Ozbus11 arrived at the Nepal border in what seemed like the dead of night. It was actually just gone 7pm and the stretch of road from where the bus dropped us to Immigration office was poorly lit and surprisingly insignificant compared to the Pakistan/India border. Apparently Nepal and India like each other whereas Pakistan and India don't. Thanks to good relations we were through in no time despite Charlie having to turn up without a Visa and hope that he go one at the border without photocopies of passports and any passport photos. We just love our Charlieboy we do. Anyhow we were on our bus and away, arriving at our hotel at 8.30pm in the border town of Lumbini.
We experienced a little bit of a blackout just before dinner at the hotel but at last I was able to eat decent, tasty food. As you know, I'm not a huge fan of the Spice (unless it's in the form of a girl band from the 90's) and I was greatful to eat proper meals again. It was only an overnight in Lumbini before we headed off in the morning to the birthplace of Buddha. This short visit sort of creapt up on me but as we parked and disembarked outside the gate of the sacred site I was quietly excited. Buddhism intrigues me like a rare wood intrigues a carpenter and I wanted to see if I could learn anything more of the belief from this cultural visit.
I ambled my way down to the official entance of the site, passing locals, tourists and pilgrims on the way. Before I saw any sign of Buddha I passed the usual 'buy this sort of crap' stalls. And then I found a temple with a single man chanting inside. It was dark in there and I couldn't see with my sunglasses on. I didn't dare go in, everything seemed calm and spirtiual and special. Outside the temple was decorated in wonderful images of flowers and amazing colours. The garden surrounding the temple was well kept, pristine and beautiful. Then onto the official site of Buddha to see his birthplace. It was marked by a stone near some other stones that made up some bigger stones. One wall was adorned in gold leaf. But outside was what I loved best. There, a service was being helf around a massive old tree. Buddists sat and listened, prayer flags moved in a slight wind amongst the branches. And I sat and listened. It was serene and reflective.
We arrived that evening at Hotel Parkside in Chitwan National Park. It was day 41 and for the first time Ozbus11 were in the countryside. It was a welcome relief and I felt like I had been waiting for this since leaving Europe. I'm a country girl at heart and too much of the concrete does my head in a little. As soon as our bags touched the hotel room floor we were immidiately served dinner of the most homecooked loveliness compared to India. Except I happened to have been locked in my room from the outside for that thanks to 'Lovely Linda'. She got ripped for that by the girls sure enough and she was incredibly embarressed. It was all rather funny. After dinner we headed to the river for our fist beer in weeks watching the sun go down. I finnally felt like I was on holiday and I was welcomed to Nepal with a smile on my face.
We were awake with another sunrise the next morning for a canoe trip to watch the local wildlife. We saw a rhino bathing – it was awesome. We disembarked at an Elephant sancturary where we were briefly introduced to the care and role of Elephants in Nepal. On the itinerary that day was an 'opportunity to wash the Elephants' described as needing a swimming costume, or bikini to take part. Along with an Elephant ride later, I wasn't sure how I would take to this, I needed to know more about the Elephants. We were taked to a bigger sanctuary with a very informatived one roomed museum on Elephant life in Nepal. It was a positive sign and along with the fact that the sanctuary had been blessed with a recent twin birth, one of only two in the world from Elephants in captivity, I felt the Elephants were being treated with the upmost care and respect.
Then it was time for 'Elephant Washing'. We were taken to the river where we had our sunset beer for this. It consisted of 20 or so people rushing into the water, five or so at a time to clmb onto the backs of three elephants being controlled by a man standing on it's back. I don't know who was meant to be washing who as the two/three passengers would be intermittently doused in water and plunged into the water on intructions from the man standing on it's back, shouting, stamping and poking it with his stick. It was less of Elephant washing and more of a ride for people who like that sort of thing. I don't. I don't believe animals in general are there for our entertainment. They may be cared for by us, controlled by us and involved in activities that we enjoy but they must have a purpose. Their involvement with out activity must have a justifyable purpose. I watched the entire thing and still don't know how the elephants are actually washed. Some say that's how they do it. Regardless, the elephants were being instructed to act on que for the human's benefit. Money was passed over and I put blind faith into the fact that it was going to a good place, whatever that entails.
The elephant ride later, after lunch back at the hotel, I partook in. There we saw another Rhino and Tiger trails. That evening was the last at Chitwan and it saw Hotel Parkside put on a surprisingly entertaining cultural show and outside dinner. We all laughed and danced and dreaded the morning departure. At least we could all take solice in the fact that it was not another early start.
Tuesday 10 November 2009
Thursday 5 November 2009
Ozbus11 - India Night
Ozbus11 left Lahore in Pakistan at 7am. We arrived at the Indian border at 10am. At 10.30 we proceeded through our first border check. We filled in forms we'd filled in before to get Visas, we stood in lines to fill in more forms before being told we could do it much faster if we stood somewhere else. It was hot, it was stuffy. At 11.30 we went through the Indian checkpoint. At 12.30pm the last of the group had been through the border. At 1.30 we finally left the border. It was the longest crossing yet and a reflection on how the two countries feel about each other.
However it was only an hour more to our stop over town of Amritsar and we were glad of it. It was day 32 of the trip and I had been worried about arriving in India. It's never been a country I have had a longing to go to. I know it's on the backpackers' route and those that have been always seem to come away with one of those life changing experiences, shouting praises of the amazingness that is the country. But I have no taste for Curry therefore not really time for the country at all. I think I tolerate Korma in Europe and THAT IS IT!
Phil the bus god thought some of us would get teary over the poverty we might see, disorientated over how busy the country was or annoyed at how many would pester us. If we had been stared at from a distance in Pakistan, we were certainly game fodder for the Indians when we arrived. Somehow we saw less smiles on faces and more of a need for the people around us to take our money. The country certainly was busy, but nothing I couldn't cope with. This surprised me as I thought I'd be the first to be disorientated. I saw poverty in India. I saw children, babies, dragging themselves across the floor with little or no clothes in. They begged, the adults begged and I put up an iron wall between me and them to get by. Only towards the end of our 8 days in India before Nepal, did I start to feel emotionally weary of the sadness I was seeing.
On the eve of the day in Amritsar I ventured up to the Golden Temple. This is a sight well worth seeing. Many had been there at dusk when the Indian light starts to fade and a huge array of fairy lights are switched on which is recommended also. On entering the temple suddenly the busyness of the city is forgotten and a calm, spiritual sense came over me. I walked clockwise, barefooted, the stone underneath still hot from the day's sun, around a central temple in the middle of a square lake. I wore a bindi Dee from Londahn had given me earlier and watched the lights dance on the water. I ventured into the kitchens to help with preparation of food as they cook for those who wish to eat. There are also rooms there for Pilgrims. I watched a surprisingly automatic bread maker punch out naans and cook them. I bumped into other Ozbusketeers, was told off for lying down the wrong way by the lake (never point your feet at the temple) and held an Indian baby in my arms whilst posing in a photo for the family. It was an enjoyable evening. Unfortunately, for me, not one of many.
The next day we left with me suffering a touch of the 'Deli belly'. God knows how I got that, I barely flipping eaten anything already. So it was with a grump and a tiredness that I arrived in Deli. The hotel in Deli was appalling. Ozbus had stayed in many dodgy places, inc. the one we thought must have been a brothel in Sukkur but those had always been for one nights and in places we understood as our only option. I have to say that in my heart I felt Ozbus dropped the ball with the Deli hotel. Access was down a dark unlit alley. Some rooms were without showers but the worst aspect to cope with was, and especially in India, was the perpetual dirt, everywhere. India is a dirty country. There is no way to describe how dirty it is. And I don't think anyone will ever understand why it seems Indians simply do not recognise dirt. Or if they do, it's acceptable. And in a dirty country one needs to come back to a hotel to clean up. This certainly wasn't possible in Deli.
However one might say that it was the booking agent that Ozbus went through that wasn't acceptable and not Ozbus' fault. I am more inclined to say that having spent just over a week in the country now that Indian's have no concept of service and so finding what 'westerners' would class as affordable accommodation is impossible. There are two standards of hotels in the country – the crap places and outrageous luxury. So it was with Keith, the man of mystery (he refuses to tell anyone what his job was before he retired) and Jean that I ventured into Deli. Were we off to the Gandhi museum? No. Were we heading south to the Contemporary Art Museum? No. We went and found the Meridian hotel and hung out there for refreshment. It was great. I had a lovely beer, paid over the odds for internet which I was so happy to do in this fantastic well designed, air conditioned palace and blew a weeks budget on coffee. This is how depressed Deli and where we were staying had made me! It got worse in the evening when Linda the shopaholic had escaped to another luxury hotel with our room key. It was one of those that turned on the lights also and I only survived by harboring another girl's key and indulging in a really bad American movie.
We left Delhi to find the old Mughl capital that had only been used for 50 years before it ran out of water. Slight oversight that. We were on our way to Agra for the Taj. It was an early start for this as we wanted to see it at sunrise. I was sharing a room with Dee from Londahn and Sam from 'up north', well Cheshire but its much the same to me from E.A. I had set my alarm for 5.30, Dee had set hers and Sam was relying on us two. Unfortunately I had set mine for 5.30pm and Dee had her phone half hour out as we found out at 10min before we had to leave that morning. So with Dee practically still in the shower and Sam and I bleary eyed and confused, we climbed aboard our tuktuks and headed to the Mausoleum. Arriving at Sunrise we were in after a few moments in a non moving que.
The Taj Mahal. It's been photographed a thousand times, I've seen the image all my life. I saw 'that' image with Diana and well, it's pretty. Kipling may have remarked on it's perfection but to me it was just another tourist attraction for people to photograph the same way and pose on 'that' bench. Lovely though. We spent that evening watching the sunset on the other side of the river overlooking the Taj from a dirt track with own bought beers. That was probably my most enjoyable moment so far. Just a couple of people, laughing, chatting, having fun.
We left Agra on day 37 to arrive in Lucknow in the evening. It was on to Varanasi the next day where I was treated to a chicken burger in McDonald's. Having starved myself and being hopelessly disappointed at not being able to eat after countless people have said “It's not spicy”, Western eateries, no matter how much I avoid them in the Western world, a joy to be in. Varanasi saw another early start for a Sunrise ceremony on the River Ganges. Another picture postcard moment and incredibly interesting to see. We saw monks bate themselves in the river where only a few minutes upstream dead bodies were being burnt before being pushed out onto the river.
Day 40 we left Varanasi to get to the Nepal border. It was a long and arduous day to get there but I was desperately looking forward to it. I had had an interesting time in the country but it was now time to leave and see another. Unfortunately we had to come back into India after Nepal to get a cheap flight to Bangkok. This was when I lost my rag with the country. We were no longer going to head to touristic, 'Western' places and if the country had been dirty before, it was in the words of Charlie “What a s**thole” then. After leaving Nepal it was nothing but four one nighters in crappy hotels, with no food I could stomach. Breakfast might be included on Ozbus but don't expect one in Indian hotels. One morning we were given a slice of crumbly dried bread, rancid butter and a banana. Bananas happened to get me through the country.
The last straw was in Calcutta. Being officially the dirtiest city, a friend of mine had to come into my room as her bed was infested with fleas like so many other rooms that night, and many many before. A few went out to dinner in the Oberoi that night and I made a promise to myself if I ever did come back, that would be where I'd stay. It was day 54 the morning we arrived at Calcutta airport. It looked like a train station and was being used as a toilet. We eat, tried to exchange money, checked in, shuffled about. We boarded the plane and escaped.
However it was only an hour more to our stop over town of Amritsar and we were glad of it. It was day 32 of the trip and I had been worried about arriving in India. It's never been a country I have had a longing to go to. I know it's on the backpackers' route and those that have been always seem to come away with one of those life changing experiences, shouting praises of the amazingness that is the country. But I have no taste for Curry therefore not really time for the country at all. I think I tolerate Korma in Europe and THAT IS IT!
Phil the bus god thought some of us would get teary over the poverty we might see, disorientated over how busy the country was or annoyed at how many would pester us. If we had been stared at from a distance in Pakistan, we were certainly game fodder for the Indians when we arrived. Somehow we saw less smiles on faces and more of a need for the people around us to take our money. The country certainly was busy, but nothing I couldn't cope with. This surprised me as I thought I'd be the first to be disorientated. I saw poverty in India. I saw children, babies, dragging themselves across the floor with little or no clothes in. They begged, the adults begged and I put up an iron wall between me and them to get by. Only towards the end of our 8 days in India before Nepal, did I start to feel emotionally weary of the sadness I was seeing.
On the eve of the day in Amritsar I ventured up to the Golden Temple. This is a sight well worth seeing. Many had been there at dusk when the Indian light starts to fade and a huge array of fairy lights are switched on which is recommended also. On entering the temple suddenly the busyness of the city is forgotten and a calm, spiritual sense came over me. I walked clockwise, barefooted, the stone underneath still hot from the day's sun, around a central temple in the middle of a square lake. I wore a bindi Dee from Londahn had given me earlier and watched the lights dance on the water. I ventured into the kitchens to help with preparation of food as they cook for those who wish to eat. There are also rooms there for Pilgrims. I watched a surprisingly automatic bread maker punch out naans and cook them. I bumped into other Ozbusketeers, was told off for lying down the wrong way by the lake (never point your feet at the temple) and held an Indian baby in my arms whilst posing in a photo for the family. It was an enjoyable evening. Unfortunately, for me, not one of many.
The next day we left with me suffering a touch of the 'Deli belly'. God knows how I got that, I barely flipping eaten anything already. So it was with a grump and a tiredness that I arrived in Deli. The hotel in Deli was appalling. Ozbus had stayed in many dodgy places, inc. the one we thought must have been a brothel in Sukkur but those had always been for one nights and in places we understood as our only option. I have to say that in my heart I felt Ozbus dropped the ball with the Deli hotel. Access was down a dark unlit alley. Some rooms were without showers but the worst aspect to cope with was, and especially in India, was the perpetual dirt, everywhere. India is a dirty country. There is no way to describe how dirty it is. And I don't think anyone will ever understand why it seems Indians simply do not recognise dirt. Or if they do, it's acceptable. And in a dirty country one needs to come back to a hotel to clean up. This certainly wasn't possible in Deli.
However one might say that it was the booking agent that Ozbus went through that wasn't acceptable and not Ozbus' fault. I am more inclined to say that having spent just over a week in the country now that Indian's have no concept of service and so finding what 'westerners' would class as affordable accommodation is impossible. There are two standards of hotels in the country – the crap places and outrageous luxury. So it was with Keith, the man of mystery (he refuses to tell anyone what his job was before he retired) and Jean that I ventured into Deli. Were we off to the Gandhi museum? No. Were we heading south to the Contemporary Art Museum? No. We went and found the Meridian hotel and hung out there for refreshment. It was great. I had a lovely beer, paid over the odds for internet which I was so happy to do in this fantastic well designed, air conditioned palace and blew a weeks budget on coffee. This is how depressed Deli and where we were staying had made me! It got worse in the evening when Linda the shopaholic had escaped to another luxury hotel with our room key. It was one of those that turned on the lights also and I only survived by harboring another girl's key and indulging in a really bad American movie.
We left Delhi to find the old Mughl capital that had only been used for 50 years before it ran out of water. Slight oversight that. We were on our way to Agra for the Taj. It was an early start for this as we wanted to see it at sunrise. I was sharing a room with Dee from Londahn and Sam from 'up north', well Cheshire but its much the same to me from E.A. I had set my alarm for 5.30, Dee had set hers and Sam was relying on us two. Unfortunately I had set mine for 5.30pm and Dee had her phone half hour out as we found out at 10min before we had to leave that morning. So with Dee practically still in the shower and Sam and I bleary eyed and confused, we climbed aboard our tuktuks and headed to the Mausoleum. Arriving at Sunrise we were in after a few moments in a non moving que.
The Taj Mahal. It's been photographed a thousand times, I've seen the image all my life. I saw 'that' image with Diana and well, it's pretty. Kipling may have remarked on it's perfection but to me it was just another tourist attraction for people to photograph the same way and pose on 'that' bench. Lovely though. We spent that evening watching the sunset on the other side of the river overlooking the Taj from a dirt track with own bought beers. That was probably my most enjoyable moment so far. Just a couple of people, laughing, chatting, having fun.
We left Agra on day 37 to arrive in Lucknow in the evening. It was on to Varanasi the next day where I was treated to a chicken burger in McDonald's. Having starved myself and being hopelessly disappointed at not being able to eat after countless people have said “It's not spicy”, Western eateries, no matter how much I avoid them in the Western world, a joy to be in. Varanasi saw another early start for a Sunrise ceremony on the River Ganges. Another picture postcard moment and incredibly interesting to see. We saw monks bate themselves in the river where only a few minutes upstream dead bodies were being burnt before being pushed out onto the river.
Day 40 we left Varanasi to get to the Nepal border. It was a long and arduous day to get there but I was desperately looking forward to it. I had had an interesting time in the country but it was now time to leave and see another. Unfortunately we had to come back into India after Nepal to get a cheap flight to Bangkok. This was when I lost my rag with the country. We were no longer going to head to touristic, 'Western' places and if the country had been dirty before, it was in the words of Charlie “What a s**thole” then. After leaving Nepal it was nothing but four one nighters in crappy hotels, with no food I could stomach. Breakfast might be included on Ozbus but don't expect one in Indian hotels. One morning we were given a slice of crumbly dried bread, rancid butter and a banana. Bananas happened to get me through the country.
The last straw was in Calcutta. Being officially the dirtiest city, a friend of mine had to come into my room as her bed was infested with fleas like so many other rooms that night, and many many before. A few went out to dinner in the Oberoi that night and I made a promise to myself if I ever did come back, that would be where I'd stay. It was day 54 the morning we arrived at Calcutta airport. It looked like a train station and was being used as a toilet. We eat, tried to exchange money, checked in, shuffled about. We boarded the plane and escaped.
Thursday 22 October 2009
Ozbus11 in Pakistan
Ozbus11 had to get up at stupid O'Clock in the morning on the last day of Iran as we were scheduled to catch a flight to Karachi from Tehran. “Flight?” I hear you say. “But how dare you – you're on an Eco-trip!” Well it isn't my decision and not one I knew of when I paid up for Ozbus but it is due to Political tensions in other countries. For example – the border we would have had to cross is too near to Afghanistan for it to be a safe passage. Thus – the flying thing.
It was our first flight as a group, there are more to come, and I was strangely looking forward to a spot of airport civilization. Which is odd for me, as Madrid flying really put the final nail in my thoughts of all aspects to do with the aviation industry. We arrived just as it got light and for a moment I saw a beautiful light highlight the tails of the parked aircraft at the boarding gate. Strange – how something I detest at times can seem so beautiful.
It was only a couple of hours until we landed and the breakfast I thought was one of the best we'd had in a long while (that's saying something about what we had been putting up with). Then it was a hop, skip and a jump forward in time, sightseeing on a tiny bus and an introduction to our Guide named Amjad. He turned out to be the best guide we'd had so far and had left his heavily pregnant wife to travel for a week through his country with us. It was a walking tour that afternoon before we headed to our hotel and we visited the mausoleum of the first President of Pakistan. Here, thanks to the amazingness of Amjad, we were treated to a Pakistani changing of the guard. Photo op.
Day 26 and we had to leave Karachi for Hyderabad. A semi-early start was made a little later by the humorous sleeping in of Kate and Frances (officially the oldest member of Ozbus). At that point I was reminded at how good the group had actually been of leaving on time and not really being late for anything. Although Deeeeeeeeeeeeeee from Londahn is gaining a bit of a rep for faffing and generally wandering off in search of things that interest her.
Hyderabad was just an overnighter but it was here that we first encountered real security issues. I wanted to, that evening, buy food for the next day's drive. I couldn't. Apparently it was too unsafe and Amjad had to go out and get something for me. Then as we left the next day we had on our tail a police escort van with several armed men on board. These vans would continue, though changing quite a lot as they passed through different jurisdictions, throughout our stay in the country.
On the road after leaving Hyderabad we visited an Archaeological museum at 2.00pm. Here we were served lunch – unfortunately for me, the food hadn't got any better from Iran, just spicier, so I had to pass. Also most of the 'museum' was outside and walking round that at 2.30 didn't really appeal. Memories of hours spent under the sun at Pompeii, Italy flashed before me. On the road again and we visited another Mausoleum where we weren't really allowed to ask any questions on the subject of the dodgy death of one of it's occupants. It was here though that I think we started to get hassled by the locals for the first time. Although in Pakistan the locals were more intrigued with a rare sight of a tourist then simply wanting money.
We were heading to Sukkur now and before we arrived into the city we were allowed to ride in the back of the Police van escorting us. A short wind through hair moment for Jo and Lara with heads popped up through the roof as the guard kindly informed us “it's a sensitive area” and “don't want to draw attention”. Heads quickly drawn back in then. We were looking forward to arrive in Sukkur. We shouldn't have. The hotel we had to stay in was one of the worst we we had been in so far.
When you book this kind of a trip you have to have your mind open to several things; new cultures, differences between them and yours and the absence of comforts you would otherwise associate with a 'normal' holiday. As Ozbus definitely does not offer in any way shape or form anything close to normality. The whole thing is billed as a once in a lifetime opportunity. So I had been ready for hostels and roughing it from the start. Especially as when I had first looked into booking the trip, passengers were camping and cooking together and not hosteling/hoteling all the time. If you do not accept the above as part of the Ozbus experience – you will cause problems for yourself. And then eventually, other people on the trip as I believe, once you board the bus on Embankment (or Sydney if coming from the other way) you become part of a sort of vacation team. In it together.
Arriving at the hotel in Sukkur was like arriving at a dis-used brothel surrounded by Pakistani Mafia posing as members of staff. And once we had arrived, we were not allowed out. Security again. Drove me crazy. The town was simply a lay over and unfortunately only had one hotel so Ozbus did not have a choice. It did get me down though as it did others. We left after a nice lie in and headed for Multan. Day 28 and we didn't see much on the way. Once we arrived it was another lock in with snipers posed 'ready' on the hotel roof. I found out the next day that at 10pm there was distant shelling and gunfire heard by some passengers. Exciting stuff. It was also the day that the supposed leader of the Taliban had been murdered up north, Afghanistan or something.
We left Multan the next morning in the rain. I tried to remember the last time I had experienced rain and couldn't. In the moments when the water wasn't dribbling down the outside of my window, smudging the view of the countryside, I notice women in brightly coloured saris working in the cotton fields. I also noticed how I hadn't really seen them at all in the country. A few I had spotted on the side of roads holding babies or in those fields but when we drew up to settlements and attracted great crowds of wondrous Pakistanis, it was all men that I saw. I didn't like the invisibleness of the women. I didn't feel I could get to know this country without them.
But then as the 26 paid up passengers wizz through town after town in our air conditioned albeit slightly ropey labeled 'Tourist' bus, can we be getting to know these countries anyhow? As it is mostly a glazed view I'm seeing. As enlightening as that is at times – I see babies crawl around without clothes, I see the corrupt people with their shiny 4x4s – I feel slightly treacherous to the art of 'traveling'. I feel protected still. A westerner in an eastern land. Still a stranger in their land. I'm lucky they just about tolerate me.
Lahore was a welcome town to arrive in. At last we were allowed to go out after dark! I felt a sudden rush of foreign excitement after dinner at the nicest restaurant we'd experienced yet. The food was till spicy, but I managed to find something that wasn't. The next day (day 30) and a start of a new week Ozbusketeers were off on another walking tour. We visited the old fort and had drinks under a240 year old tree. We arrived back at the hotel slightly later than expected which left only an hour or so of rest before we were all off again on the bus to visit the Sunset Border Closing ceremony.
This is a must see if you are in that particular area. It's probably the only time you will ever be invited to take photos at a border. Basically a load of Pakistani guards do a little of a show with a few spectators and a load of Indian guards do a little of a show on the other side of the border with a lot more spectators (owing to the bigger country and all). It was all rather good fun with an amazing old guy with long white beard really revving up the crowd with crazy dancing and a massive Pakistan flag. As ever Ozbusketeers got into the swing of things with the help of Amjad relaying what the chants were for us to join in. “Pakistan! Sinderbad!” was a highlight.
Looking over to the Indian border side I spotted Westerners for the first time in weeks. Surprisingly we didn't see a lot of them in Pakistan. Amjad had informed us that we were the only tourists in the country at that particular time. I suddenly felt a longing to be over the other side. I wanted to see all of what colourful and strange things India had to promised. Security issues in Pakistan were wearing me down as even in Lahore, after dark, we managed to attract police escorts.
When we arrived back in the city after the ceremony we had dinner in Pizza Hut (sick as a dog of what Pakistani hotels had to offer by this point), a few of us headed off to a favorite little Ice cream place of Phil's. OMG – you have to go there if ever you are in Lahore! Moree's Cafe had widest range of Ice Cream flavours this side of Italy. Along with smoothies, cakes and pastries, it was a welcome treat from the heat of the outside. Yum yum. In fact I recall spending the two nights there on the trot.
Whilst we were in the country there was something about the Peshawar bombing going on and WFO conference being blown up. First Iran when US wants to go to war with 'em then, shelling and bombings not far from us, Ozbus11 really knows how to do controversy. But on day 32 it was another early morning start to head for the border. Surprisingly, it was the same one we'd been to for the show – and I thought it was far too decorative to be a real one, much to Phil and Jimmy's amusement. It was though – the longest border we'd ever been through. We didn't play the border game on the bus there as Amjad announced his wife had just had a baby boy – congratulations!
We arrived at 10am, got through the Pakistani check by half past, got to the Indian check at 11.30 where we had to fill out paper work. That process finished at 12.30, at 1.30pm we left the border on the bus. Hmmmmmmmmmm. Not a nice morning. Luckily it wasn't long until Amritsar where our Indian adventure awaited us.
It was our first flight as a group, there are more to come, and I was strangely looking forward to a spot of airport civilization. Which is odd for me, as Madrid flying really put the final nail in my thoughts of all aspects to do with the aviation industry. We arrived just as it got light and for a moment I saw a beautiful light highlight the tails of the parked aircraft at the boarding gate. Strange – how something I detest at times can seem so beautiful.
It was only a couple of hours until we landed and the breakfast I thought was one of the best we'd had in a long while (that's saying something about what we had been putting up with). Then it was a hop, skip and a jump forward in time, sightseeing on a tiny bus and an introduction to our Guide named Amjad. He turned out to be the best guide we'd had so far and had left his heavily pregnant wife to travel for a week through his country with us. It was a walking tour that afternoon before we headed to our hotel and we visited the mausoleum of the first President of Pakistan. Here, thanks to the amazingness of Amjad, we were treated to a Pakistani changing of the guard. Photo op.
Day 26 and we had to leave Karachi for Hyderabad. A semi-early start was made a little later by the humorous sleeping in of Kate and Frances (officially the oldest member of Ozbus). At that point I was reminded at how good the group had actually been of leaving on time and not really being late for anything. Although Deeeeeeeeeeeeeee from Londahn is gaining a bit of a rep for faffing and generally wandering off in search of things that interest her.
Hyderabad was just an overnighter but it was here that we first encountered real security issues. I wanted to, that evening, buy food for the next day's drive. I couldn't. Apparently it was too unsafe and Amjad had to go out and get something for me. Then as we left the next day we had on our tail a police escort van with several armed men on board. These vans would continue, though changing quite a lot as they passed through different jurisdictions, throughout our stay in the country.
On the road after leaving Hyderabad we visited an Archaeological museum at 2.00pm. Here we were served lunch – unfortunately for me, the food hadn't got any better from Iran, just spicier, so I had to pass. Also most of the 'museum' was outside and walking round that at 2.30 didn't really appeal. Memories of hours spent under the sun at Pompeii, Italy flashed before me. On the road again and we visited another Mausoleum where we weren't really allowed to ask any questions on the subject of the dodgy death of one of it's occupants. It was here though that I think we started to get hassled by the locals for the first time. Although in Pakistan the locals were more intrigued with a rare sight of a tourist then simply wanting money.
We were heading to Sukkur now and before we arrived into the city we were allowed to ride in the back of the Police van escorting us. A short wind through hair moment for Jo and Lara with heads popped up through the roof as the guard kindly informed us “it's a sensitive area” and “don't want to draw attention”. Heads quickly drawn back in then. We were looking forward to arrive in Sukkur. We shouldn't have. The hotel we had to stay in was one of the worst we we had been in so far.
When you book this kind of a trip you have to have your mind open to several things; new cultures, differences between them and yours and the absence of comforts you would otherwise associate with a 'normal' holiday. As Ozbus definitely does not offer in any way shape or form anything close to normality. The whole thing is billed as a once in a lifetime opportunity. So I had been ready for hostels and roughing it from the start. Especially as when I had first looked into booking the trip, passengers were camping and cooking together and not hosteling/hoteling all the time. If you do not accept the above as part of the Ozbus experience – you will cause problems for yourself. And then eventually, other people on the trip as I believe, once you board the bus on Embankment (or Sydney if coming from the other way) you become part of a sort of vacation team. In it together.
Arriving at the hotel in Sukkur was like arriving at a dis-used brothel surrounded by Pakistani Mafia posing as members of staff. And once we had arrived, we were not allowed out. Security again. Drove me crazy. The town was simply a lay over and unfortunately only had one hotel so Ozbus did not have a choice. It did get me down though as it did others. We left after a nice lie in and headed for Multan. Day 28 and we didn't see much on the way. Once we arrived it was another lock in with snipers posed 'ready' on the hotel roof. I found out the next day that at 10pm there was distant shelling and gunfire heard by some passengers. Exciting stuff. It was also the day that the supposed leader of the Taliban had been murdered up north, Afghanistan or something.
We left Multan the next morning in the rain. I tried to remember the last time I had experienced rain and couldn't. In the moments when the water wasn't dribbling down the outside of my window, smudging the view of the countryside, I notice women in brightly coloured saris working in the cotton fields. I also noticed how I hadn't really seen them at all in the country. A few I had spotted on the side of roads holding babies or in those fields but when we drew up to settlements and attracted great crowds of wondrous Pakistanis, it was all men that I saw. I didn't like the invisibleness of the women. I didn't feel I could get to know this country without them.
But then as the 26 paid up passengers wizz through town after town in our air conditioned albeit slightly ropey labeled 'Tourist' bus, can we be getting to know these countries anyhow? As it is mostly a glazed view I'm seeing. As enlightening as that is at times – I see babies crawl around without clothes, I see the corrupt people with their shiny 4x4s – I feel slightly treacherous to the art of 'traveling'. I feel protected still. A westerner in an eastern land. Still a stranger in their land. I'm lucky they just about tolerate me.
Lahore was a welcome town to arrive in. At last we were allowed to go out after dark! I felt a sudden rush of foreign excitement after dinner at the nicest restaurant we'd experienced yet. The food was till spicy, but I managed to find something that wasn't. The next day (day 30) and a start of a new week Ozbusketeers were off on another walking tour. We visited the old fort and had drinks under a240 year old tree. We arrived back at the hotel slightly later than expected which left only an hour or so of rest before we were all off again on the bus to visit the Sunset Border Closing ceremony.
This is a must see if you are in that particular area. It's probably the only time you will ever be invited to take photos at a border. Basically a load of Pakistani guards do a little of a show with a few spectators and a load of Indian guards do a little of a show on the other side of the border with a lot more spectators (owing to the bigger country and all). It was all rather good fun with an amazing old guy with long white beard really revving up the crowd with crazy dancing and a massive Pakistan flag. As ever Ozbusketeers got into the swing of things with the help of Amjad relaying what the chants were for us to join in. “Pakistan! Sinderbad!” was a highlight.
Looking over to the Indian border side I spotted Westerners for the first time in weeks. Surprisingly we didn't see a lot of them in Pakistan. Amjad had informed us that we were the only tourists in the country at that particular time. I suddenly felt a longing to be over the other side. I wanted to see all of what colourful and strange things India had to promised. Security issues in Pakistan were wearing me down as even in Lahore, after dark, we managed to attract police escorts.
When we arrived back in the city after the ceremony we had dinner in Pizza Hut (sick as a dog of what Pakistani hotels had to offer by this point), a few of us headed off to a favorite little Ice cream place of Phil's. OMG – you have to go there if ever you are in Lahore! Moree's Cafe had widest range of Ice Cream flavours this side of Italy. Along with smoothies, cakes and pastries, it was a welcome treat from the heat of the outside. Yum yum. In fact I recall spending the two nights there on the trot.
Whilst we were in the country there was something about the Peshawar bombing going on and WFO conference being blown up. First Iran when US wants to go to war with 'em then, shelling and bombings not far from us, Ozbus11 really knows how to do controversy. But on day 32 it was another early morning start to head for the border. Surprisingly, it was the same one we'd been to for the show – and I thought it was far too decorative to be a real one, much to Phil and Jimmy's amusement. It was though – the longest border we'd ever been through. We didn't play the border game on the bus there as Amjad announced his wife had just had a baby boy – congratulations!
We arrived at 10am, got through the Pakistani check by half past, got to the Indian check at 11.30 where we had to fill out paper work. That process finished at 12.30, at 1.30pm we left the border on the bus. Hmmmmmmmmmm. Not a nice morning. Luckily it wasn't long until Amritsar where our Indian adventure awaited us.
Monday 19 October 2009
Ozbus11 in Iran - Strangers in a strange land
“We share the grief of all the downtrodden and support the oppressed people of the world.”
Iman Khomeini – founder of the Islamic Republic of Iran
It was Day 19 of the 92 day leg to Sydney and having said goodbye to the coach and our amazing Latvian bus driver Martin it was time to play the border game. The winning time was 2hrs 25mins guessed by Elli. No kissing Charlie this time – just Ozbus pride as the prize. It was also time at the border for us girls to get scarved up for the first time. I was quite looking forward to wearing the headscarf and as Phil our leader (we must follow him) tried to put us youngens at ease, he said to try and pretend to be in some Broadway show for a week. Well I wanted to walk out of that show at the interval – but choices I had were none.
After a day or so of the scarve I was not into it. Maybe it was the heat and my scarve was particularly long. Maybe it was the reality of an image I'd been used to in London. Or maybe it was the fact that I was in a country as a tourist where I didn't have a say in my outward appearance due to my sex. In our hotel in Tehran a sign welcomed us in English reading “the headscarf is a beautiful part of Iranian culture, please respect it.” Which I found jovial because I don't remember being disrespectful by not wearing something. In fact I would have thought it would be incredibly disrespectful to have a certain appearance for something you don't believe in. Like wearing a crucifix because Dolce and Gabbana put it in their latest campaign when not believing in Christianity.
Islam is an incredibly beautiful religion – however I am not religious – so why should I have to make a religious statement? But taking personal beliefs aside – and recognizing that this is the country of Iran and just life out here, should make it easier. Yet I was not eating local meals with local people either. I came into the country on a tourist visa, stayed in a hotel charging me tourist prices?! The whole country just didn't make sense to me. Forget about the difference between sexes, or the differences from the western world to the east. I found it a little contradictory. We managed to catch BBC World in some of the hotels before the channel mysteriously disappeared. They were reporting on a second Nuclear site being found just outside Estafan where we were staying for two nights, a contradictory country for sure.
Culture shock issued – in my opinion there wasn't much Iran had to offer the tourist in the way of culture. We visited a lot of Mosques. These were beautifully decorated and lovely to see but perhaps a little variety from the country would be nice. There were a few Mausoleums The most famous of these was just outside Tehran and approaching from the highway was something like approaching a Muslim 'Willy Wonka' chocolate factory. Girls and boys entered through separate entrances. We took off our shoes, got searched, had electrical items taken away from us due to religious reasons. Bad news for Rob 'the Geography boy' as the resident Ozbus11 photographer. The girls came to a dead end in 5 minutes of visiting the half constructed building but we figured out eventually that we were allowed into the bigger Men's section. Whilst we were there a group of Army veterans or volunteers were marching and celebrating something inside. Turns out it was an anniversary and they gave us all army scarves. Not sure if that will ever be making it's way out of my bag – more research has to be done into the Army's story for that.
It was only going to be a flying visit to the Mausoleum but unfortunately a few of us girlies got inquisitive and started chatting to the Mausoleum authorities. They gave us info in broken pointed English and prayer stones. We gave them the 'where we come from speech' and then they wanted something from England which I gave them in a form of a box of mints. After I had wandered off some of the girls were given more treats such as sweets and the official propaganda book and then when they tried to leave – the officials wouldn't let them. Fortunately the guide plus Bernie the crazy 'beep beep' Frenchman, Bernie, intervened and they were set free.
Mostly Iran was made of the colour beige, in the scenery, black, which all the women were wearing and blue in the domes of the Mosques. The best thing about Iran was the Archaeological museum in Tehran. It had archaeological bits in. I'm really trying to be positive about the country but it was just a little bit of a drag. The food was rubbish, the culture was rubbish because the country isn't allowed to have one apart from the obvious. As a tourist I felt like I was only allowed to go to certain places deemed suitable for a tourist. For example a few of us would have loved to have visited the US Den of Espionage where the CIA organized the coup but there wasn't enough free time for things like that. It was Museums, Kebab houses and more Mosques oh and a spot of Carpet shops. Go to Iran if you're interested in the dawn of mankind as there is a lot of civilisation history to be found here. But maybe I'll return when the regime is over and I can see Iranian art.
Iman Khomeini – founder of the Islamic Republic of Iran
It was Day 19 of the 92 day leg to Sydney and having said goodbye to the coach and our amazing Latvian bus driver Martin it was time to play the border game. The winning time was 2hrs 25mins guessed by Elli. No kissing Charlie this time – just Ozbus pride as the prize. It was also time at the border for us girls to get scarved up for the first time. I was quite looking forward to wearing the headscarf and as Phil our leader (we must follow him) tried to put us youngens at ease, he said to try and pretend to be in some Broadway show for a week. Well I wanted to walk out of that show at the interval – but choices I had were none.
After a day or so of the scarve I was not into it. Maybe it was the heat and my scarve was particularly long. Maybe it was the reality of an image I'd been used to in London. Or maybe it was the fact that I was in a country as a tourist where I didn't have a say in my outward appearance due to my sex. In our hotel in Tehran a sign welcomed us in English reading “the headscarf is a beautiful part of Iranian culture, please respect it.” Which I found jovial because I don't remember being disrespectful by not wearing something. In fact I would have thought it would be incredibly disrespectful to have a certain appearance for something you don't believe in. Like wearing a crucifix because Dolce and Gabbana put it in their latest campaign when not believing in Christianity.
Islam is an incredibly beautiful religion – however I am not religious – so why should I have to make a religious statement? But taking personal beliefs aside – and recognizing that this is the country of Iran and just life out here, should make it easier. Yet I was not eating local meals with local people either. I came into the country on a tourist visa, stayed in a hotel charging me tourist prices?! The whole country just didn't make sense to me. Forget about the difference between sexes, or the differences from the western world to the east. I found it a little contradictory. We managed to catch BBC World in some of the hotels before the channel mysteriously disappeared. They were reporting on a second Nuclear site being found just outside Estafan where we were staying for two nights, a contradictory country for sure.
Culture shock issued – in my opinion there wasn't much Iran had to offer the tourist in the way of culture. We visited a lot of Mosques. These were beautifully decorated and lovely to see but perhaps a little variety from the country would be nice. There were a few Mausoleums The most famous of these was just outside Tehran and approaching from the highway was something like approaching a Muslim 'Willy Wonka' chocolate factory. Girls and boys entered through separate entrances. We took off our shoes, got searched, had electrical items taken away from us due to religious reasons. Bad news for Rob 'the Geography boy' as the resident Ozbus11 photographer. The girls came to a dead end in 5 minutes of visiting the half constructed building but we figured out eventually that we were allowed into the bigger Men's section. Whilst we were there a group of Army veterans or volunteers were marching and celebrating something inside. Turns out it was an anniversary and they gave us all army scarves. Not sure if that will ever be making it's way out of my bag – more research has to be done into the Army's story for that.
It was only going to be a flying visit to the Mausoleum but unfortunately a few of us girlies got inquisitive and started chatting to the Mausoleum authorities. They gave us info in broken pointed English and prayer stones. We gave them the 'where we come from speech' and then they wanted something from England which I gave them in a form of a box of mints. After I had wandered off some of the girls were given more treats such as sweets and the official propaganda book and then when they tried to leave – the officials wouldn't let them. Fortunately the guide plus Bernie the crazy 'beep beep' Frenchman, Bernie, intervened and they were set free.
Mostly Iran was made of the colour beige, in the scenery, black, which all the women were wearing and blue in the domes of the Mosques. The best thing about Iran was the Archaeological museum in Tehran. It had archaeological bits in. I'm really trying to be positive about the country but it was just a little bit of a drag. The food was rubbish, the culture was rubbish because the country isn't allowed to have one apart from the obvious. As a tourist I felt like I was only allowed to go to certain places deemed suitable for a tourist. For example a few of us would have loved to have visited the US Den of Espionage where the CIA organized the coup but there wasn't enough free time for things like that. It was Museums, Kebab houses and more Mosques oh and a spot of Carpet shops. Go to Iran if you're interested in the dawn of mankind as there is a lot of civilisation history to be found here. But maybe I'll return when the regime is over and I can see Iranian art.
Thursday 8 October 2009
Ozbus11 - The Turkey Leg
Luckily we were put up in a really cool hostel to take my mind off things. It was just a street away from the Four Seasons and right next to the Blue Mosque. After setting down our rucksacks in our varied dorms (brunettes, blondes, couples and the infidels) we headed into the center for a quick orientation of Istanbul and change of money. After we went back to the hostel who put on dinner for us and a 'belly dancing' show. Phil the Bus God had warned us not to take this show as the official belly dancing stuff as it turned out that it was really just two Gogo dancers hoping for some tourist tips. A few of us shook our hips with them though before retreating to the roof for shesha overlooking the sea. It was a very enjoyable night.
The next day most of us were up bright and early for a pre-arranged guided walking tour of the city. We visited the Blue Mosque and the Palace. All very cultural but a tad expensive. Those of us looking forward to the cheapness of Asia were sorely disappointed as Istanbul charges European prices. That night another group dinner was organized across the street from the hostel in one of the many restaurants that lined it. A set menu of Turkish cuisine was laid out for us and I have to say that Turkey offered the best food yet. Their mains and sweets were absolutely delicious and I was hoping the rest of the countries' food was just as tasty.
On our last full day in Istanbul I took the opportunity to do some much needed laundry before visiting something I told myself I must do before I leave. I went to a proper Turkish Bath. One that had been recommended by the local owners of the hostel, not a tourist trap. It was great. If you're not a fan of the whole nakidity then there are places you go when you're just in bikini but I'm OK. So stripping in a cubicle with two other women, we wrapped the towels round us that were laid out ready and slipped on the over-sized sandals on the floor. We made our way into the women's section of the baths through a tiny door in the double height, doomed foyer. Suddenly a marble passage opened up before us as we went through what seemed like a labyrinth of doors to a hot and steamy chamber. There we were shown a space on a marble step next to a basin of hot flowing water. We sat on our Turkish towels whilst pouring the water over ourselves with mini plastic pans.
After a while of this, we were taken to another room for a full scrub down and sort of massage. Not with oils, just soap. To soap us up they dip a sheet in soapy water and sort of glide it over us in a fast sweeping motion until a thick lather has been produced. After that we were wrapped in a dry towel and told to go to the 'salon'. Stepping out of the door into the slightly cooler labyrinth – it took me a good five minutes to find the right door back to the 'salon'. There, we sat down in the refreshingly cool area, and were brought delicious Turkish apple tea. Just what I needed. Turkish baths are a fabulous experience and but not exactly a spa or anything.
Then it was off to Goreme. It was day 16, a Monday morning and I woke up at 6am in a cave to go Hot air Ballooning over Capadocia. Unfortunately, the weather wasn't looking too good so it was back to bed until 8am when Phil woke us up saying we were leaving in 15mins. Grabbing breakfast from the traditional common room, it was then into the van to be taken – somewhere. You learn to not question the bus – it's home now. After a short stop at somewhere where a proper typical Englishman, and I haven't heard that kind of Public school speak for a long time, told us we could get some Tea, and then not, then we were whisked away to the Ballooning sight.
We witnessed a one in, one out situation involving a Chinese party. And then a quick safety talk, before we were up, up and away. Having the Turkish middle plain below us while we gently floated higher and higher above was amazing. What a way to start the week. We stayed in Goreme a second night before heading to Erzancin. Nothing much happened here apart form going to a super fast kebab house who loved the fact that they suddenly had a restaurant full one evening. We spent one night there before heading off the next morning to the airport. An airport? Are you mad? This is Ozbus I'll have you know. Well the reason for this was as follows.
A few of the group members had a priority of sorting out Iran visas in Istanbul. So off to the embassy they trotted, bright and early on the first day. Unfortunately owing to some unfortunate cock-ups they all came away having to leave their passports in the embassy that wouldn't be given back until after we'd left Istanbul?! It was decided that one of our group, the one who was most affected by visa number mistakes, would stay behind to pick up visas (luck pending) and passports to then fly on to picked up by us on our way to the border. It was Aussie, carpenter, truck and bus driver, bad taste joker, Jimmy who had to stay behind and he was sorely missed on most of our Turkish leg. So it was with great anticipation and excitement that he was greeted with at arrivals. A posy of, mostly girls funnily enough, had made a sign for him and much to the locals' bemusement, had also come up with a great chant and way of saying his name in the style of “Timmy” from South Park. Lucky guy.
It was, in fact, the second time in Turkey the group had been threatened with a loss to numbers. On our first night there, Jo the writer for the Telegraph had had to be taken into hospital with terrible pain. Turned out she had Diverticulitis which she was allowed to continue the trip with but it was thought at first that it was Appendicitis which she would have had to return home with to recover. So back on the bus from the airport, all 26 passengers on board plus the Bus God Phil, we headed to the border town of Dogubayazit, pronounced 'Doggybiscuit'. Here we stayed one night in a hotel slap bang next to a Mosque (nice wake up call). I didn't find the calls too annoying, I thought they were quite tuneful, but they did wake you up at stupid O'clock.
At breakfast, the day of the Iran border crossing us girls were in our Iran gear of covered up-ness and practicing our head-scarf wearing techniques. As Lara, one of the Germans on board, gave us all a demonstration of how it's done. Very helpful. So now it was the real deal – the great unknown. We were about to be, as Billy Joel would put it in our official theme tune, 'strangers in a strange land.'
Wednesday 30 September 2009
Congratulations to Thea and Punky for the arrival of Ophelia Rose Gibbs - super pleased for all three of you, love from honoured Godmother.
So Iran may have taken away my access to Facebook, Twitter and now it seems even emailing home is an issue due to Hotmail being down but they haven't figured out that my blogs are on direct feeds! Haha in your face authorities.
So this is to say how pleased I am at the long awaited arival of my oldest and bestest friend/sister's daughter Ophelia Rose, who I have the immense pleasure of being Godmother to. Unfortunately I am traveling to Oz whilst she was expected but that will not stop my commitment to seeing the little one when I can.
This is not a featured update of my travels but a way to communicate to the outside world in this strange media shy land of Iran where they are also shy of women so have to cover them up. Tomorrow I am off to Pakistan via a flight, for political reasons. There I will be free from a headscarve but locked up in a hotel at night due to bombings. Hmmmmmmm. I will also be married and Irish from now on. I'm thinking this is pretty much the only time I'm gonna be wearing a ring on that finger (Post post Feminism) but luckily I'm pretty good at accents. Not that that matters as we have been informed that the only way Pakistanis and Indians understand English is if you talk in an Indian accent?! It's not wrong - it's how they've learned English apparently.
A big happy congratulations again to the Partridge and Gibbs household. I will be seeing you all at the Christening, lotsa love x x x
So this is to say how pleased I am at the long awaited arival of my oldest and bestest friend/sister's daughter Ophelia Rose, who I have the immense pleasure of being Godmother to. Unfortunately I am traveling to Oz whilst she was expected but that will not stop my commitment to seeing the little one when I can.
This is not a featured update of my travels but a way to communicate to the outside world in this strange media shy land of Iran where they are also shy of women so have to cover them up. Tomorrow I am off to Pakistan via a flight, for political reasons. There I will be free from a headscarve but locked up in a hotel at night due to bombings. Hmmmmmmm. I will also be married and Irish from now on. I'm thinking this is pretty much the only time I'm gonna be wearing a ring on that finger (Post post Feminism) but luckily I'm pretty good at accents. Not that that matters as we have been informed that the only way Pakistanis and Indians understand English is if you talk in an Indian accent?! It's not wrong - it's how they've learned English apparently.
A big happy congratulations again to the Partridge and Gibbs household. I will be seeing you all at the Christening, lotsa love x x x
Saturday 19 September 2009
Ozbus11 from Budapest to Istanbul
The so called real border of Hungary went off without a hitch and it wasn't long before we arrived in Budapest. Here we had our first "walk to the hostel with your bags" which some people without the recommended backpack found a little tricky. It was also our first very basic hostel and first being ripped off by the locals experience at dinner. However if I put a downer on Budapest at first - bear with me as it only got better in the evening. Our Latvian bus driver who is with us until the Iran border said that he would take us to a little local club he knew of.Ozbusketeers pointing East in the main square of Budapest.
After the surprisingly expensive dinner and managing to pin down our whistful bus driver to take us as a group, we seemed to trek round the city mindlessly. No one knew where we were going, what we were going to, only that it was a club. After half hour of walking we arrived at what looked like a parking lot. We entered through some battered doors being guarded by some heavies. We ascended a stairwell that I can only describe as being something out of a scene from CSI Miami. This wasn't looking good. But it was sort of intriguing. And the further we climbed, the more we could hear the familiar sound of a heavy club base. Until - we reached a level we entered. Through a more populated indoor area, passed a dance floor and up still more stairs. We were on the roof by this point with red lights, table, chairs, a bar, a lot more people and a great view.
Settling down with drinks as a group we all turned out to have a great night. One that can't be found in Lonely Planet. Before long, a few of us were on the dance floor. If we got bored of dancing (and who would with Britpop gold being dished out by the DJ with forgotten Blur tracks) you could visit next door to the Club indie shop. Here they were selling individually designed clothes, jewelery and other accessories. A friend and I invested in a souvenir badge - hers stating she 'hearted' some Hungarian shot and for me, a comic line from 'League of Gentlemen' sketch that was an incredibly random find in a Budapest club. 'You're my wife now' is pinned nicely on my handbag next to the other San Jordi Barcelona badge and Stop Stansted Expansion ones I have acquired.
The next day I headed to the river for a cruise. Lots on option here and I got a basic student deal. An hour round the island in the middle with English commentary. After lunch a few of us met from the group to head to the 'Labyrinth' underneath the castle on the Buda side of the river. Here we looked forward to navigating ancient foundations with only an oil lantern as our light. Turned out to be a sort of Art gallery with many 'humorous' or confusing 'finds' from supposed excavations underneath the castle. It was a lovely experience - not quite a labyrinth though. Bit mis-labelled that one.
The next day and into our second week on the bus we left Budapest heading for Belgrade. I never thought I'd get to visit a city I'd heard so much of on the 10.00 news but when we arrived, there I was, in a recovering bombed out city. With shiny new malls placed slap bang next to remenants of bombed buildings. At the hostel in Belgrade we experienced our next piece of talk-able drama. Our group was split between two hostels and in one of them we had found a young British girl crying her eyes out because she'd had her passport stolen and her friends had gone on without her. Now if my friends had done that - they wouldn't be my friends for long when I returned home. She had been traveling for 3 months with these people but apparently that doesnt mean you stay with each other when in trouble. Also she had not one copy of her passport or photo ID on her. I'm not entirely sure why you come to a place like Belgrade not preparing for the absolute worst but call it lack of experience. Anyway because we're such a handy group of people to bump into on Ozbus, a few of us along with our leader went to the police station to help sort it out.
The next day she was sorted as she came to have breakie with us and we left for Sofia. If I haven't mentioned what we did in Belgrade it's because there's not really anything to do there along with not much to see in Sofia either. The most interesting thing there was the fact that we went to a restaurant that apologised for being so slow with orders because they were only a cafe with one chef. A very funny cafe with a full on Restaurant menu and waitresses that had lost the use of their second hand and had never heard of a tray. Even though there was a walking tour of the city the next day first thing - it wasn't really very impressive and I was starting to lose faith in the sights of Serbia.
Then we arrived in Plovdiv. What a fantastic historic old town. The actual town is quite large but stick to the Roman bits and you can't go wrong. As you'll know from my previous blogs - I can't really go on holiday without bumping into a few Roman sites. Can any of us? The evening there was spent on the outskirts of a Roman amphitheatre watching Serbian interperative dance. Then a few of us got bored with that and left to find dinner. Where we found the need for a good night out. After dinner we headed to local bar where I got ID'd for the first time (thankgoodness for bringing driving licence) and sat down as the only group there with massive beers. Turned out to be the craziest Rock bar ever and got livelier and livelier the later the night got. Many Ozbusketeers woke up with strained neck muscles the next day due to too much headbanging.
So the next day was a THE real border. We were now leaving the E.U. and entering Turkey. Where the lines between East and West begin to blur. The game was to guess how long it took to get through. I guessed way over at 2hours with the winning guess being a questionably accurate 1hr 14mins from Kate, a late guesser. The prize was to kiss Charlie, our 18 year old 'son' of Ozbus. But none of us fancied that prize and we disqualified Kate for insider information anyway. We drove on from the border until we arrived in Istanbul. Our first real cultural city, away from the tired and tested Euro-tourist trail. Or so we thought.
Monday 14 September 2009
Ozbus11 "Down Under via All Over"
Bleary eyed and headachey from a 4am packing session, pulled up to Embankment in London to meet Ozbus crew and passengers. There was a pretty motley crew standing by Cleopatra's needle as I walked up with my 70 liter backpack plus Eastpak day sack. Trying to spot official Ozbus members for some sort of registration of arrival it was hard to make out who was family waving off relatives and who were passengers. Some were chatty, some were quiet – at 7am it was too early for me to make with the small talk. A quick hello to Phil, our leader for the mammoth 92 day bus journey to Sydney and the traditional family photo with parentals before we bunged our bags into the hold of the coach and set off.Rolling away from Westminster, Phil made a quick introduction before letting us settle in. But whilst sitting at the back, listening to Phil what should I hear but a kerfuffel from another passenger apparently looking for 'Christine' and franticly looking out of the coach window onto the pavement. It was only Jo Thompson who was travelling with us writing about a midlife crisis Ozbus journey for The Telegraph. I could tell it was going to be an interesting ride. Whilst we let scenes of London roll past us, Phil played us a nice little tune for us. Little did we know how Billy Joel's 'We didn't start the fire' would become our signature tune for the start of the day.
We made a 10am Dover to Calais crossing having made the port in good time. Most of the bus was still pretty quiet with the only exchange between passengers going on with whoever was sitting around Jo. Our first bit of drama was had at Dover port when Jo's name was called over the loudspeaker having left her wallet at a Cafe. The crossing though, went smoothly and it was straight forward driving over the Belgium lowlands to Brugge. We arrived about 4pm and after settling into our hostel rooms, met in the bar for a cycle tour of the city with a celebratory beer after in the oldest pub. Absolutely loved Brugge. Everyone travels by bike and has the quaintest architecture. Some say it isn't somewhere you visit twice owing to it's size but I found myself saying - I'll come back here.Brugge was only a stopover and the next morning it was a bright and breezy 8.15am start to head to St Goar in the Rhine Valley. I'd like to say that it was at this point that we all started to get to know each other but having been on board with everyone for just a week I feel as if I've always sort of known them. Among the 26 passengers there are 2 Aussies, 2 Irish lasses, a Frenchman, a Norwegian, 2 Germans, a Scots lady, a Canadian, 16 English people and a Kiwi tour leader. A suitably varied bunch ranging in age from the youngest of 18 to two 70 year olds. There are 3 couples, those who have left families behind, those taking career breaks and the familiar young backpacker. The variation in life status only fuels my story-telling spirit but others I think were hoping for a few more youngens traveling.
Arriving in St Goar mid-afternoonish, we sauntered around town for a couple of hours taking in views of the river, the big cuckoo clock and a couple of beers in the sub groups that we attached ourselves to. Luckily this bunch traveling don't seem to be forming cliques though there is a bit of seat hogging going on in the coach. We were staying on a campsite that night but not in actual tents. With the group split into girls, boys and optional caravan upgrade for couples, we were directed to a fairly interesting camping barn set up. It was top and bottom bed platforms with two mattresses laid side by side, fairly loosely divided into cabins. The evening saw us enjoy a traditional dinner of Schnitzel (beat up meat to tenderize) cooked by the wonderfully charismatic owner of the campsite. After dinner we were treated to regional wine tasting hosted by the owner when it became clear that perhaps his charisma was due to a bit too much wine tasting of his own.Ozbus left St Goar in early morning low valley cloud to make our way to Prague. It was only day 3 and we experienced our first border, albeit a tame one, and money change. I'd heard a lot of Prague and it being the center of true Bohemia from friends but arriving at the city late afternoon, I wasn't overly impressed. Hoping for that to change, Ozbus debarked into the biggest hostel we had stayed in yet. One with it's own currency apparently as we were told that the only way to purchase food and drink was to load our key cards with money only to find out later that they did accept cash at the bar. Most of us stayed in that evening to enjoy the traditional 'pizza' in the hostel Restaurant.
Day 4 was our first free day of non-travel. I nearly missed the optional morning coach trip into the historic center due to a sort of barrage of emails from my parents. Having made it into town, the morning was spent wandering from site to site. In the main square there is an astrological clock that strikes and puts on a sort of show for a tourist crowd. Amongst the many shops and cafes there was one recommended to us for a spectacular terrace. The U Prince was indeed lovely with suitably lovely price tags. As we drunk our valuable small glasses of fizzy drinks we watched a bride and groom pose for their wedding photos in a trellised corner overlooking the rooftops of Prague. It was beautiful and I promised myself that when I have something nice like expendable income, I will come back and stay in that hotel.Otherwise Prague did not leave a lasting impression on me. We had a good group dinner, good value apart from my Risotto that seemed to be just undercooked rice with a lot of secret sauce. Perhaps I had too many expectations from years of looking forward to be immersed in my spiritual home of true bohemianism. Before long we were off again, this time a short ride away to Vienna. We arrived there around 4pm and after a short walk to our hostel, those of us who wanted to, met for an excursion to the oldest fairground in Europe. Apparently scenes from the The Third Man and Bond have been filmed there. The rides weren't exactly cheap but you didn't have to buy any tokens and the park was fairly quiet no queing - hurrah.
After purging myself on a few classics and one official really scary one, I was tired and went straight to bed after a free 'thanks for staying with us' beer back at the hostel. Out of all the hostels we've stayed at so far, Wombat's in Vienna has provided the best breakfast. There's nothing like a varied choice for breakfast. Our free day here involved a few of us walking round town before deciding what to do. Another girl and I spotted the Leopold Museum which had Klimt and other Art Nouveau artists on display which we headed to late on in the morning. In the Museums Quarter which was where the museum was located, we had a bite to eat and made our way round the exhibition. Towards the end however, I rushed through a few as I wanted to head back to the hostel to make myself look decent for an evening of traditional classical entertainment in a small Opera house. By decent I mean, non- "I've been wearing the same clothes for a good two years now" and slap a bit of the ol' make-up on that I carry with me for such occasions.
That evening was interesting but the free glass of champagne that swayed me to sign up really did taste – free. The Vienna Orchestra that was performing a selection of favourites from Mozart and Straus were very pro with traditional Vienna dress on. We were treated to a few Opera scenes also along with a ballet duo who didn't seem that fussed about their performances. But you know, doing that twice a night maybe nearly every night, who would? And for this reason there was a part of me that wished I was sipping good champagne in a good dress, watching performers really get into the art that they were expressing. I would recommend the night for sure, but I think it was tainted a little with the aspect of tourism. Vienna as a whole though had a very fine effect on me and I can see myself wanting to explore the city in greater detail in years to come.
The next morning I barely managed to fit all my first washed clothes back into my bag before rushing down to the coach for an 8.30 departure. We were on our way to Bratislava only about an hour away and down the River Danube for morning coffee. Here was another quaint little snapshot of a historical town center that had an atmosphere about it that I found appealing. Another town to add to the list. But only an hour was had here before were all back on the bus again, heading for a 'real' border.
Friday 11 September 2009
Sunseeds - the final chapter
Back in the real world Sunseeds seems to be an amazing distant memory. Even as I said goodbye a few final times to other Sunseeders at Almeria Bus Station it seemed as if the adventure was already a world away. After the first week and a half life became a happy routine on the project. I would flit in and out of Garden tasks one day to helping the Alternative Technology and Maintenance Staff the next. Being woken for breakfast by didgerydoos and eating porridge (everyday!) became second nature. I don't think there was an afternoon when the part-time volunteers weren't in the Canya pool or sunbathing after lunch. The reclaimed village and it's way of life did at the time seem so idyllic but it didn't occur to me just how much until I'd returned home and switched on the television.
An advert was on, something about a conditioner for L'oreal. And I just didn't understand what they were saying. I couldn't work out why they were telling me all this, that and the other about this 'super product' because I knew that there was absolutely no need for such an item. I'd been living for a month in dirt, just washing my hair when it needs it, not bothering with brushing, conditioning or straightening and I hadn't died. No one had been offended by my unkempt appearance. I had had absolutely no drawback from living without conditioner at all. So why was L'oreal telling me otherwise. Making it look all super fantastic and necessary. And that's the trick isn't it. L'oreal has the key – that beauty is the goal and to not achieve that is horrendous. But who are they to define beauty?! When we are all different and wonderful in our own rights. In this world everyone panders to that. At sunseeds no one pandered to it. No one believed in it. We were all our own beings livings to our own standards – not one the a company had created to make money from us. My hair is unkempt now, bouncing with curls I've crimped myself. My clothes are old and cheap. And I'm happy.
But back to life at Sunseeds and I'm struggling to remember how my four weeks passed. Highlights included playing football with the locals from the nearest town on one of our activity evenings. Considering our pretty isolated location on a mountainside overlooking a valley we managed, as a group, to get around a bit. One of the first outings I remember (not to the town for football) was being taken to another town to pick up horse manure for the gardens. Usually only a couple of people would help Dara the gardener out with this but the whole group was roped in for this trip for one lovely reason – we were heading onto the beach after. A great little group of us went to to the supermarket to buy food and then had a picnic on the beach. We all had the obligatory swim and then the sun set behind us whilst in away from work chat mode.
The next week we had the opportunity to visit the beach again. This time some of us were in full on party mode as we celebrated Las Fallas with the Spanish with an all night reggae/drum 'n' bass session on the beach. Now I'm not a huge drum 'n' bass fan – I've been know to actually fall asleep at clubs where its been played before. So I was a little nervous about the outing but determined to have a good time anyhow. Oh my god – I was up with the rest of them until the end of the set at 5am! What a night. And then what a great sleep next to a campfire on the sand with my poncho draped over me only being awoken by the morning sun.
Back at the 'ranch' my final week was punctuated by a cob oven building course run by the maintenance staff. Sunseeds runs many an informative course on aspects of Sustainable living and if you visit www.sunseeds.org.uk you can find what they offer along with more information on what they do and how to get involved. On this course I learned how to lay bricks and use mortar. I learned that mortar is mostly alkali. I did some hard ass sawing for the pizza paddle, some stomping of straw into clay for the cob mix. Expert layering of cob mix round a sand dome mold were acquired along with the creative side of all on the course allowed to show as we decorated to outside surfaces with reclaimed broken tiles.
It was a rush to finish the oven in a week as some of us on the course were rather distracted by the fires that were breaking out in the local area. The first was a few miles to the north of us, the next a little bit closer to the west, the next a bit closer still to the south until the village residents worst fears were realised; one broke out the other side of the valley from us. We were aware of the fire as we noticed the helicopters flying with their buckets and as we watched, the fire crept down the mountainside ebbing closer to the canya covering that if lit, would race up our side of the valley and destroy the village. I found it all rather exciting but other villagers were not so amused. The encroaching fire caused a great amount fear in those who'd put their lifesavings into the restoration of their holiday homes and panic in project members who didn't know quite what to make of the situation. What is not clear until you reach the Sunseeds project is that it is very much part of an existing village community. And it was with this fire that the community came together with great haste. We all worked together to fill water and sand buckets, just in case. And were on alert for a call from the police to evacuate. Thankfully the fire was brought under control by what I have to say is an amazing Spanish fire fighting service in the region. However a couple of weeks after I had left, the village was evacuated though I heard that even then the fire was very much under control aswell.
My time at Sunseeds has been one of the most enjoyable and eyeopening experiences of my life. I will always remember the funky solar showers, that “squatting is the way forward”, nighttime poker sessions, making bread, ipod rights in the kitchen, mamouth bike rides up mountain and down valley into town, workshops in the yurt inc. acrobalance, bikes and free-dance. The fires, the village raves, the canya pool, the canya bridge, the canya in general, picking blueberries, beach raves, blue paint, jam sessions with makeshift bongos, homemade didgerydoos and broken guitars, running out of eletricity, loos with a view, Pedro the dog, wild boar and so many other memories that will be stored in the recesses of my mind for years to come.
Sunseeds was my final adventure in Spain and what a fabulous way to end my time there. If you look back at some of my earlier blogs you'll see that after Spain I was hoping to travel Africa overland and onto Australia from South Africa. Unfortunately this wasn't possible and I had to find something else to get me Down Under. Thankfully I did. Its called Ozbus and I'm on it right now.
Saturday 5 September 2009
Sunseeds Part 2 - Compost Loos and Didgerydoos
The compost loos are not half bad actually. Getting to know them has been symbiotic part of getting to know myself. N o – I'm being just slightly facetious here but still from white tiled plumbed in bathroom in the city to a canya/bamboo jungle shack took a bit of getting used to. But that's all it was – getting used to something different. Getting used to squatting over a hole and 'flushing' with sawdust. Getting used to going at certain times in the day when you know there will be least flies around. Optimum times I have found are first thing in morning just before breakie and just as it gets dark. But not as it gets dark as finding way there, even guided by torch is a tad tricky, what with the terracing of this mountainside Sunseed clings to.
But the first week was all about acclimatising myself to the Sunseed routines, not just the compost loos. Officially 'wake up' was at 6.45am but rarely did this happen and we were more or less called out from our slumber at 7am. The staff members would do wake up and take charge of each day's duties. There are 8 members of staff on the project at the moment but the number of staff and volunteers varies greatly. The 8 include
• Project Manager,
• Sustainable Living co-coordinator,
• Appropriate Technology co-ord.
• two co-ords. of Eco/Construction and Maintenance,
• Organic Gardens co-ord.
• Drylands co-ord.
• Education/Publicity/Fundraising co-ord.
Take from these titles what you can – it's not until you take part in life at Sunseeds that you understand and appreciate the different responsibilities these members take on. As this is a job but it is not well paid and more of a lifestyle choice and belief in what you are doing that keeps you on the project.
In my first week I mostly spent time helping the Organic Gardens co-ord. Volunteers chose which staff members they would like to help at 'job allotment', being most commonly called out from the dinner table “job ally ally ally” after lunch. Here, whoever was on wake up that day states what they have been doing in their field of work since their last wake up. Then they state what they plan to do the following morning and so do all other staff members.
The last volunteers to arrive are then invited to say what activity they would like to help with. Morning work starts at 7.30am (ehum closer to 8am on somedays though I arrived just as early starts were imperative to be sheltered in the hottest part of the day). I helped out in the gardens doing many a fulfilling earthly thing until break was called at 10am and then back to finish before lunch at 1pm. Though with the heat we generally stopped at 12am.
My first day on the job I was compost turning which involved one simple technique of layering. Layer 1- old compost from a neat square box next door. Layer 2- Horse manure. Layer 3- a watering can of human piss collected from the compost loos and urinal 'house' on site. Hurah. Next day I plant saplings which meant preparing raised beds (ie weeding – lots), aerating soil which baked in sun ain't that easy, digging neat holes equidistant apart, filling with manure, watering, planting saplings in then watering again. Lovely.
The next day I was told to basically make mud cakes. Well my exact task was to rebuild the wall of the irrigation line amongst the raised beds. This involved water in a bucket, gathering soil, mixing to make a great paste and spreading onto a bank in a particular fashion. I forgot how fabulous mud could be.
One of the first things I had to get used to at Sunseeds was the simple nature of taking part in nature and coming out of it and reflecting. This may sound slightly abstract but somehow being thrust into this environment that was just teaming with life brought about in me that a year living in Madrid just hadn't produced. I mean sure a lot has happened if I compare now to setting off from Weymouth in Feb 2008 but somehow, this part of the journey all seems to be culminating in Sunseeds.
I am lucky in the fact that I have been surrounded by the most individual and generous people I've ever met. To say they are all kind would be sugar coating them as persons that I think insults what they bring to the project. To say they are all so loving would I think do more of the same. But they are all of these positive attributes of personality mixed with their various personal vices – what else makes people who they are.
I was first thrust into the group on an outing to the local town to play Volleyball. We got there to find the net had been taken down on the court and an improvised game of handball was devised before moving onto the traditional game of footie. Each night of the week seems to be mostly punctuated with some sort of group activity which is great for us all working together and getting to know each other.
The eve after volleyball we had an acro-balance session lead by one of the full-time volunteers from the UK who had previous experience on the mean streets of Bristol. This workshop was one of those lovely life surprises where you venture into a place hoping to find one thing and find something closely related but you never truly realized how much you liked discovering about. Friday night is Film night at Sunseeds and everyone ventures up to the Yurt owned by one of the villagers where a projection screen is installed. With the aid of a Sunseeder's mini projector and laptop plus the comforts of floor cushions, popcorn and wine, my first Friday we enjoyed Orson Welles in The Third Man.
HELL YEAH – my movie knowledge I know is sadly lacking of all that it could be for I am an avid fan of the moving image. For a long time I was black and white phobic – but this was as a child and colour is an important stimulus. I always remember being so disappointed watching The Wizard of Oz for the first time to find it opened in Black and White. Judge me if you like for that but after my first Yurtish movie night – god – Orson Welles is immense!
My first weekend here was punctuated with a little morning work on Sat and then an impromptu picnic on the other side of the valley overlooking the village. Just for good measure a few Sunseeders were getting in on some Ddgerydoo action at another house in the village in their free time having signed up for a course on making them, run by a Dutch village settler. The evenings on weekends generally see Sunseeders relaxing and taking in all that their beautiful surroundings offer. A walk to an abandoned village here, a siesta in the meditation garden there. You know, simple things that make this part of the world a little piece of paradise. One I'm learning to cherish and take responsibilities for.
Thursday 18 June 2009
Sunseed Desert Technology - The beginning of something special.
Ok so let's start at 2am at Benidorm shall we. And as usual there's me waiting, just waiting, no information and all for my bus. I was actually quite impressed with the facilities at the station. I was able to sit comfortably and buy a coffee and not feel unsafe which is important as a single traveller. Outside I ventured nearer the time of supposed bus arrival and what should I spot but a fellow native English speaker. I could tell because he had a water bottle carrier in touristic South American style. I asked where he was going to and to my surprise he replied the same town I was destined for. I asked why and lo and behold – he was only going to Sunseeds too.
On bus, sleeping bag out, miffed that it was fuller than I expected at that time of night I was all settled in to a good old rest. But to my horror I noticed not one, not two but what seemed to be a whole colonization of cockroaches crawling all over the place. The first stop we came to I marched to the driver to complain. I had tried in vain to ignore them and get some sleep but they insisted on crawling into my personal space and I wasn't having that. Driver of course being from the south and Spanish wasn't that bothered. He told me he'd give me a piece of paper to complain or something but of course he never did.
The traveler I'd met at Benidorm was an Irish guy and we arrived in Sorbas, Almeria half an hour before we were scheduled to. This was annoying because we already had a good few hours before being picked up by some members of the Sunseeds team. Luckily for us the restaurant that was the proposed meeting point of collection was open at 6.30am so the two of us went in for a wake up coffee. We chatted then as we made our way around the shut up town. We had tried to pawn off our rucksacks at the bar but owner wouldn't let us so we were malling these big things round at first light. We found a nice vantage point of the town overlooking the steep cliff edges of the valley. It was very dramatic. Unfortunately it was all rather lost on me as I was more focused on trying to wake up and get over feeling of disgusting-ness from bus.
Back to cafe we went to wait for pick up. We were approached by a guy and his baby who asked whether I was in fact Kika but seemed unaware of the arrival of my companion. However there was plenty of room in the van that arrived white of course with a hand painted Sunseeds logo on the side. Love it. After chucking our sacks in the back and a few last town errands to help with, we were off and rolling to the site of Sunseeds.
Sunseeds, as the guy with the baby explained, originally started out as a project in the late 80's to re-plant desert land with trees named 'Green Deserts'. He noted that it was dubious thinking that all deserts were once forests and of course, he's a tree expert himself, the planting failed. The project then evolved into technology export hoping to change/help third world countries with a permaculture way of living. This also did not work all though there is still a sister project in Tanzania. Today Sunseeds focusses on Technology exchange based on Permaculture ethics where three simple concepts provail. These are 'Earth Care - Provision for all life systems to continue and multiply; People Care – Provision for people to access those resources necessary for their existence and; Fair Share – By governing our own needs, we can set resources aside to further the above principles.
Hmmmm. I contemplated what I would be arriving at, how I'd cope with compost loos, limited showers and a strict vegan diet. The scenery helped. Amazing ravines and views across a scorched pre-historic landscape. We turned off the main road out of Sorbas not long after we left, in near midday sun. Just in time for lunch. Exhausted and bewildered at what I would be facing for a month I looked forward to communal eating and getting to know my surroundings and companions.
Wednesday 10 June 2009
Barcelona - Part 2
So on Wednesday morning I was planning a nice early start. Unfortunately I overslept so that wasn't what I got. Obviously recovering from the horrendous night's sleep before. A quick breakfast later, I was up and about walking in the fresh morning air of Barcelona on my way to Casa Milà, Gaudi's last apartment block he designed. At the till to get in, which I was surprised to find not many people in line for at 11am, I flashed my Bus Tour coupon and my ISIC card and the lady pointed to which one I could use. Inside audio guides were included in the price and thank god too. What I've noticed about Spanish sites of interest is they're not overly keen on giving you info as you walk around. There is never usually anything labeled or something to read up on in the particular place you're in. So if offered an audio guide and it's not included, I'd recommend you'd go for it to get the best out of your visit.
At the Casa Milà I found more out about Gaudi himself and other things he designed such as furniture. This information mostly given in the loft of the building. Then you are guided down to a typical recreated apartment of the period in which it was completed. And this is the overall sense of the museum I got – not something completely on Gaudi but more about life and arts of the period. This is heaven for me as I love anything Art Nuevo and turn of the century. In the gift shop (a must of course in Capitalist Tourism) I found a print book of Alonso Mucha's work which I've been looking for. That was purchased along with a book of Chanel turn of the Century designs.
That museum took up until lunchtime and I had planned on taking a bike to the next one to save time as I knew I wanted to do a lot that day. I had noticed, from the bus tour, that along with a fantastic looking tram system, Barcelona offered another unique form of public transport. As you explore the city you come across several handily situated Bicycle Stations. Here you swipe some sort of a card at a post which then unlocks a bike from a bar at the side of the street where many bikes are docked. However I was told at the hostel that I would not be able to use the system as I was not a local resident. Barcelona has many bike lanes making getting around the city this way incredibly easy and safe. When the system was first introduced a few years ago, local bike tour companies wanted tourists to be banned from using it for fear of competition. Personally I feel it a bit of a swizz but one sees the point.
So I walked to my next destination as I didn't want to spend money on metro tickets. I hadn't invested in the 10ride ticket as I thought being overland I'd see a lot more. Singles are more expensive than Madrid costing 1€35c. Though, I probably should have taken them Metro to the Joan Miro foundation Museum because it was up in Montjuic hill overlooking the city. By the time I got up there after lunch I only had a little over an hour to smooch round. Worth it though if you are into Modern Art. Though the guy at the hostel thought going to Barcelona's official Modern Art Museum, MACBA, was a better option. It was centrally located also. But it was a good walk round for me, no audio guide I'm afraid. But there were the odd info boards in English. The museum is situated just down the road from the City's overhead Cable Car system that gives good views of the city and park. Here I decided to splash out on the metro back. Bit of a treat down to the city – the metro carriages are on a slope and I think cable operated.
That evening I crashed out in front of Barcelona vs Athletic in the Spanish Football Cup final in the common room with other guests. Barcelona won and the city didn't sleep that night. I did however and the next day rose, on time, and dashed out for breakie on the run. I was on my way to Pueblo Espanyol. This is a faux Spanish village that was built for the 1929 International Exhibition. It's aim was to show visits examples of architecture from across Spain's different regions. Now it plays host to many artisans workshops where they sell their wares and numerous places to eat. I had breakfast here in a café overlooking it's Plaza Mayor. Again, with audio guide in hand, I spent near on 4 hours ambling around, taking in the various info about Spanish building styles and checking out all the things being made in the little shops. By the time I had finished I hadn't much time left before I had to catch my bus back to Madrid. I caught metro back to the Gothic quarter of the city which is the oldest part and very atmospheric. I walked from here back up to the hostel, of course it was then that it decided to start raining, how terribly British.
I checked out, managed to leave my towel there in the process and took the metro back to Estacion Nord. Barcelona's bus station isn't bad, if a bit tatty. Bus was practically empty back and the journey passed fairly quietly except for a few outbursts from a rather uptight bus driver. And this is when 'The Bus Story' comes in. Pulling into some random town, a woman wanted to be droped off somewhere quickly. So bus stopped she got off and then we headed back to open road. A good few minutes in an old man crawled his way up to the bus driver. A few Si, claro hombre's and stressed por favor's later we turned round as the driver didn't announce the stop and people had missed it. Yes I know it well.
I had remembered to bring the earphones from bus tour to plug in as Alsa busses have personal earphone things that I wanted to check out. Unfortunately, out of 8 channels, only 3 worked and when the film did eventually pop up on screen, none of these channels offered the soundtrack. This annoyed me a lot as it was Something About Mary being shown and I'd never seen that. Mind you probably would have been dubbed anyway. I could lip read well enough.
Barcelona: Great for Architecture, playing volleyball on the beach and remember your Audio Guides.
Thursday 4 June 2009
Barcelona - Part 1
Let's start at Avenida America Bus Station in Madrid. I arrived at 10am on a Monday and the place was practically a ghost station. First of all, amazingly tiny screens making finding right platform number where the bus is extremely difficult. Secondly, venturing out to platform – not a soul to be found anywhere. Hanging around, 5 mins before departure, found someone who resembled a driver who told me to go to a couple of platforms down, different to one on screen that hadn't changed. There, a small group of travelers waited in mild confusion only to be collected by another driver person who took us to a completely different platform at the other end of the station. Result – not impressed, Estacion del Sur at Mendez Alvaro still the best bus station in Madrid for ease and facilities.
7 hours and two motorway stops later, I had arrived in Barcelona's Estacion Nord. First task – find hostel. I had booked into Sant Jordi Hostel off Paseo de Gracia via hostelworld.com. Very good website, trusting traveler reviews who have actually stayed there so no nasty surprises. Instructions from hostel were detailed about which metro to catch and what exit to take and other than a short debate with a metro employee who didn't agree with the instructions, I found the hostel relatively quickly. I was tired from the journey and wanted to settle in as soon as possible and find something to eat.
Sant Jordi hostel is small and friendly. It is freshly decorated with a well kitted out kitchen and common room. They are so accommodating here that they organize socials each night. That evening was named 'Nasty Mondays' on the walls of the common spaces. The international set of Australians, Canadians and Americans gathered in the kitchen for drinks before heading out to a club one of the hostel workers knew which did great Mojitos. Once back at the hostel at something O'Clock in the morning I was ready to crash out. Unfortunately the room I was put in was a) at the front overlooking a busy main street, b) right next to the kitchen and topping it off c) my bed was pushed up to a set of connecting doors into the kitchen where at 5am I was awoken by a couple of Germans. It all amounted to a very bad night's sleep.
In the morning I was delighted to find at only 2€, an amazing spread for Breakfast. Just what I needed to start my day's exploring. I decided to do the traditionally touristic thing of taking an official Bus Tour round the city. Bus Tour views vary from a waste of time and money to an informative way to orientate yourself. I took the later view and spent nearly the whole day on three different tours. Of course it was hop on, hop off type but at 21€ day ticket (27€ for 2 days) I was going to make the most of it. I had a fantastic lunch by the harbor and gained some great ideas of what to see in Barca. However because there really is no point sitting on the bottom deck due to the amount of wonderful buildings the city has to offer and constantly looking up, I was on the top, in the sun for near on a day. This amounts to one thing as a girl of Celtic roots – amazing sunburn even in May when it wasn't especially hot there.
With a little time in evening before I ate, I visited the Casa Batlló which was just on the corner of the street from the hostel. This house was designed by Gaudi for a Textile Factory owner and oh my god – completely in love with Gaudi architecture now. You either love him or hate him but you can't visit Barcelona without exposing yourself to at least one of his works. One comment was that the house is a bit expensive to visit but with the bus tour, I got discount slips on nearly all the places of interest. Also if you have the ISIC card, which I really recommend, discounts are abound on all these types of places. At the sites I visited, I asked which discount would be best as the amount discounted varied.
That evening I asked to change rooms as I was not up for another night of light dozing. The lady behind the hostel desk was very nice and jiggled a few things so I could spend my last two nights in a quiet room at the back. That evening's activities were Sangria drinking with the guests at the other Sant Jordi Hostels. Or 'Crazy Tuesdays' as it was labeled. After crammed socializing in the kitchen everyone was invited to a club with free entry and a free drink. I wasn't up for it as I wanted an early start the next day and also the club played House and Hip Hop music and that's not my thing.
Sunday 31 May 2009
The Bus Story - the ultimate tale!
Before I give you my account of my time in Barcelona I must give you the Bus Story that I've been promising for so long. On my way back from Barca to Madrid we stopped off at a random town where something happened (I won't say what as it will ruin the story) to remind me of my own first Bus trip.
What follows is an account that I first impressed my theatre comrades in the belly of what was 'Fuel' quiz night in Plymouth. Now re-named 'Mouse Trap' by the unscrupulous Cuba/Air/Mouse Trap Bar group (unscrupulous because of it's gratifying women's toplessness in Cuba - another campaign for another time). What I tell you probably isn't really about what happened and how I developed a slight fear of travelling alone on busses but how I manage to turn a mundane 2 minute tale into a near novel.
Let me take you back to a time much nearer the turn of the millenium when I was a hapless school girl in Cambridge. One Weekend my parents decided to go celeb spotting near St Tropez with a friend of mine's parents who had a chalet down there. The plan was for me to go to this girl's house for the weekend where we would be looked after by her older brother and his then girlfriend (now wife). But how to get from Cambs to Dunmow where she lived? I was instructed to take the bus from the centre of town.
Off I trundled down Cambs picturesque streets - suitcase behind me (I weekly boarded at the time), School uniform on. First problem - finding the ticket office and purchasing right ticket. 5 mins was spent trying to find this, tucked away behind where all the busses stand. Finally found and ticket bought, checked to right destination. Next task - waiting at right stand for bus. Hmmmmmmmmm, waiting, waiting, waiting. OK - it's definitely late now. Am I at the right stand? Ok I am, it's all ok. Oh thank god - as the bus rolls up. A few people climb aboard. To the driver I present my ticket and double check "This does stop at Dunmow?" To which the driver says yes and then asks me this "Are you one of those Stansted Airport hostesses?"
This is more than slightly concerning as let me describe to you my school uniform I was wearing; My blue V-neck jumper might have had the green school crest on the left corner, might not have but looked very schooly anyhow. My skirt which was regulatory knee-length balckwatch pleated tartan. I think it was summer so I probably would have had horrid blue socks on completing the look with boring black flats. Also this was pre-eyeliner era so I probably looked about three years younger than I actually was anyway. Now the only thing I can think of that might have made him say that was the fact that I was wielding a wheelie suitcase - but it was bright purple for God sake! This worried me together with the glazed look in his eyes that made me decide he was definitely on drugs.
Journey begins. As I didn't really know what stop Dunmow was after I checked and it was the one after the Airport. Trouble is with busses is that you don't know what your stop looks like if you haven't stopped there before. Of course with long distance they announce it or are supposed to. But I knew what the airport looked like so was resolved in just getting off at the stop after that. So the airport we pass. Ah yes mine's the next then. Time passes. I notice a sign to Dunmow pointing one way - bus goes opposite direction. Try not to panic. Maybe low bridges or something I think. More time passes. Friend rings me on my Nokia 5110 asking where I am. I say should be there any moment now. More time passes. Friend rings me again and tells me to go up to driver and ask him - I reply that I do not trust his multitasking skills to do such a thing. More time and then - we stop.
Bus driver announces "Last Stop Chelmsford. Everyone off!" WHAT! OMG. I have it out with the driver asking him why he didn't stop. He says he did and that someone got off. And I'm like 'well no, obviously not coz that would have been me wouldn't it?' You nummbskull. Obviously I didn't say that to him but I did start crying. I was in deepest darkest Essex and no idea how to get to where I needed to be. Back on the changeable cover Nokia phone and friend had solution. Luckily big bro's girlfreind's mum lived in Chelmsford and so it was arranged for her to pick me up. So I wait in a desolate bus station nearing dark not surprised at yet another stranger coming to collect me from somewhere.
A woman turns up and introduces herself and takes me back to her house. Not too long later my friend, her brother and the girlfriend arrive also. I apologise for causing such havoc but all's well that ends well as we settled down to a nice tea together. Apparently the girlfriend hadn't seen her mum for a while so it was a nice excuse to get together. Which was good. Ah but what a journey it was that formed much of my inexplicable fears of travelling to scary places on my own.
So, ehum, around the world without a plane completely on my toddle should be fine then shouldn't it. Tune in next time when you'll get to hear about Barcelona.
Monday 11 May 2009
Granada - the Final day
Sunday I woke up after a delightful sleep, still in Mochi Guesthouse thankgod. Breakfast was lovely, talking with different travellers - a plus. My American friend decided to go on a hike with some other girls around the countryside close by. Buses are available to take you into the hills which supposedly have the best views of the city. Unfortunately they missed their bus so never got there. Buses were only once an hour I think.
I was too worn out from the day before to go trekking. Have I mentioned Granada is hilly? So I took a turn about the town in the morning, taking a rest at Paseo de Los Tristes. Despite the name (Walkway of the Sad, literally translated) it has a delightful view of the River Valley and the Alhambra above. I stopped there to write and eat a little before meeting my friend and another we had bumped into who we knew from Madrid in a Moroccan Tea House near the Albacin.
One of my lasting memories of Granada is that it is more like a little taste of Morocco than one of Spain. I was always planning on visiting Morocco before I left southern Europe but I have never been able to do so. Now I'm a little less sad about never making it over to the African continent because of my visit to Granada. The place we were sitting in was tiny, crammed with tiny stools around Metalic round plates set as tables. The menu listed or course many blends of teas and a Crepe selection. I ruddy love crepes! So a Rose Tea and Bannana, Cream and Chocolate Crepe later I was settled. And on leaving, we all spotted a little sheesha action too.
After the Moroccan place we set off once again into the Sacremento to check out the cave museum. After a slight camp out on their steps (it was closed for siesta) we looked around some ancient caves set in the hills. People have been living in these caves since prehistoric times and lately have enjoyed a revival with hippies reinhabiting some abandonned ones. Another beautiful trait of Granada was it's free and artistic atmosphere. As soon as you hit the Albacin, there's street trade, random little shops. Admittedly some sell the same kind of thing but it's all interesting stuff. It's Uni has a rep. for being best at Drama so that's where all that lot go. And that really comes out when you walk around the town.
I have to go back one day to do some more exploration. Apparently there are some Turkish Baths somewhere.
I was too worn out from the day before to go trekking. Have I mentioned Granada is hilly? So I took a turn about the town in the morning, taking a rest at Paseo de Los Tristes. Despite the name (Walkway of the Sad, literally translated) it has a delightful view of the River Valley and the Alhambra above. I stopped there to write and eat a little before meeting my friend and another we had bumped into who we knew from Madrid in a Moroccan Tea House near the Albacin.
One of my lasting memories of Granada is that it is more like a little taste of Morocco than one of Spain. I was always planning on visiting Morocco before I left southern Europe but I have never been able to do so. Now I'm a little less sad about never making it over to the African continent because of my visit to Granada. The place we were sitting in was tiny, crammed with tiny stools around Metalic round plates set as tables. The menu listed or course many blends of teas and a Crepe selection. I ruddy love crepes! So a Rose Tea and Bannana, Cream and Chocolate Crepe later I was settled. And on leaving, we all spotted a little sheesha action too.
After the Moroccan place we set off once again into the Sacremento to check out the cave museum. After a slight camp out on their steps (it was closed for siesta) we looked around some ancient caves set in the hills. People have been living in these caves since prehistoric times and lately have enjoyed a revival with hippies reinhabiting some abandonned ones. Another beautiful trait of Granada was it's free and artistic atmosphere. As soon as you hit the Albacin, there's street trade, random little shops. Admittedly some sell the same kind of thing but it's all interesting stuff. It's Uni has a rep. for being best at Drama so that's where all that lot go. And that really comes out when you walk around the town.
I have to go back one day to do some more exploration. Apparently there are some Turkish Baths somewhere.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
