiltrates every aspect of government activities, including the institualisation of sharia law in the judiciary. Directly after the revolution, our mate Saddam Hussein decided to take advantage of the inexperienced new state and make a land grab from Iraq, prompting the very bloody eight-year Iran-Iraq war. Although this war left many dead and wounded, Iran stood its ground and the war solidified the place of the Islamic Republic and the governing council of guardians.
So, back to life in Iran today. So far, all I've seen is Tehran and one must remember that this city of 20 million is the most liberal and progressive part of iranian society. However, life here is quite similar to big European metropoli. Although sharia law is nominally quite strict in certain instances (i.e. stoning for extramarital affairs, death by hanging for sodomy etc.), it should be noted that the sharia punishments are almost never handed down. They are only handed in down if the crime has been committed in conjunction with other serious crimes, i.e. murder or rape. Also, sharia punishments can only be handed down in accordance with sharia methods of proof, some of which are quite amusing. (I.e. sodomy must mean actual penetration as witnessed by four men and the couple involved must remain in their positions while a string is passed between the two bodies... Only if it gets stuck, has sodomy occurred...WTF???).
Also, booze is available over here through delivery men... you just call your local buddy and he passes by your house and drops off a bottle of vodka, to which you add some perfectly legal red bulls and bob's your uncle... Club92!
One of the contacts I had here brought me out for dinner the other night to a restaurant a little outside of Tehran and we had a quality feed and smoked some shisha... but he works for an Iranian private bank and is involved in Islamic banking. Listen to this, under Islamic law, it's illegal to charge interest (it's the same in Christianity actually, but that's one of the little rules that we've forgotten about), so there's this concept of Islamic banking, which buys the house that you're looking to buy with a loan and sells it back to you for more money... i.e. no interest involved whatsoever... click here for more on Islamic banking.
Anyway, what I was trying to say was that everything feels very much normal here... although there are obvious restrictions (my facebook account being one of them), it really ain't all that different.
One major difference is actually a postive one, the Iranians I've met so far have been unbelieveably hospitable. They seem to see unfailing hospitality as a 'duty' or 'responsibility'. I've been taken out for countless dinners and lunches, had teas bought for me, been driven around, been brought to visit different things and generally been treated like a prince by the Iranians I've met so far. They won't let me put my hand in my pocket (even though I am quite insistant) and they always go beyond the call of duty.
The other night I had brought out too little money and was stranded in north Tehran with only enough for a taxi halfway home, and the nicest motorcyclist on the face of the planet gave me a free spin home... twas great...
That's all for now... excuse the slight disjointedness of posting.
C.
I've been speaking to people about what's going on in Iran and there are a lot of varying opinions. First of all, a (very) brief recent history lesson (full lesson here). The Persians have a history going back thousands and thousands of years. It is suggested that the first civilisations began here and much thinking went on here while Europe was still hanging around in the Dark Ages. Persia was ruled by various caliphates (or muslim kings) and then by the somewhat more secular Shah's until 1979. Things were pretty liberal back then, although it could be argued that the shah was a bit of a plonker and tended to spend the country's cash a tad freely. Due primarily to this financial imprudence in '79, religious traditionalists, communists and nationalists all came together to overthrow the shah during the iranian revolution. In the power vacuum that followed, an exiled religious leader, Ayatollah Khomeini, returned to Iran and claimed the country as an islamic republic, imprisoning and killing many of the non-islamic revolutionaries who had helped bring about the Iranian revolution (now retrospectively known as the Islamic revolution by the Iranian government) and founding a nation state where Shia Islam is not only the national religion but infiltrates every aspect of government activities, including the institualisation of sharia law in the judiciary. Directly after the revolution, our mate Saddam Hussein decided to take advantage of the inexperienced new state and make a land grab from Iraq, prompting the very bloody eight-year Iran-Iraq war. Although this war left many dead and wounded, Iran stood its ground and the war solidified the place of the Islamic Republic and the governing council of guardians.
So, back to life in Iran today. So far, all I've seen is Tehran and one must remember that this city of 20 million is the most liberal and progressive part of iranian society. However, life here is quite similar to big European metropoli. Although sharia law is nominally quite strict in certain instances (i.e. stoning for extramarital affairs, death by hanging for sodomy etc.), it should be noted that the sharia punishments are almost never handed down. They are only handed in down if the crime has been committed in conjunction with other serious crimes, i.e. murder or rape. Also, sharia punishments can only be handed down in accordance with sharia methods of proof, some of which are quite amusing. (I.e. sodomy must mean actual penetration as witnessed by four men and the couple involved must remain in their positions while a string is passed between the two bodies... Only if it gets stuck, has sodomy occurred...WTF???).
Also, booze is available over here through delivery men... you just call your local buddy and he passes by your house and drops off a bottle of vodka, to which you add some perfectly legal red bulls and bob's your uncle... Club92!
One of the contacts I had here brought me out for dinner the other night to a restaurant a little outside of Tehran and we had a quality feed and smoked some shisha... but he works for an Iranian private bank and is involved in Islamic banking. Listen to this, under Islamic law, it's illegal to charge interest (it's the same in Christianity actually, but that's one of the little rules that we've forgotten about), so there's this concept of Islamic banking, which buys the house that you're looking to buy with a loan and sells it back to you for more money... i.e. no interest involved whatsoever... click here for more on Islamic banking.
Anyway, what I was trying to say was that everything feels very much normal here... although there are obvious restrictions (my facebook account being one of them), it really ain't all that different.
One major difference is actually a postive one, the Iranians I've met so far have been unbelieveably hospitable. They seem to see unfailing hospitality as a 'duty' or 'responsibility'. I've been taken out for countless dinners and lunches, had teas bought for me, been driven around, been brought to visit different things and generally been treated like a prince by the Iranians I've met so far. They won't let me put my hand in my pocket (even though I am quite insistant) and they always go beyond the call of duty.
The other night I had brought out too little money and was stranded in north Tehran with only enough for a taxi halfway home, and the nicest motorcyclist on the face of the planet gave me a free spin home... twas great...
That's all for now... excuse the slight disjointedness of posting.
C.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Ramadan vs. Atkins...
Just a quick one for yez to let you know that I'm still alive and that I haven't been gunned down by the mujadeen... (I don't even know what the mujadeen are, but they sound ominous!).
So yesterday, I was an exemplary little tourist and did lots of cultural stuff. I got up at cockcrow and went to the Grand Bazaar which was interesting (pretty similar to the one in Istanbul... grand bazaar is grand bazaar). After that you won't believe what I did... you won't feckin' believe it... wait for it... wait for it... yes, I went to a museum! Actually it was more a palace than a museum (the Golestan Palace in fact, click here for Wikipedia link), but it had lots of old shit behind glass cases and lots of drawings so it qualifies as a museum... there was even an etymological museum part of it, with freaky life size mannequins wearing traditional Iranian clothes... freaky shit!
So yesterday, I was an exemplary little tourist and did lots of cultural stuff. I got up at cockcrow and went to the Grand Bazaar which was interesting (pretty similar to the one in Istanbul... grand bazaar is grand bazaar). After that you won't believe what I did... you won't feckin' believe it... wait for it... wait for it... yes, I went to a museum! Actually it was more a palace than a museum (the Golestan Palace in fact, click here for Wikipedia link), but it had lots of old shit behind glass cases and lots of drawings so it qualifies as a museum... there was even an etymological museum part of it, with freaky life size mannequins wearing traditional Iranian clothes... freaky shit!
Not wanting to overload myself with culture, I took the afternoon off and lay in a park reading my book... I also found this deadly little Iranian tea house and I tried 'dizi' for lunch, which is a famous Iranian dish. It's like a stew of mutton, spuds, tomatoes etc. and they serve it to you in a tall and narrow oven fired clay receptacle with a bowl and a pestle... Luckily enough I had read up in my lonely planet about it, so I wasn't baffled by this array of accoutrement.
First of all, you rip up bread and put it into the bowl and then you decant all the broth out of the stew into the bread and you eat that like a soup. That's essentially your starter. The idea is then to get your pestle and to grind the remaining stuff into a paste which you then eat with bread or a spoon and yogurt. So, pestle in hand, Conor starts trying to grind this stuff up... but I fear that I was a little too timid with it and was only really slopping it around the place (like a little girl). An Iranian dude beside me stood up and came over, ripped the pestle out of my hand and proceeded to beat the living bejayzus out of my lunch. He layed into it like a bat out of hell for about five minutes and then presented me with the resulting (very fine) paste for my entree... Mad altogether, but his bird spoke English so we chatted for a bit and I impressed on her my utmost gratification for her bloke having pureed my lunch for me... and we all laughed... hihihihihi!!! Ahhhh, it was very nice altogether...
And then when I went to pay, I think I gave the money to a beggar instead of a waiter and created a big hullabulloo whereby everyone was shouting at the beggar and trying to get the money back off him while I stood by with a slightly bewildered look on my face... Well done Conor you big eejit!
Tomorrow is a big day... it's the first day of Ramadan (Ramazan), the Muslim month of fasting... that's right, you heard me... Conor decided to go to the most frickin' Islamic place on the face of the planet at the most frickin' Islamic time of the year. And so, from tomorrow, no-one eats, drinks (even water) or smokes during daylight hours.. for a month ... and apparently I'm not allowed to either! Well isn't that just brilliant... just frickin' brilliant!!! I don't know what I'm going to do... apparently all the shops, restaurants and anything that might be source of nosh remains closed. Foreigners are supposed to survive by staying in their hotels and eating there, but that is going on the assumption that your hotel is not a hellhole of a cockroach infested piece of cowdung! Anyway... I'm sure I'll survive it somehow... worst case scenario I lose a pound or two (and we all know that wouldn't exactly be Armageddon!).
I bet ya nobodies even reading this... everyone's off in Electric Picnic having a ball while Conor's stuck in tehran awaiting starvation... Anyway, I don't care anymore, I'm off to search for a loo... l8r compadres...
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