At a comfortable 10am the 26 inc. Phil the bus God (we had left Bernie the crazy but lovable frenchmen to his own devices at the border)borded our Nepalese bus and headed to the resort town of Pokhara. Here we found another comfortable hotel overlooking a beautiful lake and mountain scenery. We had arrived just in time for Dwali and there was a definite party feel in the air.
Our first day was spent rising before day-break to trek up a mountain to see sunrise. A slightly arduous trek but I set my own pace and kept to it and was one of the first to arrive at the summit. Here we had to pay for a ticket to set foot upon. Gradually we all gathered and watched the sunrise together. We took photos, posed for photos, watched some crazy Nepalese guys drop their camera over the edge of mountain and climb down steep rock face to get it. As you do. We departed in good light ready for the bus at the bottom to take us back to hotel in time for breakfast. Some chose to walk all the way back to town. Well those of us who chose safe, easy, non-tiring four wheeled option were a tad dissapointed when told bus had gone and had to wait somewhere along road for silly busman to come back for us. All in the perils of miscommunication. What jubilations were cried out when bus eventually did show and arriving back at hotel we barely beat those who had set out on foot. But we were just in time for Breakfast - which was the main thing.
Nepalese breakfasts were good. Well anything was good - we had been in India where they don't believe in Breakfasts at the places we were staying. I slept for a good long while after a good helping, until it was lunchtime and afternoon in fact. We had met Rob's "brother" in Chitwan (wasnt really Rob the camera/Curry's wizard's brother but looked identical). He told us of a little orphanage to visit in Pokahara which was on the itineray of things to do that afternoon. I had always intended to visit an orphanage that Phil knew of in Kathmandu so thought I'd go to this one.
We were met by Helen Henderson, a wee Scotish woman who lead us from the hotel to the Orphanage. We walked up a dirt track off the main road by the lake (behind Base Camp Resort) and to my surprise we entered a small plot of land through a new gate, up a garden path into a small house. It wasn't what I was expecting at all, when I think of Orphanages, I think of big unfriendly, godforsaken looking places with hundreds of children in dorms. Here, at Shangri-La new Dawn, I was pleasently surprised. There mission statement is "A loving secure small family orientated home for orphaned and abandoned children of Nepal". That was certainly the impression I got as I was invited to sit in the main living area/school room by Krishna and his wife. There were just five of us from Ozbus who were visiting and each of us asked our own intrigued questions as we ate fruit and drank tea they had laid out for us.
There were only approx. 8 children which is as large as they wanted their house to be, focussing on keeping a family atmosphere. The children were from a variety of destitute backgrounds and hadn't really been there long as the house had only been set up for about a year. Those of school age all attended the local but Nepalese education being what it is, were all tutored after with an empahsis on learning English. As it was explained - in Nepal where tourism is the 3rd religion, a future is not bright without a good grasp of the language. As we listened to Krishna and Helen tell us heartbreaking stories of the origins of each child, I looked out to the front lawn where most of them were playing. Helen had recently splashed out on a swing and they were all making good use of their new toy. They were running around, screaming and laughing - exactly how children should be. It was an immense happy sight. But inside, the realities were harder to deal with.
The children didn't have enough clothes. They were constantly running out of basic educational materials such as pencils and books to read. Toys were very limited. There was a shelf or so of toys we could see - that was the extent of it. The house was constantly struggling to pay eletricity bills and in the winter it got incredibly cold. The children were cared for by Krishna and his wife but there was just an underlying constant struggle that this orphanage had to deal with that tore on our heartstrings. Helen did what she could, dividing her time between Scotland and Nepal where she would arrive with what she could fit into luggage. But it was impossible to send things without human escort, a nightmare to get money to the orphanage.
It was clear that what this orphanage needed to continue the safe and nurturing environment for these children - something that every single child deserves. Because I know what some of you may think - these were just 8 children out of hundreds in the country, millions in the world but do these 8 children deserve less becuase they are simply so few? To continue - more man power is needed, more time from caring individuals, more donations, more attention from the outside world. Linda our resident shopaholic was one such person who was so moved by the time she spent with the children that she vowed to return and help.
Some of us were having fun outside aquaintng ourselves with the children when it was time to leave. We had memorable photos taken with them all and it was a sad goodbye that was said. Walking back down the dirt track I felt a queitness inside me. I didn't want to speak, I didn't want to think. I just felt. Felt so deeply and so moved for these childrens' incredibly uncertain futures.
Shagri-La New Dawn, Pokhara, Nepal
Krishna Acharya (Project Co-ordiantor)
manhimalayan@yahoo.com
Mrs Helen Henderson (UK contact)
mammychef@googlemail.com
Monday, 4 January 2010
Tuesday, 10 November 2009
Ozbus11 in Nepal - Part 1
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.
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.
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.'
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