Day 88:
I'm sitting in a little restaurant in Shimla: eating, writing postcards and reading an Agatha Christie novel. Listen to how Christie described Tuppence:
"Tuppence has no claim to beauty, but there was character and charm in the elfin lines of her little face, with its determined chin and large wider-apart eyes that looked mistily out from under straight, black brows. She wore a small bright green toque over her black bobbed hair and her extremely short and rather shabby skirt revealed a pair of uncommonly dainty ankles. Her appearance presented a valiant attempt at smartness"
I'm in love!
...
Shimla is a nice place, my favorite so far in India and I am now very happy to be travelling in this country. Thank G-d for that. I've spent my time here with a couple of Swedish guys (both have now left), taking in the sights and eating lots of nice Indian and continental food.
I visited Shimla's monkey temple. The monkeys there, like the monkeys in town are quite vicious, with finding a particular enjoyment in snatching at the glasses of visitors. It's fun, though, to observe them playing in a little pool placed on the temple grounds for their enjoyment. It seems as if the games they play have actual RULES, as they hop from place to place in a sort of ordered fashion. It's also great fun to watch the smallest of monkeys sit on the side of the pool, slowly working up the courage to join in the game.
Shimla has a great post office and I found some really wonderful philatelic stamps there. The bookshops here are also top notch.
Tomorrow morning in Manali.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Day 84, 85, 86
I've escape Chandigarh! I was expecting to stay for a few days, but the temperature was too hot, so I left after one night. I met in the train station dormitory there an English guy who has been living in the city (in the dorm) for a whole month. "Nothing drew me to Chandigarh," he said to me, "I just happened to be in this city when I felt the need to stop moving around so much." The guy hopes to write some travel books, and has the crazy (interesting) idea of buying his own motor-rickshaw and driving all around the country in it.
I left the big-C on a ten a.m. train, switching engines in the tiny town of Kalka. There I boarded a cute little toy train (maybe ten cars, each seating about 30 people) that runs on a narrow gauge up to altitudes of about 2200 meters. The landscape on the train was, as usual, really stunning, with big tall trees unlike what I saw in Tibet and Nepal. Also, India has an overcrowding problem that doesn't exist in those countries, and along the way I spied lots of homes and even cities running up and down the side of the mountains. Quite different from the settlements in the mountains of Tibet, which run along a single street that snakes along the side of the hill.
Here in Shimla about 150 000 residents cling to the side of the mountain in that "up and down" way. It's quite a sight, all those boxy concrete homes on a crowded diagonal incline. The city itself is a treat. The weather is blissfully cool, and in the places I have visited so far there are no touts, no taxis, no rickshaws and no hash dealers. Walking around without any hassles I am reminded of distant China! There are also big fines for littering and spitting in the streets. There are even garbage cans with the words "USE ME" painted on them in neat letters.
But while the streets don't have any annoying PEOPLE wandering them, there are some annoying simians. The town has a monkey problem. Rather brave, sometimes viscous, hundreds of monkeys roam the streets, looking for food and making an occasional grab at a tempting bag or purse. Each night I have spent here I've been woken up by monkeys banging on my windows, trying to get inside. It can actually be a little frightening to be woken up by a crazed monkey...
Humorously enough, the monkeys also terrorize the stray dogs of Shimla, which are almost as common. It's very funny to see a tough, scrappy looking dog cowed by a monkey barring his teeth.
The food here is wonderful, if expensive. I sat in a nice chain coffee shop for a spell, alternately writing in my journal and gawking at the beautiful people passing through for drinks and snacks. Hanging out at yuppie coffee shops is a habit I picked up in Suncheon during that fateful "year two" (really just the last eight months) and is one of the many habits that I hope to kick (along with many feelings, ideas, mannerisms, successes that I will throw over my shoulder). Going to be my old self, you know...
...
Back on the home front, my dear friends X and Y are having a baby! X sent me an e-mail saying "Good news, Mike, you're going to be an uncle! Yahoooo!" This makes me happy... you have no idea.
But back in Korea, Z is feeling really bummed out. This makes me sad, because Z is very important to me.
...
Couple more days in Shimla, and then I press further north.
I've escape Chandigarh! I was expecting to stay for a few days, but the temperature was too hot, so I left after one night. I met in the train station dormitory there an English guy who has been living in the city (in the dorm) for a whole month. "Nothing drew me to Chandigarh," he said to me, "I just happened to be in this city when I felt the need to stop moving around so much." The guy hopes to write some travel books, and has the crazy (interesting) idea of buying his own motor-rickshaw and driving all around the country in it.
I left the big-C on a ten a.m. train, switching engines in the tiny town of Kalka. There I boarded a cute little toy train (maybe ten cars, each seating about 30 people) that runs on a narrow gauge up to altitudes of about 2200 meters. The landscape on the train was, as usual, really stunning, with big tall trees unlike what I saw in Tibet and Nepal. Also, India has an overcrowding problem that doesn't exist in those countries, and along the way I spied lots of homes and even cities running up and down the side of the mountains. Quite different from the settlements in the mountains of Tibet, which run along a single street that snakes along the side of the hill.
Here in Shimla about 150 000 residents cling to the side of the mountain in that "up and down" way. It's quite a sight, all those boxy concrete homes on a crowded diagonal incline. The city itself is a treat. The weather is blissfully cool, and in the places I have visited so far there are no touts, no taxis, no rickshaws and no hash dealers. Walking around without any hassles I am reminded of distant China! There are also big fines for littering and spitting in the streets. There are even garbage cans with the words "USE ME" painted on them in neat letters.
But while the streets don't have any annoying PEOPLE wandering them, there are some annoying simians. The town has a monkey problem. Rather brave, sometimes viscous, hundreds of monkeys roam the streets, looking for food and making an occasional grab at a tempting bag or purse. Each night I have spent here I've been woken up by monkeys banging on my windows, trying to get inside. It can actually be a little frightening to be woken up by a crazed monkey...
Humorously enough, the monkeys also terrorize the stray dogs of Shimla, which are almost as common. It's very funny to see a tough, scrappy looking dog cowed by a monkey barring his teeth.
The food here is wonderful, if expensive. I sat in a nice chain coffee shop for a spell, alternately writing in my journal and gawking at the beautiful people passing through for drinks and snacks. Hanging out at yuppie coffee shops is a habit I picked up in Suncheon during that fateful "year two" (really just the last eight months) and is one of the many habits that I hope to kick (along with many feelings, ideas, mannerisms, successes that I will throw over my shoulder). Going to be my old self, you know...
...
Back on the home front, my dear friends X and Y are having a baby! X sent me an e-mail saying "Good news, Mike, you're going to be an uncle! Yahoooo!" This makes me happy... you have no idea.
But back in Korea, Z is feeling really bummed out. This makes me sad, because Z is very important to me.
...
Couple more days in Shimla, and then I press further north.
Day 83:
Chandigarh, now. It's still hot here, but it's getting to be a little cooler as I move north. The city is not quite as interesting as I thought it might be, but it has some charm. It's still too hot to put in a lot of effort, so I've just done the usual walking tour. This city is fun to walk about. It's a planned town, built on a field of green - from the ground up - by a French architect/city planner in the early 1950s. Fitting the whims of that designer, the city is full of big concrete government buildings ("temples of democracy," they say) and a grid of roads, all intersecting at 90 degree angles and laid out into 40 or so "sectors."
This is a rich town, and a clean town.
I paid a visit to the National Portrait gallery, which houses a display of photographic and textual exhibits depicting the Indian Independence movement from the 1850s to the time of partition. The exhibit includes some delightfully grizzly dioramas, as well as the text of articles written by both Marx and Engels decrying atrocities committed here by the English in the 1850s.
Chandigarh, now. It's still hot here, but it's getting to be a little cooler as I move north. The city is not quite as interesting as I thought it might be, but it has some charm. It's still too hot to put in a lot of effort, so I've just done the usual walking tour. This city is fun to walk about. It's a planned town, built on a field of green - from the ground up - by a French architect/city planner in the early 1950s. Fitting the whims of that designer, the city is full of big concrete government buildings ("temples of democracy," they say) and a grid of roads, all intersecting at 90 degree angles and laid out into 40 or so "sectors."
This is a rich town, and a clean town.
I paid a visit to the National Portrait gallery, which houses a display of photographic and textual exhibits depicting the Indian Independence movement from the 1850s to the time of partition. The exhibit includes some delightfully grizzly dioramas, as well as the text of articles written by both Marx and Engels decrying atrocities committed here by the English in the 1850s.
Day 82:
Another day, another train station. I left Agra on a standing room only ticket, since I was so late booking my passage. I managed to upgrade to a seat after a half hour, though.
I'm heading north now. First to the 1950s planned-city of Chandigarh, and then further north, to Shimla, Manali and Leh - back into the Himalayan mountains. I really, really want to get away from this heat.
I finished reading "On the Road." It's a compelling book. Kerouac takes all the madness and depression and loneliness of being jobless, future less and itinerant in the 40s and blends those things with occasional moments of joy and exuberance. In doing this he seems to create a picture of a life that seems to be ultimately unfufilling, but yet so romantic as to be desirable.
There's a wonderful description of Sal's reasons for being on the road that I've scrawled into my notebook... he's "shambled after... all my life after people who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time..." Well, he goes on for some time, about the people that he loves to be near.
But regardless, maybe life is the same no matter where one is. Kerouac wrote in a diary one time that "all of life is a foreign country."
Hmm.
Another day, another train station. I left Agra on a standing room only ticket, since I was so late booking my passage. I managed to upgrade to a seat after a half hour, though.
I'm heading north now. First to the 1950s planned-city of Chandigarh, and then further north, to Shimla, Manali and Leh - back into the Himalayan mountains. I really, really want to get away from this heat.
I finished reading "On the Road." It's a compelling book. Kerouac takes all the madness and depression and loneliness of being jobless, future less and itinerant in the 40s and blends those things with occasional moments of joy and exuberance. In doing this he seems to create a picture of a life that seems to be ultimately unfufilling, but yet so romantic as to be desirable.
There's a wonderful description of Sal's reasons for being on the road that I've scrawled into my notebook... he's "shambled after... all my life after people who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time..." Well, he goes on for some time, about the people that he loves to be near.
But regardless, maybe life is the same no matter where one is. Kerouac wrote in a diary one time that "all of life is a foreign country."
Hmm.
Day 81:
I visited the Taj Mahal today! It carries a steep twelve buck admission charge, though I suppose it's worth it in a Great Wall/Forbidden City sort of way. Who visits India without taking a peek at the Taj, right?
This massive monument is a visual treat, though that's about all it is; there isn't really any interior access allowed. There are some nicely manicured lawns around the building, and some smaller mosques along the periphery of the thing.
I mailed a package today, as well as a few postcards.
I've decided to beat the heat by heading north, back into the mountains.
This morning I moved to a new hotel. My room resembles a solitary confinement cell from "Prison Break," but my bathroom is outside, on the roof of the building. Good times.
This afternoon I saw a cow kick a stray monkey right in the chest. The monkey, who had it coming, when flying into the air, but walked away on his own two feet.
I visited the Taj Mahal today! It carries a steep twelve buck admission charge, though I suppose it's worth it in a Great Wall/Forbidden City sort of way. Who visits India without taking a peek at the Taj, right?
This massive monument is a visual treat, though that's about all it is; there isn't really any interior access allowed. There are some nicely manicured lawns around the building, and some smaller mosques along the periphery of the thing.
I mailed a package today, as well as a few postcards.
I've decided to beat the heat by heading north, back into the mountains.
This morning I moved to a new hotel. My room resembles a solitary confinement cell from "Prison Break," but my bathroom is outside, on the roof of the building. Good times.
This afternoon I saw a cow kick a stray monkey right in the chest. The monkey, who had it coming, when flying into the air, but walked away on his own two feet.
Day 80:
Here I am in Agra. I'm sleeping in some dirty flop. It's dirty, but it has hot water AND it is cheap, so I can't complain. Well, the light flickers, and the squat toilet sort of smells, and there is noise in the hallway...
I've got a reservation on a cheaper place for tomorrow night.
Agra is home to the famous Taj Mahal, but I haven't visited yet. I'm not in the MOOD. Instead I spent the day writing a letter to J and I did some marathon internet chatting with K. And I called my grandmother, too.
I've gotten the hang of keeping my money inside of my wallet. So that's good. It's nice to say "no" in a sarcastic or mocking way.
The mercury hit forty today. Myself and my clothes are covered in a veneer of sweat because of the humidity. Washing clothes seems to be pointless, because they get smelly mere minutes after being put on. Showering seems similarly pointless. It's a damn good thing I'm travelling solo again.
Here I am in Agra. I'm sleeping in some dirty flop. It's dirty, but it has hot water AND it is cheap, so I can't complain. Well, the light flickers, and the squat toilet sort of smells, and there is noise in the hallway...
I've got a reservation on a cheaper place for tomorrow night.
Agra is home to the famous Taj Mahal, but I haven't visited yet. I'm not in the MOOD. Instead I spent the day writing a letter to J and I did some marathon internet chatting with K. And I called my grandmother, too.
I've gotten the hang of keeping my money inside of my wallet. So that's good. It's nice to say "no" in a sarcastic or mocking way.
The mercury hit forty today. Myself and my clothes are covered in a veneer of sweat because of the humidity. Washing clothes seems to be pointless, because they get smelly mere minutes after being put on. Showering seems similarly pointless. It's a damn good thing I'm travelling solo again.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Day 79:
Weird. I found myself with a free driver and a very nice a/c car today. We drove around alternating between running silly errands (post office, consulate, supplies, bookshop...) and stopping and surreal shops selling carpets and silks, all of which paid my driver a few bucks for putting me through the door. "Look like a proper tourist," he told me before we set off, "bring your camera." It was certainly strange - the staff there all assumed me to be interested in purchasing overpriced carpets and all gave me the hard sell on those, and also on three thousand dollar jewelry. Of course, all of the "Kashmiri" handcrafts they sell for a hundred bucks a pop are available on the streets of Kathmandu for three or four dollars.
I now know (and am trying to forget) all about how carpets are made, all about "knots per square inch," and how many Kashmiri families are employed in the carpet-making racket (thousands). Similarly, I know all about precious stones and semi-precious stones, which are which and how the earth creates them. The jewelry guy at the last shop was a sad little fellow who clearly dropped out of geology program at a local university in order to sell junk to tourists. He spent more time talking about the science behind his wares than about the beauty of them. There was such sorrow in his eyes.
C'est la vie.
In addition to my errands, my driver and I managed to visit a few of Delhi's tourists sights. Our first stop was at Qutub Minar, a mosque complex (historical and ruined... not alive) on the outskirts of the city. It proved a compelling, if dead place, home to India's very first mosque (built in 1193), and a 73 metre tall Afghan style minaret (Turpan's was cooler). The complex also contains some nice gardens.
We later visited a temple of the Baha'i faith, the architecture of which looked rather space-age. I must admit that that religion is a mystery to me - the signage indicated that the faith encompasses all forms of religion as well as science. They've got some nice gardens too, but no benches.
In between our last few silly shop visits we visited Delhi's National Museum. That is a very wonderful sprawling complex of three floors and many interesting exhibits. It contains the usual pottery and ceramic artifacts, but also some neat displays on the history of currency in India, and on fabric making in the country. Getting lost in those corridors I felt a little bit more of that sorrow that's been chasing me around these past few weeks - I thought of a visit to the sprawling AGNS with L sometime ago, before that relationship got all topsy-turvy.
I left the museum around five and headed over to the main post office. I found there a letter from J sent to me Poste Restante a few weeks ago, the second of her letters to find me since I started travelling. I'm madly in love with both letters and with J, and so reading it really chased AWAY the sorrow for a bit.
Later on I booked a train ticket OUT of this town. On to Agra and the Taj Mahal tomorrow afternoon.
Weird. I found myself with a free driver and a very nice a/c car today. We drove around alternating between running silly errands (post office, consulate, supplies, bookshop...) and stopping and surreal shops selling carpets and silks, all of which paid my driver a few bucks for putting me through the door. "Look like a proper tourist," he told me before we set off, "bring your camera." It was certainly strange - the staff there all assumed me to be interested in purchasing overpriced carpets and all gave me the hard sell on those, and also on three thousand dollar jewelry. Of course, all of the "Kashmiri" handcrafts they sell for a hundred bucks a pop are available on the streets of Kathmandu for three or four dollars.
I now know (and am trying to forget) all about how carpets are made, all about "knots per square inch," and how many Kashmiri families are employed in the carpet-making racket (thousands). Similarly, I know all about precious stones and semi-precious stones, which are which and how the earth creates them. The jewelry guy at the last shop was a sad little fellow who clearly dropped out of geology program at a local university in order to sell junk to tourists. He spent more time talking about the science behind his wares than about the beauty of them. There was such sorrow in his eyes.
C'est la vie.
In addition to my errands, my driver and I managed to visit a few of Delhi's tourists sights. Our first stop was at Qutub Minar, a mosque complex (historical and ruined... not alive) on the outskirts of the city. It proved a compelling, if dead place, home to India's very first mosque (built in 1193), and a 73 metre tall Afghan style minaret (Turpan's was cooler). The complex also contains some nice gardens.
We later visited a temple of the Baha'i faith, the architecture of which looked rather space-age. I must admit that that religion is a mystery to me - the signage indicated that the faith encompasses all forms of religion as well as science. They've got some nice gardens too, but no benches.
In between our last few silly shop visits we visited Delhi's National Museum. That is a very wonderful sprawling complex of three floors and many interesting exhibits. It contains the usual pottery and ceramic artifacts, but also some neat displays on the history of currency in India, and on fabric making in the country. Getting lost in those corridors I felt a little bit more of that sorrow that's been chasing me around these past few weeks - I thought of a visit to the sprawling AGNS with L sometime ago, before that relationship got all topsy-turvy.
I left the museum around five and headed over to the main post office. I found there a letter from J sent to me Poste Restante a few weeks ago, the second of her letters to find me since I started travelling. I'm madly in love with both letters and with J, and so reading it really chased AWAY the sorrow for a bit.
Later on I booked a train ticket OUT of this town. On to Agra and the Taj Mahal tomorrow afternoon.
Day 78:
"Lucille would never understand me because I like too many things and get all confused running from one falling star to another until I drop" (120).
I've been feeling very sad lately. Back in the bad old days I once said "I don't really suffer from depression. See, I'm sad for really good reasons." Over the last few days and weeks I've been chased by some sort of sorrow and I don't know what's fueling it. But it's only been for a week or two. Surely it will pass. Or maybe it's just an effect of reading Kerouac's stuff; "On the Road" is ultimately a very sad, very lonely book.
...
I think I'm getting the hang of India. It helps to be dominant and sort of "alpha" when some idiot is making a play for your money. A rickshaw guy asked me for 150 rupees to get me to my hostel last night and I was comfortable in saying something to the effect of "that's fucking insane... I can get across the whole city for that amount. Take fifty or nothing." Cheerfully, I told him he was lying when he told me later that his meter was broken and offered him sixty rupees.
And so on...
See, this is what the tourist to India does. So much financial bullshit. I'm happy that I started this India thing in Varanasi, which is so much more intense than Delhi, and so gave me an early warning of the nonsense in the capital.
...
A lot of my hatred of India has recently been transferred to that other most odious nation - Canada. Getting a new passport has proven to be a complicated and costly endeavour. My application requires that I supply FOUR references, and that I have my application stamped by a local notary public, in addition to handing over the usual photographs and wad of cash. You know, Americans don't have such difficult requirements, and they can also get extra pages taped into the passport when the document is all filled up.
Damn it.
Oh, when I was going to the theatre, a taxi driver offered to take me there free if I first agreed to spend ten minutes at a couple of silk shops. So I did, and he really did take me there after pocketing some commission money for getting me in the door. Such a stupid scam, but I guess if you can't beat 'em, you can only join 'em...
...
Anyways, India could be good. It could be a real kick. I've lost a lot of my inhibitions about dealing with the unequal social and financial exchange that is a big part of travelling in the third world. Knowing that everyone is trying to rip me off, I no longer have any problems fighting to get the "local price." I could be doing more to benefit the local populace... but spending and spending and spending... but the local populace is so fucking adversarial.
Uhm, so I'm going to stop blogging about cab fare now. Sorry. And about money, also. Sorry.
...
I'm sleeping in some dormitory near the local diplomatic enclave. It's a nice little flop used mostly by domestic tourists. The last foreigner came here three days ago, according to the guest register. I'll stick around here for a few days as I fight for my new passport, but there is probably a better place deeper into the city.
"Lucille would never understand me because I like too many things and get all confused running from one falling star to another until I drop" (120).
I've been feeling very sad lately. Back in the bad old days I once said "I don't really suffer from depression. See, I'm sad for really good reasons." Over the last few days and weeks I've been chased by some sort of sorrow and I don't know what's fueling it. But it's only been for a week or two. Surely it will pass. Or maybe it's just an effect of reading Kerouac's stuff; "On the Road" is ultimately a very sad, very lonely book.
...
I think I'm getting the hang of India. It helps to be dominant and sort of "alpha" when some idiot is making a play for your money. A rickshaw guy asked me for 150 rupees to get me to my hostel last night and I was comfortable in saying something to the effect of "that's fucking insane... I can get across the whole city for that amount. Take fifty or nothing." Cheerfully, I told him he was lying when he told me later that his meter was broken and offered him sixty rupees.
And so on...
See, this is what the tourist to India does. So much financial bullshit. I'm happy that I started this India thing in Varanasi, which is so much more intense than Delhi, and so gave me an early warning of the nonsense in the capital.
...
A lot of my hatred of India has recently been transferred to that other most odious nation - Canada. Getting a new passport has proven to be a complicated and costly endeavour. My application requires that I supply FOUR references, and that I have my application stamped by a local notary public, in addition to handing over the usual photographs and wad of cash. You know, Americans don't have such difficult requirements, and they can also get extra pages taped into the passport when the document is all filled up.
Damn it.
Oh, when I was going to the theatre, a taxi driver offered to take me there free if I first agreed to spend ten minutes at a couple of silk shops. So I did, and he really did take me there after pocketing some commission money for getting me in the door. Such a stupid scam, but I guess if you can't beat 'em, you can only join 'em...
...
Anyways, India could be good. It could be a real kick. I've lost a lot of my inhibitions about dealing with the unequal social and financial exchange that is a big part of travelling in the third world. Knowing that everyone is trying to rip me off, I no longer have any problems fighting to get the "local price." I could be doing more to benefit the local populace... but spending and spending and spending... but the local populace is so fucking adversarial.
Uhm, so I'm going to stop blogging about cab fare now. Sorry. And about money, also. Sorry.
...
I'm sleeping in some dormitory near the local diplomatic enclave. It's a nice little flop used mostly by domestic tourists. The last foreigner came here three days ago, according to the guest register. I'll stick around here for a few days as I fight for my new passport, but there is probably a better place deeper into the city.
Day 77:
I'm in Sarnath, just north of Varnasi, and the place where Buddha have his first "sermon" to his disciples. I'm in a park, and there's a pack of Korean tourists to my left having a singalong. A few moments ago they performed a fan dance of some sort. Man, Korean tourists - as I have said - are such a delightful sort. They are so charming and ridiculous. Almost as much as the average Canadian backpacker. The Korean tourists can do no wrong, and the Indian visitors to this park are in awe of this group of madmen and women. I think it will take some time to shake lose the Korean sojourn from my consciousness. I feel like I'm "in the club," or more accurately "in on the joke."
I'll head back to Varanasi this evening. Shortly thereafter I'll catch a train to Delhi. Varanasi is, without a doubt, the most horrible place I've ever visited. One simple CANNOT find a moment of tranquility there, which is odd considering that Varanasi is one of the holiest cities in all of India. The only quiet time is spent locked inside of a hotel room, and even that is a tenuous proposition considering how many times someone has knocked on my door to "sweep up" for a few rupees gratuity.
As I sat at the ghats (places along the Ganges river to bathe and to cremate bodies) a particularly annoying guy sat down beside me trying to sell me on a tour of the area. His pitch was thirty minutes long, and when he got to the part about "showing the burning bodies" he included such patter as "burning and learning... cremation education!" The dude wouldn't go away, and I really wanted to smack him and point out that he was in a holy place. But that's not for me to say.
Even my driver on this side trip to Sarnath has been making desperate lunges at my wallet. I had to firmly request that his "friend" NOT "explain Buddhism" to me in Sarnath in exchange for a donation to his "charity."
...
Now the Koreans have moved on, and so I shall pack up my things and do the same.
...
Delhi tomorrow morning.
I'm in Sarnath, just north of Varnasi, and the place where Buddha have his first "sermon" to his disciples. I'm in a park, and there's a pack of Korean tourists to my left having a singalong. A few moments ago they performed a fan dance of some sort. Man, Korean tourists - as I have said - are such a delightful sort. They are so charming and ridiculous. Almost as much as the average Canadian backpacker. The Korean tourists can do no wrong, and the Indian visitors to this park are in awe of this group of madmen and women. I think it will take some time to shake lose the Korean sojourn from my consciousness. I feel like I'm "in the club," or more accurately "in on the joke."
I'll head back to Varanasi this evening. Shortly thereafter I'll catch a train to Delhi. Varanasi is, without a doubt, the most horrible place I've ever visited. One simple CANNOT find a moment of tranquility there, which is odd considering that Varanasi is one of the holiest cities in all of India. The only quiet time is spent locked inside of a hotel room, and even that is a tenuous proposition considering how many times someone has knocked on my door to "sweep up" for a few rupees gratuity.
As I sat at the ghats (places along the Ganges river to bathe and to cremate bodies) a particularly annoying guy sat down beside me trying to sell me on a tour of the area. His pitch was thirty minutes long, and when he got to the part about "showing the burning bodies" he included such patter as "burning and learning... cremation education!" The dude wouldn't go away, and I really wanted to smack him and point out that he was in a holy place. But that's not for me to say.
Even my driver on this side trip to Sarnath has been making desperate lunges at my wallet. I had to firmly request that his "friend" NOT "explain Buddhism" to me in Sarnath in exchange for a donation to his "charity."
...
Now the Koreans have moved on, and so I shall pack up my things and do the same.
...
Delhi tomorrow morning.
Day 76:
I've been reading "On the Road" lately. Ginsberg's "Howl and Other Poems" has been in my kit on every voyage I've taken in the past few years (including Korea), but strangely enough I've never bothered to check out the stories of his good buddy Jack Kerouac. Odd, that.
In the dedication to that book, he says that Kerouac "spit forth intelligence into eleven books... creating a spontaneous bop prosody and original classic literature" (3).
Kerouac's book makes my heart ache. Here I am travelling across Asia, when 50 years ago, Kerouac told everyone quite clearly that the REAL action is in North America. Back in Korea, M spoke often about going to England and Australia on a working holidaymaker visa... spending nights at hostels and days working various odd jobs. How romantic would it be to do that in Canada or America? Impossible because of all of our rules and regulations regarding work and employment, I'm sure, but it FEELS easy enough... moving from town to town by greyhound. Hostels are cheap, you know?
But it's impossible. A contemporary "On the Road" is rendered impossible by the trappings of twenty-first century government and bureaucracy. C'est la vie.
And, of course, I haven't actually finished the book, so maybe it's not quite so romantic as it is presented in the opening few chapters.
Interestingly enough, travelling in Asia makes voyaging in Canada and American seem a little bit easier that it would have seemed in the past. Rough sleeping, either in a dirty hotel or on a train station bench is no longer so intimidating, and fifteen hour bus rides are no longer such a hassle. Wandering around all night a la "Before Sunrise" in an American city instead of paying for a hotel seems quite safe and a smart idea, now. And going three weeks wearing the same clothes every day? No problem!
Anyways, I really want to see Canada. I want to see Nova Scotia, which is a place that is quite foreign to me, actually. I want to "go west." I want to visit friends. I want to count my final dollars.
What I want, desperately, is to have a job.
Sarnath, shortly. Then Delhi.
I've been reading "On the Road" lately. Ginsberg's "Howl and Other Poems" has been in my kit on every voyage I've taken in the past few years (including Korea), but strangely enough I've never bothered to check out the stories of his good buddy Jack Kerouac. Odd, that.
In the dedication to that book, he says that Kerouac "spit forth intelligence into eleven books... creating a spontaneous bop prosody and original classic literature" (3).
Kerouac's book makes my heart ache. Here I am travelling across Asia, when 50 years ago, Kerouac told everyone quite clearly that the REAL action is in North America. Back in Korea, M spoke often about going to England and Australia on a working holidaymaker visa... spending nights at hostels and days working various odd jobs. How romantic would it be to do that in Canada or America? Impossible because of all of our rules and regulations regarding work and employment, I'm sure, but it FEELS easy enough... moving from town to town by greyhound. Hostels are cheap, you know?
But it's impossible. A contemporary "On the Road" is rendered impossible by the trappings of twenty-first century government and bureaucracy. C'est la vie.
And, of course, I haven't actually finished the book, so maybe it's not quite so romantic as it is presented in the opening few chapters.
Interestingly enough, travelling in Asia makes voyaging in Canada and American seem a little bit easier that it would have seemed in the past. Rough sleeping, either in a dirty hotel or on a train station bench is no longer so intimidating, and fifteen hour bus rides are no longer such a hassle. Wandering around all night a la "Before Sunrise" in an American city instead of paying for a hotel seems quite safe and a smart idea, now. And going three weeks wearing the same clothes every day? No problem!
Anyways, I really want to see Canada. I want to see Nova Scotia, which is a place that is quite foreign to me, actually. I want to "go west." I want to visit friends. I want to count my final dollars.
What I want, desperately, is to have a job.
Sarnath, shortly. Then Delhi.
Day 75:
They say that with India, you either love it or hate it. I don't think it's quite like that. For me, one moment I hate it, and then a few moments later I love it.
The bicycle-rickshaw guys are annoying, the guys selling silks on the streets are annoying... but every so often someone is NICE, helpful, or even charming as they go about the business of making some money off of the passing tourists. When this happens the general annoyance I feel with this place washes away. Of course, the hate comes back a few moments later.
Hate, hate, hate, love, hate, hate, hate, hate, love, hate.......
One particular peeve I have is how the walking guy is constantly asked something to the effect of "what are you looking for?" No matter what one says - even "nothing at all" - the questioner will saddle up beside with directions to some shop, or a spiel about some silly product they are selling. Fuuuck.
In Varanasi, the walking guy has literally one request on his money every five minutes. This ain't a good place for the traveller who likes to stroll just for the heck of it. And as the previous 50 entries in this thing suggest, I'm a guy who likes to stroll...
So Varanasi has lots of cows. Cows in the streets, cows in the alleyways, cows all over. It's sacrilegious to kill a cow, and I guess Indian people really like cows. Accordingly, cows wander freely in the streets, all over the city.
They say that with India, you either love it or hate it. I don't think it's quite like that. For me, one moment I hate it, and then a few moments later I love it.
The bicycle-rickshaw guys are annoying, the guys selling silks on the streets are annoying... but every so often someone is NICE, helpful, or even charming as they go about the business of making some money off of the passing tourists. When this happens the general annoyance I feel with this place washes away. Of course, the hate comes back a few moments later.
Hate, hate, hate, love, hate, hate, hate, hate, love, hate.......
One particular peeve I have is how the walking guy is constantly asked something to the effect of "what are you looking for?" No matter what one says - even "nothing at all" - the questioner will saddle up beside with directions to some shop, or a spiel about some silly product they are selling. Fuuuck.
In Varanasi, the walking guy has literally one request on his money every five minutes. This ain't a good place for the traveller who likes to stroll just for the heck of it. And as the previous 50 entries in this thing suggest, I'm a guy who likes to stroll...
So Varanasi has lots of cows. Cows in the streets, cows in the alleyways, cows all over. It's sacrilegious to kill a cow, and I guess Indian people really like cows. Accordingly, cows wander freely in the streets, all over the city.
Monday, July 16, 2007
Day 74:
I remember at the beginning of this trip, back in Samcheock, I was so shy about asking the adjuma pimp running my hotel to give me a five dollar discount.
Funny.
I'm in India now, and the whole tourism industry exists only to extract money from travellers as quickly as possible. I'm steeling myself. I'm not looking forward to what it will be like to be in Varanasi or Delhi. China has a bit of that, Nepal has even more. India, it seems, has a hundred times as much money-related bullshit as Nepal.
It's amazing what I can now, compared to what took a lot of courage back in Samcheok. When the rickshaw guy at the border changed both his price and his currency at the end of our ride I was confident enough to tell him that he would take what I was offering, or he would take nothing at all.
(And in between the last two paragraphs, I was comfortable letting lose a stream of expletives to the guy who sold me a bus ticket for a bus that he now says will not arrive... no refund)
So the latest news? I'm in some nasty border town between Nepal and India. I overpaid for a package to get me from Pokhara to Varanasi, and I'm about halfway there. I waited an hour for that aforementioned bus, with the guys insisting that it would come "in a few more minutes." Eventually they said it wouldn't come because they didn't sell enough tickets, and then told me to go buy a ticket for the local bus. And here I am on a crowded local bus... it rather resembles an American prison bus....
...Thank G-d for my earplugs.
I remember at the beginning of this trip, back in Samcheock, I was so shy about asking the adjuma pimp running my hotel to give me a five dollar discount.
Funny.
I'm in India now, and the whole tourism industry exists only to extract money from travellers as quickly as possible. I'm steeling myself. I'm not looking forward to what it will be like to be in Varanasi or Delhi. China has a bit of that, Nepal has even more. India, it seems, has a hundred times as much money-related bullshit as Nepal.
It's amazing what I can now, compared to what took a lot of courage back in Samcheok. When the rickshaw guy at the border changed both his price and his currency at the end of our ride I was confident enough to tell him that he would take what I was offering, or he would take nothing at all.
(And in between the last two paragraphs, I was comfortable letting lose a stream of expletives to the guy who sold me a bus ticket for a bus that he now says will not arrive... no refund)
So the latest news? I'm in some nasty border town between Nepal and India. I overpaid for a package to get me from Pokhara to Varanasi, and I'm about halfway there. I waited an hour for that aforementioned bus, with the guys insisting that it would come "in a few more minutes." Eventually they said it wouldn't come because they didn't sell enough tickets, and then told me to go buy a ticket for the local bus. And here I am on a crowded local bus... it rather resembles an American prison bus....
...Thank G-d for my earplugs.
Day 73
Still feeling a bit anxious. I've got some unanswered questions. India remains a bit of a sore point... I think I'll just go to Delhi and get a new passport, since my current passport is just about out of pages. But that's a motherfucker: It will take three weeks to be printed, at least, and I will have to pay $105 for the thing. And I have to have some photos taken, I have to adjust my itinerary to pick it up, I have to get some references... and worst of all I have to travel without a passport for three weeks.
And I don't know how long I will stay on the subcontinent. I know that I really ought to leave India sometime around August 14. It seems that I can enter Pakistan around that date, and stick around for a month after I enter. But honestly, I have NO IDEA how the Pakistani visa really works. I might get 30 days of stay following my entry, while I might have to exit on August 14, no matter WHEN I enter. The latter possibility would really force me to move fast, if true, while the former would allow me to stick around that particular war zone until the middle of September. But do I want to be in such a horrible place for a whole month?
And what happens after Pakistan. I have been denied entry to Iran, with no hope of appeal. So my overland trek will have to end in Islamabad. One possibility is to fly to Bahrain, which is a hub for flights heading to Europe and the middle east. And if I take a short layover in that city, I can actually save a few bucks on a flight to Turkey or to the continent.
But where can I connect to? I would want to get back on land as soon as possible, so I could fly to either Istanbul (the original plan for post-Iran travel), or even to Cairo, and work my way up to Europe by land or sea.
Europe, meanwhile, is not a real destination for me. When I get there I plan to visit a friend in Paris, and to take a cheap Thomas Cook flight to Halifax from London.
Anyways... I'm still in Pokhara. I've leaving to India first thing tomorrow morning. I wish I could stay here for a bit longer, since it's a really great "hangout" (like Kathmandu, but cleaner). And while food/Internet/supplies are more expensive than in the Big-K, my hotel is pretty cheap, and stuff away from the backpacker ghetto is quite affordable.
Still feeling a bit anxious. I've got some unanswered questions. India remains a bit of a sore point... I think I'll just go to Delhi and get a new passport, since my current passport is just about out of pages. But that's a motherfucker: It will take three weeks to be printed, at least, and I will have to pay $105 for the thing. And I have to have some photos taken, I have to adjust my itinerary to pick it up, I have to get some references... and worst of all I have to travel without a passport for three weeks.
And I don't know how long I will stay on the subcontinent. I know that I really ought to leave India sometime around August 14. It seems that I can enter Pakistan around that date, and stick around for a month after I enter. But honestly, I have NO IDEA how the Pakistani visa really works. I might get 30 days of stay following my entry, while I might have to exit on August 14, no matter WHEN I enter. The latter possibility would really force me to move fast, if true, while the former would allow me to stick around that particular war zone until the middle of September. But do I want to be in such a horrible place for a whole month?
And what happens after Pakistan. I have been denied entry to Iran, with no hope of appeal. So my overland trek will have to end in Islamabad. One possibility is to fly to Bahrain, which is a hub for flights heading to Europe and the middle east. And if I take a short layover in that city, I can actually save a few bucks on a flight to Turkey or to the continent.
But where can I connect to? I would want to get back on land as soon as possible, so I could fly to either Istanbul (the original plan for post-Iran travel), or even to Cairo, and work my way up to Europe by land or sea.
Europe, meanwhile, is not a real destination for me. When I get there I plan to visit a friend in Paris, and to take a cheap Thomas Cook flight to Halifax from London.
Anyways... I'm still in Pokhara. I've leaving to India first thing tomorrow morning. I wish I could stay here for a bit longer, since it's a really great "hangout" (like Kathmandu, but cleaner). And while food/Internet/supplies are more expensive than in the Big-K, my hotel is pretty cheap, and stuff away from the backpacker ghetto is quite affordable.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Day 72:
I'm feeling very anxious today.
Earlier, as I walked down Pokhara's main strip, I got the peculiar impression that I was walking past the same group of Japanese cyclists over and over again. I got the impression that everyone in the city was Japanese.
...
backpackers belong to a sort of scene. A sort of subculture, I guess. If you don't fit into the scene in the right way, people can be apprehensive and mean. That sort of sucks.
I'm feeling very anxious today.
Earlier, as I walked down Pokhara's main strip, I got the peculiar impression that I was walking past the same group of Japanese cyclists over and over again. I got the impression that everyone in the city was Japanese.
...
backpackers belong to a sort of scene. A sort of subculture, I guess. If you don't fit into the scene in the right way, people can be apprehensive and mean. That sort of sucks.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Day 71:
Seven hours spent on the bus has left N and R and myself in the city of Pokhara. Pokhara is a soothing respite from the honking car horns of Kathmandu. It's still a very touristed place, but with fewer touts, rickshaw drivers, souvenir vendors and hash dealers per square kilometer.
N and I walked around the main strip for a few hours and took a little rowboat trip to an island temple in the middle of this town's beautiful lake.
Now, an early night.
Seven hours spent on the bus has left N and R and myself in the city of Pokhara. Pokhara is a soothing respite from the honking car horns of Kathmandu. It's still a very touristed place, but with fewer touts, rickshaw drivers, souvenir vendors and hash dealers per square kilometer.
N and I walked around the main strip for a few hours and took a little rowboat trip to an island temple in the middle of this town's beautiful lake.
Now, an early night.
Day 70
Seventy days! It's the beginning of July...
.....
There was a certain toothless old man at the Indian embassy. A real old dude with a shock of white hair, no shoes and an American passport. He said to me:
"What's the news from Baghdad?"
I didn't know how to answer such a perfect question. Such a great "old salt" question from such a perfect old man. That's the sort of old man I hope to be, if I must be an old man sometime.
Today was my last day in Kathmandu. Not too much to report. I bought the last of my needed supplies and packed up my bag. Looking for some kitchy fun, R and I spent a few hours at the "Casino Royale," a rather charmless casino in the Indian part of town. We were hoping for a place with 25 cent blackjack hands, but were disappointed to find a place with a three dollar minimum and lots of Indian high rollers.
Lots of short skirts, though.
In contrast to the shelpy madness of Thamel, the main backpacker hangout, the area where Indian tourists hang out is very classy, calm and subdued. Backpacker hotel rooms cost about six bucks for a double, while beds for the Indians cost about ninety for a single. eeep.
I forgot to mention in yesterday's entry that N and I visited "Freak Street," which was the original hippie locale (backpackers have since moved to Thamel district) in the 60s and 70s. The place is a quieter alternative to the hustle and bustle of Thamel. It's empty now, but some old business linger on - we walked around one guesthouse that has been in operation since 1960. That place had a lot of history in it's musty rooms and shabby walls. I brought me back to the first places I stayed at, that out of fashion backpackers hostel way back in Gyeongju, Korea... thirty years ago a first-class hangout, but now just a shabby shadow of it's former self.
Seventy days! It's the beginning of July...
.....
There was a certain toothless old man at the Indian embassy. A real old dude with a shock of white hair, no shoes and an American passport. He said to me:
"What's the news from Baghdad?"
I didn't know how to answer such a perfect question. Such a great "old salt" question from such a perfect old man. That's the sort of old man I hope to be, if I must be an old man sometime.
Today was my last day in Kathmandu. Not too much to report. I bought the last of my needed supplies and packed up my bag. Looking for some kitchy fun, R and I spent a few hours at the "Casino Royale," a rather charmless casino in the Indian part of town. We were hoping for a place with 25 cent blackjack hands, but were disappointed to find a place with a three dollar minimum and lots of Indian high rollers.
Lots of short skirts, though.
In contrast to the shelpy madness of Thamel, the main backpacker hangout, the area where Indian tourists hang out is very classy, calm and subdued. Backpacker hotel rooms cost about six bucks for a double, while beds for the Indians cost about ninety for a single. eeep.
I forgot to mention in yesterday's entry that N and I visited "Freak Street," which was the original hippie locale (backpackers have since moved to Thamel district) in the 60s and 70s. The place is a quieter alternative to the hustle and bustle of Thamel. It's empty now, but some old business linger on - we walked around one guesthouse that has been in operation since 1960. That place had a lot of history in it's musty rooms and shabby walls. I brought me back to the first places I stayed at, that out of fashion backpackers hostel way back in Gyeongju, Korea... thirty years ago a first-class hangout, but now just a shabby shadow of it's former self.
Day 67, 68, 69
I've been in Kathmandu for a week now. I've been hanging out with R. He's a cool guy, and we share a similar approach to the world and to travelling which makes spending time together east. We spend a lot of time chatting about current events and the world political scene. Good times.
So, Kathmandu:
A lot of my time here has been spent organizing for the next few months. Procuring an Indian visa took four days, while shopping for some supplies filled up a fifth day. But Kathmandu is a good city for that sort of thing. The city was, at one point, the ultimate hippie destination. The hippies have all since departed (most of 'em anyways... one still finds the occasional zoned-out graybeard walking a dog around Thamel...), but the city is still a "hang out" city Food and lodgings are cheaper here than anywhere else, and the souvenirs are pretty cheap too. The mood on the street is not one that encourages the tourist to get out and see some VERY IMPORTANT SIGHT, but rather one that encourages chilling out.
The touts touts and hawkers here are a tad obnoxious however. Particularly the "shady" drug pushers. But they can be funny, too. When I turned down one guy who offered hash, heroin and cocaine he gave me a determined look before suggesting I buy some crack.
Who comes to Kathmandu to buy crack?
The streets are wonderful here. The whole city is a bit of a maze of alleyways and bazaars. Maps are rather useless. The dirty streets twist and turn, while the low rise brick buildings on either side seem to lean in towards each other, blocking out the sun. The roads themselves are a wonderfully congested mess of pedestrians, bicycle rickshaws and a few motorcycles. The usual street vendors conduct business at all hours, and all over the city are small mandalas and temples, both of the Hindu and Buddhist type.
And the sounds... oh... the car horns... the honking of the car horns.... it's an endless cacophony. But it's not just cars... the rickshaw drivers are constantly ringing bells or their own homemade horns (something about a plastic bottle). Everyone is constantly making some sort of "get out of the way" type sound. It's a noisy city!
...
With my whole Tibetan group I visited Katmandu's famous Monkey Temple. Not much to report - it's a vaguely Tibetan style temple. With monkeys. Sort of neat. Later, with N, I visited Katmandu's Durbar Square, a central area containing many small temples and things of that sort. Sort of neat, also, but sort of incomprehensible.
I think it's time I moved on to investigating a new religion. Maybe Scientology?
What else? Lots of wandering with R. Lots of walking and talking. I find that sort of thing delightful. The two of us managed to sample lots of cheap street food while walking. I dig that, also. Today we spent an hour or so at a sheesha bar, smoking, talking and eating.
This reminds me: R spent time in Cairo studying Arabic. Sheesha became a great past time of his. And my great pastime from MY time overseas? Eating Korean dol-sot bimbmbap. There's a fine Korean restaurant in this town, and I've visited three times already.
Daily updates again soon. I hope.
I've been in Kathmandu for a week now. I've been hanging out with R. He's a cool guy, and we share a similar approach to the world and to travelling which makes spending time together east. We spend a lot of time chatting about current events and the world political scene. Good times.
So, Kathmandu:
A lot of my time here has been spent organizing for the next few months. Procuring an Indian visa took four days, while shopping for some supplies filled up a fifth day. But Kathmandu is a good city for that sort of thing. The city was, at one point, the ultimate hippie destination. The hippies have all since departed (most of 'em anyways... one still finds the occasional zoned-out graybeard walking a dog around Thamel...), but the city is still a "hang out" city Food and lodgings are cheaper here than anywhere else, and the souvenirs are pretty cheap too. The mood on the street is not one that encourages the tourist to get out and see some VERY IMPORTANT SIGHT, but rather one that encourages chilling out.
The touts touts and hawkers here are a tad obnoxious however. Particularly the "shady" drug pushers. But they can be funny, too. When I turned down one guy who offered hash, heroin and cocaine he gave me a determined look before suggesting I buy some crack.
Who comes to Kathmandu to buy crack?
The streets are wonderful here. The whole city is a bit of a maze of alleyways and bazaars. Maps are rather useless. The dirty streets twist and turn, while the low rise brick buildings on either side seem to lean in towards each other, blocking out the sun. The roads themselves are a wonderfully congested mess of pedestrians, bicycle rickshaws and a few motorcycles. The usual street vendors conduct business at all hours, and all over the city are small mandalas and temples, both of the Hindu and Buddhist type.
And the sounds... oh... the car horns... the honking of the car horns.... it's an endless cacophony. But it's not just cars... the rickshaw drivers are constantly ringing bells or their own homemade horns (something about a plastic bottle). Everyone is constantly making some sort of "get out of the way" type sound. It's a noisy city!
...
With my whole Tibetan group I visited Katmandu's famous Monkey Temple. Not much to report - it's a vaguely Tibetan style temple. With monkeys. Sort of neat. Later, with N, I visited Katmandu's Durbar Square, a central area containing many small temples and things of that sort. Sort of neat, also, but sort of incomprehensible.
I think it's time I moved on to investigating a new religion. Maybe Scientology?
What else? Lots of wandering with R. Lots of walking and talking. I find that sort of thing delightful. The two of us managed to sample lots of cheap street food while walking. I dig that, also. Today we spent an hour or so at a sheesha bar, smoking, talking and eating.
This reminds me: R spent time in Cairo studying Arabic. Sheesha became a great past time of his. And my great pastime from MY time overseas? Eating Korean dol-sot bimbmbap. There's a fine Korean restaurant in this town, and I've visited three times already.
Daily updates again soon. I hope.
Day 64, 65, 66
Okay, so its the twenty-seventh now, and I'm in Kathmandu, but since this journal is getting behind, I'm actually trying to write about what went down last week.
So, last week I was in the Tibetan countryside. Myself and my five new friends piled into a minibus around 8:00 one Monday morning and set off, with a driver and guide along for the ride.
The company was nice. But really, as a trip, the whole thing might have been a little ho-hum. We visited three monasteries over the first few days. They were nice, but all of the temples and monasteries sort of blend together after awhile. And also, the whole temple experience is tainted by the obnoxious presence of touts and hawkers at the entrances... and also by the exorbitant admission prices charged by the Chinese regime.
We drove along the "friendship highway" to Nepal, with the border to that country being our ultimate destination. Along the way we visited a few nice towns. Tibet seems to be an empty place, and most of the settlements inside the territory are quite small. Many are just one street, with homes and shops built along that street in a straight line that stretches for a kilometer or two with expanses of crumbling highway plugging into each end. Restaurants in these places are a treat, each looking rather identical to the last (dirty, with big padded seating along the walls) and with identical menu items (noodles, fried greens and rice with egg).
After a few days of driving through the small towns and monasteries we hit the big time - Mount Everest Base Camp. The clouds parted long enough for us to snap a few pictures, and also long enough to give our group ample time to gawk at the awesomeness of that 8800 meter peak, which is made more impressive by the fact that the mountains on either side reach almost as high.
P,D and N decided to spend the night in a hotel near the camp, while O,R and myself stomped four kilometers uphill to reach the "camp" (really a tourist trap of sorts, since the climbing season is long over), at an elevation of 5200 meters. There we spent a very cold night sleeping in a tent hotel dubbed "Hotel California" by its operators.
And that was sort of the end of out journey. The next day we spent a good 15 hours on the road pushing through the town of Zeungmu, the last stop on the Friendship Highway. The last three hours were a harrowing trip around the side of a mountain on a road where a skid a few meters to one side would result in a 3000 meter fall down a sheer cliff. This drive we made through the dark, through the fog and through enough mud to require us to get out and lay down rocks and branches to make a road, at one point. I was more than a little scared of dying, so I passed my Beatles CD to the driver and we twisted and turned along the mountain side while singing along (bravely) to "I want to Hold Your Hand."
After getting through THAT, we spent one night in Zeungmu, I made a trip to the post office to send some final Tibetan postcards and we walked down to the Nepalese border post.
Next time: Kathmandu!
Okay, so its the twenty-seventh now, and I'm in Kathmandu, but since this journal is getting behind, I'm actually trying to write about what went down last week.
So, last week I was in the Tibetan countryside. Myself and my five new friends piled into a minibus around 8:00 one Monday morning and set off, with a driver and guide along for the ride.
The company was nice. But really, as a trip, the whole thing might have been a little ho-hum. We visited three monasteries over the first few days. They were nice, but all of the temples and monasteries sort of blend together after awhile. And also, the whole temple experience is tainted by the obnoxious presence of touts and hawkers at the entrances... and also by the exorbitant admission prices charged by the Chinese regime.
We drove along the "friendship highway" to Nepal, with the border to that country being our ultimate destination. Along the way we visited a few nice towns. Tibet seems to be an empty place, and most of the settlements inside the territory are quite small. Many are just one street, with homes and shops built along that street in a straight line that stretches for a kilometer or two with expanses of crumbling highway plugging into each end. Restaurants in these places are a treat, each looking rather identical to the last (dirty, with big padded seating along the walls) and with identical menu items (noodles, fried greens and rice with egg).
After a few days of driving through the small towns and monasteries we hit the big time - Mount Everest Base Camp. The clouds parted long enough for us to snap a few pictures, and also long enough to give our group ample time to gawk at the awesomeness of that 8800 meter peak, which is made more impressive by the fact that the mountains on either side reach almost as high.
P,D and N decided to spend the night in a hotel near the camp, while O,R and myself stomped four kilometers uphill to reach the "camp" (really a tourist trap of sorts, since the climbing season is long over), at an elevation of 5200 meters. There we spent a very cold night sleeping in a tent hotel dubbed "Hotel California" by its operators.
And that was sort of the end of out journey. The next day we spent a good 15 hours on the road pushing through the town of Zeungmu, the last stop on the Friendship Highway. The last three hours were a harrowing trip around the side of a mountain on a road where a skid a few meters to one side would result in a 3000 meter fall down a sheer cliff. This drive we made through the dark, through the fog and through enough mud to require us to get out and lay down rocks and branches to make a road, at one point. I was more than a little scared of dying, so I passed my Beatles CD to the driver and we twisted and turned along the mountain side while singing along (bravely) to "I want to Hold Your Hand."
After getting through THAT, we spent one night in Zeungmu, I made a trip to the post office to send some final Tibetan postcards and we walked down to the Nepalese border post.
Next time: Kathmandu!
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Day 62, 63:
A bit more about Tibet, now. Too much is happening, and I'm getting backlogged in the journal. So, to sum up:
I did a bit more touring around Lhasa with my three friends. Eventually they all had to leave on a tour to Mount Everest Base camp and back, with me sticking around the city trying to find a tour that would get me to Everest and beyond (to the Nepali border, natch). Lots of promises to keep in touch were made, and E promised to let me crash on her couch in Paris come September.
Eventually I did find an organized tour to the border (six days and then we cross). I signed up with five other tourists. They are: O, a Dutch guy of 33, D, a Serbian of 31, R, a young American of 23, N a Frenchwoman of 27, and P, a 50-something French hippie.
These guys are decent. Of course, I like to travel alone, but the five of them make me laugh. I chat most often with R, who has spent some time studying and living in the Middle East, and has such a great knowledge of that region - we have conversations that are mostly just me asking questions about twentieth century Arabic history.
The rest are nice people, also. N is very sweet - twenty-seven and on a break from art school in Brussels, she hope to become a children's illustrator someday. That makes her quite irresistible, I think.
A bit about what we've been doing in the next entry.
A bit more about Tibet, now. Too much is happening, and I'm getting backlogged in the journal. So, to sum up:
I did a bit more touring around Lhasa with my three friends. Eventually they all had to leave on a tour to Mount Everest Base camp and back, with me sticking around the city trying to find a tour that would get me to Everest and beyond (to the Nepali border, natch). Lots of promises to keep in touch were made, and E promised to let me crash on her couch in Paris come September.
Eventually I did find an organized tour to the border (six days and then we cross). I signed up with five other tourists. They are: O, a Dutch guy of 33, D, a Serbian of 31, R, a young American of 23, N a Frenchwoman of 27, and P, a 50-something French hippie.
These guys are decent. Of course, I like to travel alone, but the five of them make me laugh. I chat most often with R, who has spent some time studying and living in the Middle East, and has such a great knowledge of that region - we have conversations that are mostly just me asking questions about twentieth century Arabic history.
The rest are nice people, also. N is very sweet - twenty-seven and on a break from art school in Brussels, she hope to become a children's illustrator someday. That makes her quite irresistible, I think.
A bit about what we've been doing in the next entry.
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