Around The World On 80 Couches.

Hong Kong: Little London.

2010-08-20T12:33:00.002+01:00

It wasn’t until I landed at the airport that I found out my destiny for Hong Kong. I knew I had the choice of staying with Takahiro for the second and third night of my 3 night stay, but the first night was still uncertain as I boarded the plane in Seoul.

The best offer I managed to get from my emergency couch request was, you might say, a bit odd. It came from a French-English gent called Laurent, who was on the Island for business staying at a hotel. He’d seen my dilemma posted on the forum and was eager to help me not fail my mission (which is of course to make it around the world without paying for accommodation).

So, in a friendly, yet somewhat awkward ‘I’m not gay, nor a nutter’ message, he’d offered me to come and stay with him in his hotel room. I think it was just the fact that it was a hotel room that made it slightly odd. I mean, I’d stayed with Bina in her 1 room studio in Seoul, with 3 other people in a studio in Yokohama, so why was this such an awkward situation? Perhaps because we were two single males, but also perhaps because we were both Western European – it’s one of those cultural things that comes as strange to us. We are a people who like our space, and have strict personal boundaries, especially us Brits.

But thankfully for me, Laurent was also well travelled and open-minded culturally, and so after thinking about it I found nothing odd about the situation at all and I snapped up his offer to share his free room. Of course, the English in me still found it appropriate to make ice-breaking jokes about getting drunk so we could gloss over the situation. You can take the boy out of England.

Couch 27.

So I met Laurent, who’d been hanging out all day with other CS members in Hong Kong, a group who’d met up to go on a walking hike that day. Since Austria I’d steered away from such group meetings, but it felt in Hong Kong that they use them in the ‘right’ way. During my time in HK we also attended one other meeting, a first for me (isn’t that what travelling is all about?) – a poetry reading by a US poet called Hawal.

By going I decided that poetry really wasn’t my ‘bag’, but it wasn’t as awful as I thought it might have been. True, I did have to hide a giggle or two so as not to offend any of the ‘poets’, but they were doing something that means something to them. After all, perhaps people feel the same about my writings here in this blog, who am I to make fun of others? So it was good to see a positive use of Couch Surfing meet-ups other than just as one big singles/swingers get together, as I’d seen take place in other countries. I’d have been even happier had the meet taken place in a venue that served alcohol, but that craving was appeased after the meeting with an excursion to a nearby café bar.

Another night, after I’d moved to stay with Takahiro, I also joined up with the same group of people to check out the view from ‘The Peak’, which really was something. Hong Kong’s lights really are a spectacular sight by night.

Hong Kong skyline.

The 'Batman Building', aka The IFC.

Staying with Laurent was a prime example of how wonderful some people in this Couch Surfing community can be. Prepare yourself, I’m about to go ‘Hippy’ again. The generousity for him to offer me this situation – while at no financial cost to him (Laurent’s employers were footing the hotel bill) to intrude into his hotel, to break the cultural taboo of two male strangers sharing a hotel room, was above and beyond the norm. It was yet another eye-opening moment of mankind’s ability to be charitable.

In the morning I left the hotel with Laurent as he went off to work, and joined two of the CS members I’d met on the night I arrived as they were planning to make a day trip to Macau. When I agreed to go with them, I’d really had no idea what Macau is – it turns out it’s the Chinese version of Las Vegas. An island province off the coast of mainland China, it’s reachable by an hour long ferry journey from Hong Kong. Macau operates with different laws to the rest of China, where organized gambling is illegal. Had I known I might have declined the offer (I don’t have any money to lose in casinos!) but it turned out to be a fun day anyway, and the history of Macau is also quite intriguing. Plus, it got me another stamp in my rapidly filling up passport! Much like Vegas, outside of gambling there wasn’t too much to do in Macau, but we filled the 6 hours we were there with sightseeing, walking, eating and catching (usually the wrong) buses.

Even in Macau there's an Irish Pub.

The Macau Wynn - one of the Vegas style casinos.

The ruins of St Paul's, built in 1602.

After I got back to HK I went to find my next Hosts place. Takahiro would be host 28 and was a pilot with Qantas. Finally someone who spends more time on planes than me! Taka’s place was a very modern apartment which had a great view looking out to Hong Kong Island. He was very curious of England and in particular the class system and had many questions, so throughout my stay we traded information, taking it in turns to find out about each other’s culture. Taka was most certainly the most inquisitive Host I’ve had to date and conversation rarely waned.

Couch 28.

Together we went out to eat (food is such a social thing, this trip has really hammered that home), we sampled some great Dim Sum and Yum Cha – and discovered the much confused difference between the two. He was able to tell me some of the history of Hong Kong, how it was largely formed from reclaimed land and the affects of the handover from British control back to China.

Dim Sum.

It turns out that many Hong Kongers had been in fear of the change, and many in fact fled the country just in case. As it has transpired there was no need to fear anything, and life there has continued much the same, on the surface at least. As with every other former British colony, I (somewhat nervously) brought up the subject of the British rule, but from what I understand from Taka, there was very little (if any) animosity towards the British. Of course, asking one person’s opinion is hardly a great cross section, but I stressed to get insight into the common opinion rather than just my Host’s objective view, and he assured me that, recently at least, people were never really at odds with our occupation. Perhaps for some it was more the devil you know.

HK streets by night.

There are still plain to see elements of 'Britishness' around Hong Kong, in particular the overall feel of the place. At one point I was on ‘Queen Elizabeth St’ outside a generic US coffee shop, which was next to an Irish pub, waiting for a double Decker bus. I could easily have been on any road in London. The only thing that was missing was the red double Decker buses; because here the double Decker buses (since the handover in 1997) have been repainted gold.

They don't take Oyster, but a close relative - the Octopus card.

So while I found Hong Kong different, it was far from exotic. I’d been excited about it mainly I suppose, from film, the most recent footage of the City I saw was from ‘The Dark Knight’, a favourite of mine that I’ve sat through many times. The Cityscape at night is really rather special, but in the short time I was there I didn’t really get taken away by it. It never grasped me like I thought it would.

I think if I’m honest with myself I know that my heart wasn’t in Hong Kong. I was ready for Australia, for family & familiarity. Travelling in Asia had been amazing and no mistake…but it can also be hard work. Being constantly without a clue of what’s going on can take its toll. Inability to communicate can be stressful at times and a while the adventure of being in such an alien place is the real joy of travel, after a while you can find yourself pining for home comforts. I’d tried to stem the desire for home by travelling with the essentials – my preferred brand of tea bags and Marmite which I’d packed as essentials.

Love it or hate it, a taste of Home.

Not only were these great for me personally (whenever I felt I needed a piece of my old life I’d boil up some water and pop some toast on and instantly feel at home, wherever I was), but Marmite especially was a great social experiment, and my only real chance to share some of my ‘Britishness’ with my hosts. I tried to get all my hosts to try Marmite, partly as a chance to ‘share’ my culture, but also for the fun of watching them reel in disgust as it hit their taste buds. As the advertising campaign goes, you either love it or hate it, and only in Asia had I found any of the former. The taste testing had, until then, produced 100% of the latter. Most of the Easterners who tried also commented that it was familiarly salty, a common feature of many Asian foods, perhaps a reason for their acceptance of it.

On the one hand I was happy that I’d found some kindred spirits, and like an apostle I felt I was spreading the good word of Marmite around the globe…but I was also secretly enjoying when people DIDN’T like it. There’s nothing more amusing than watching someone try Marmite for the first time, and absolutely hating it. If you know anyone that’s never tasted, and need a laugh, give it a go. The odds are 50/50 you’ll get a good laugh.

But the temporary relief I was getting from tea & toast only went so far. In Australia I’d be amongst family, and be spared the repetitive life story spiel that I was having to go through every 4 or 5 days to every new host, asking and answering the same questions over and over. Also, the stress of finding somewhere to sleep would be solved for a little while too, and that issue in particular was beginning to grate on me.

Laurent, flame worshiper.

Me & Taka, hitting the streets of HK.

So I left Hong Kong a little angry at myself for being so forward looking and vowed not to make that mistake again. I should have given more of myself to experiencing things there but I let myself be distracted by desire to reach my next destination. Don’t get me wrong, I still had fun and met some lovely people – Laurent and Takahiro especially – but I was ready for Melbourne. But was I ready for a hot Christmas? We shall see.

Seoul Man.

2010-07-30T17:10:00.001+01:00

Almost the first thing I saw in Seoul (mere seconds after the smile of my new Host Bina), was 4 costumed Super Heroes, performing an elaborate dance routine set to music on in the entrance to the subway station. Straight away I had a feeling nothing I’d find here would be ‘normal’. What a welcome!

My welcoming committee.

Not sure who the guy in white is supposed to be though.

Bina met me on this platform, and the first thing that crossed my mind (after 'what the hell was all that dancing about) was how much taller she looked in person than in her profile picture on the Couch Surfing website. The second thought was how daft that first thought was – after all, said picture is only of her head.

I was to discover in time that Bina is a student at University in Korea, originally from a small town outside of Seoul, she was training to become an elementary school teacher. Sometimes when you meet students it’s difficult to place them in the profession they’re actually training for, but with Bina I could tell straight away what a great teacher she could be.

Bina's unique teaching methods. You won't find them in the text books!

Almost reserved to the point of shy, Bina has a quiet, unassuming way about her – the kind of girl who wouldn’t say boo to a ghost. She would in fact charm it into becoming her friend within minutes, with her cheeky smile, mischievous giggle and humble humility. As we chatted over dinner, the extent of her kindness became clear – she’d already told me she’d be unable to spend much time with me during my 5 days there because of University and she had exams coming up…but she didn’t tell me that they were as near as the NEXT DAY.

I felt both humbled and slightly guilty that she’d agreed to take me in at this point in her academic calendar – surely having a stranger come to stay with you during exams must make revising and concentration difficult. It would be made even more difficult by the fact that Bina actually lived in a studio (as we call it in England) apartment. A studio, if you don’t know, is an apartment that (usually) combines all the elements of kitchen/living room/bedroom into one, a multipurpose living space. As far as studios go, it was reasonably spacious, but even so for me it raised certain concerns for how Bina was using this CS network – primarily, was she being safe?

Couch 26.

As I’ve mentioned early on in my blog, there are possible issues with Couch Surfing & Hosting, the most worrying being the safety element of it. I’ve never been concerned with my own safety, nor that of Merlin or any of my ‘stuff’ in London while i hosted or whilst on the trip, but my worries instead are for single females who might be putting themselves at risk needlessly.

Somewhat ironically, I felt it necessary to mention the safety issues to Bina of hosting like this – ironic because I was the beneficiary of her taking this ‘risk’ as I called it. In fact, when I brought up the subject, she mentioned that the last person to come and stay (who was also her first guest & experience in Couch Surfing) had been a single German male, who had in fact come on to her one night. She had turned him down and felt uncomfortable enough to ask him to leave, but he proceeded to beg her to let him stay, that he was sorry & it was a mistake. Even though she still wanted him to leave, she didn’t want to exasperate the situation, so allowed him to stay one more night.

That is precisely the situation that should never happen, and it’s my opinion that it’s just one of the many risks you would take by hosting or surfing as a single female. Thankfully for Bina, the night passed without incident and he left the next day, but she should never have been made to feel uncomfortable in her own home. It’s something to be thankful for that it didn’t escalate – it’s not worth thinking what could have happened.

But I digress. As soon as we left the subway after meeting, I took my first breath of Korean air, exhaled…and watched as my breath took on a life of its own, the kind of breath that imitates smoke. As it exited my mouth it casted a warning of impending illness. I’d had a hard time surviving in Japan at -2 C, with the temperature hovering at around -8 C, I was totally unprepared for Korean winter. My brain processed all this information before my body had time to understand, but within minutes it had caught up, and I was shivering uncontrollably.

Not that it was strictly my lack of research that was to blame – it would prove to be the coldest winter in Korea for almost 40yrs. Great time to be a tourist. A tourist with only 1 pair of jeans and 4 pairs of shorts, and most significantly, no jacket up to the task of, well…keeping me alive.

I’d been (and would be after Seoul) ‘chasing the summer’ as it’s called, hitting all my countries at some point in their summer – with the exception of Japan & Korea. Not normally one for the warm climate, I really didn’t think the cold would affect me so much, but after the first day of being a tourist in -8C my vulnerability became (painfully) clear.

To the rescue came Jeong Eun. Perhaps the credit could go to Jeong Eun’s Father, but it was Jeong Eun that borrowed his coat for me to stave off the inevitable hypothermia that would befall me should I continue to spend time outdoors in Seoul. Jeong Eun had been one of my first Couch Surfers in London, (number 4 to be precise) along with her sister Soo Yeon and friend Junghwan. As she lived with her parents in a small house unfortunately she was unable to offer me a place to stay, but was more than happy to be my tour guide for a few days, and so on my first day she, Soo Yeon and I spent the day walking around Seoul, testing our resolve against the elements and taking in the City sights (few of which can be found indoors…tourism is a summer sport in Seoul so keep that in mind if you ever plan to visit!) and frankly, freezing.

Seoul Tower.

Suicide Jumper art.

City View.

We did manage to get around some places before hypothermia set in completely, stopping now & again for food and warmth. First stop was Seoul Tower for a wonderful aerial view over the bustling metropolis, reached by cable car. As well as the great view, at the top there was also a great Christmas tree and a fence completely covered in padlocks. Left by lovers to signify their unbreakable bond, there are literally thousands of these padlocks and it’s some sight indeed. If you ever make it to Seoul Tower, it’s certainly worth seeking this display of love & commitment out, and even add your own should you wish. I just wonder if when those couples break up they actually come to retrieve their padlocks?

Love Locks.

The 'bike chains of race hate' must be somewhere else.

After the tower we headed for lunch to add spice & warmth to our stomachs, before hitting a preserved old Korean Village called Namsan Gol Hanok to show tourists how Seoul used to look in the past. Then we hit the palace, an impressive example of Korean architecture and sought refuge from the cold in the museum. The cold was beating us.

Hanok Village.

Korean Kitchen.

The sisters play Old Style.

Not wanting to let the cold ruin my stay, I vowed to fight against the cold, but felt so sorry for Jeong Eun, my suffering tour guide. Soo Yeon fell victim after the first day of sight-seeing, developing a cold immediately. The sensible thing would have been for me to bow out gracefully and pay homage to the elements that had clearly defeated me…but I’m stubborn. And who knows when I’ll get to see Seoul again? Admittedly, it probably was a big mistake coming in winter, but I’d rather be there in the winter than never at all!

The Palace.

And again.

The front view - you can see more appropriately dressed tourists. Clever people.

Thankfully Jeong Eun shared my attitude and selflessly accompanied me around Seoul the following day too. This girl went above and beyond the CS code, and I hope I was able to convey how grateful I am to her. We were also joined by Jungwhan for another wonderful Korean lunch, followed by a trip to the Blue House where the President of Korea resides. Apparently he hadn’t been made aware of my presence in Seoul, because there was no invitation for tea, but I understand.

Outside the Blue House, wearing almost every item of clothing i have.

That evening, after I left Jeong Eun & Jungwhan, I attempted the impossible. To cook some British food for Bina. Again, with it being an ‘Asian’ style kitchen there was no oven, ruling out some 90% of British dishes, most of which (that I can cook from memory) are pie style or roasts. My hopes to whip up anything else British was hampered by impossible to find ingredients, and my visit to the ‘world foods’ aisle resulted in nothing more than mild confusion.

I settled in the end for cooking something European, trying to at least come close to Britain in a geographical sense if not a culinary one. Italian, although not really close to England is at least tasty. So, to give Bina a flavour of ‘Europe’ I took on the incredibly simple task of knocking up a Spaghetti Bolognese (or Spag Bol to those in the know). Of course, a basic, easy dish that almost anyone can make. But in Korea it’s not the making the dish that’s tough, it’s the eating it.

Metal chopsticks: Infuriating.

If you don’t know, metal chopsticks are all the rage in Korea, though I’ll never understand why. Unlike more common Chinese or Japanese wooden sticks, the stainless steel Korean versions are longer and flatter, with a width of just a few millimeters. I was unable to find anyone who could explain why they are so different to the rest of Asia, especially in terms of them being metal, but one suggestion is that they are simply cleaner and more hygienic.

Hygienic for sure – you can’t grip anything long enough to eat, therefore they never make it into your mouth! Being metal they have a considerably awkward inability to grasp anything at all (which I consider an important facet of an eating utensil), resulting in even the simplest of foods a complex struggle raise to the mouth without dropping. Whereas solid foods are difficult, it turns out eating Spag Bol with Korean chopsticks is IMPOSSIBLE. For the first time in Asia I felt myself yearning for a fork, or even better, a spork.

I like to think I’ve mastered the use of chopsticks – but this was a new challenge indeed. If Mr. Miyagi thought catching a fly with chopsticks was tough, he needs to try a minced beef sauce and spaghetti in Korea. Bina seemed to enjoy it though, although the pleasure she was emanating could well have been just laughter at my expense as I struggled to eat, splashings of red Bolognese sauce patterned all over my t-shirt.

Eating utensils aside though, the (Korean) food I sampled in Seoul was absolutely amazing. I was happy to get some Spice back in my life after the great, but somewhat bland foods of Japan. Korean food always seemed to have two major qualities in its favour – 1) it was spicy 2) there was always LOTS of it. Korean BBQ especially is a must if you like meat & spice. If you’re unfamiliar, its served up to you at your table in a huge wok, and you and your fellow diners fire up a flame on your table and cook away to your hearts content. The main body of the meal is a soup, and you can add as many ingredients as you wish, cooking the meats & vegetables in the soup. If you’ve had Chinese steamboat it’s the same philosophy I guess.

Chef Jeong Eun does the honours.

Korean BBQ pre cooking.

Different style, but same. This one's been cooked.

Chicken Soup with half a chicken in it...awesome.

I knew I’d like Korean foods before I got here, but the stuff I’ve had before in London obviously wasn’t a patch on the real thing. Again, like the rest of Asia, eating in Korea has a very social feel, a style which I’ve grown to love, where many dishes are dumped on the table and everyone shares a communal feast. If the cold had me regretting choosing Seoul as a destination, the food (and the company of Bina & Jeong Eun) certainly made up for it.

Peace signs all round. Jeong Eun, Sooin, Bina & Soo Yeon.

Kang Nam St.

Jeong Eun in particular was able to fill me in on a lot of Korean history, which really intrigued me. Because of the USA’s selfless ‘help’ in liberating the South from the dictatorship of the North, it appears they now partially control South Korea, especially in political terms, almost dictating their international policies. I understand that now it’s dawning on South Koreans that although they are grateful for their independence, all they seem to have done is trade one dictatorship for another. Sure, they now have Seattle-style coffee shops and disgusting burger restaurants to show for it, but to some that’s just not enough. I’m going to steer away from this political minefield though, as my knowledge about the situation is far from expert, but on the surface it looks like another case of the USA playing the saviour before becoming the tyrant.

Jeong Eun cautiously crossing the Cheong Gye Cheon river.

Proof of the COLD!

Bina’s apartment floor is also well worth a mention when I talk about my experience of Seoul. But “a floor is a floor” I’m sure you’ll say. Well, this isn’t a normal floor. Bina’s ingenious floor was not only a place to stand, it also provided the heating to the apartment. No heaters on the walls, all the warmth comes from below your feet, and it’s a truly remarkable system, heating the room from top to bottom. If the cold became too much, or on a return from a bone chilling Seoul walk for example, I’d simply collapse down on the marvelous polished oak and warm myself. Of course there is the drawback that you can’t leave any drinks or snacks (especially chocolate!) on the floor at any time, but that’s what coffee tables were invented for.

I may have cast a dismal view of my time in Seoul, whining about the weather and highlighting a floor as something of note, but it wasn’t all just about survival. My last night in particular was an especially good evening, mainly due to Fulham’s mighty triumph over Manchester Utd at the Cottage for the second time in 2 years. This year it was a considerably stylish victory, hammering them 3-0. Bina graciously accompanied me to a bar showing football, and her company helped stave off feelings of homesickness, as I wished for the first time that I was back in Fulham with my good friends Adam & Iain watching our beloved Cottagers. Aside from Merlin (my cat) going to the football was possibly something I missed the most about being in London, especially on days like this.

Whether it was the cold, Christmas approaching, stress about finding a Couch in HK or missing Fulham demolishing Man U, I was starting to feel like I needed a break from Couch Surfing. As I prepared to leave Seoul, I was having serious issues finding a ‘native’ to stay with in Hong Kong, my next stop. My policy of only staying with the locals was causing problems again in finding a Host, so once more I was anxious about arriving in a new city with no knowledge of where to stay. I’d lined up a potential host in the form of a half Japanese/half Hong Konger, but their offer was limited to only 2 nights and he couldn’t help me for my first night. Here we go again – another emergency request posted. I’m hoping the stress won’t last, and I fall on my feet again, but as I say I’m really feeling like I need a break.

To be honest, I’d rather just head straight to Australia, to be with my cousin & family, to be somewhere warm where I can totally relax and not go through the whole ‘get to know you’ shtick as is necessary when Couch Surfing. I don’t mind it at all, and I love meeting new people, but I’ve been doing it now for 3 months and I need a rest. It can actually be exhausting, this business. But, I’ve always wanted to see Hong Kong, it’s always been an exotic, mystical place I’ve long desired to visit.

Also, it’s only 3 nights, and Hong Kong is certainly a lot warmer than Seoul (though I think there’s very few places that AREN’T right now!). Just got to suck it up, and get through the next few days and look forward to Australia.

As I leave Seoul, the promise provided by the cold has delivered – the snowstorms begin. Perfect timing. I bless the weather gods as I see the first flakes descend as I arrive at the airport, cautiously worried that it could hamper my departure – but then I remember this is Korea, not Britain. They must be more used to dealing with snow than my home country. Word is, back home is under snow themselves, perhaps even a White Christmas on the cards. Myself, I’m arriving in Melbourne on Christmas Eve for what I’m sure will be a very memorable Christmas indeed – but seriously doubt I’ll be seeing any snow…it’s summer there after all.

Here I come Hong Kong, ready or not.

My tour guides, Jeong Eun & Soo Yeon.

Bina, Sooin & Me.

Tokyo Time.

2010-07-09T19:32:00.020+01:00

Little did I know at the time, but the gods of aeroplane seating was shining on me as I boarded the plane from Bangkok. The reason? An empty space next to me. But it wasn’t just the extra elbow room that I was blessed with. It allowed me to talk to Yuki, a Japanese girl who was sat on the other side of the empty seat. Her English was good, and we managed to while away the 8hr flight talking about travelling, Japan, Thailand and plenty of other things. At the time I was simply happy to have someone to chat with, but our meeting would prove not only lucky but would keep me on track in my mission. But more of that later.

Immediately on landing in Tokyo I was reminded exactly how different this world is. It’s almost as if you leave the plane, and outside of that doorway is a portal to another dimension, where you check ‘any other’ language at the door.

The last fluent English speaker you might encounter in Japan could well be the person interrogating you as you arrive. In my case, a smiling official who asked me if I had smoked any marijuana during my stay in Thailand. I could tell he was trying to make light of it, almost trying to joke around about it, but being familiar with Japanese law I know that any positive response would lead to my immediate deportation. They don’t like drugs here, that’s for sure. Thankfully I was able to respond in the negative without having to lie – I hadn’t even smoked a Marlboro since perhaps Germany (and that’s because it’s culturally essential there).

Safely in the country though, I started to miss the sun. Instantly the cold came as a big surprise. Having been in SE Asia for 6 weeks I was now accustomed to the heat, and although it was ‘only’ around 2C (being December), it was a huge shock to the system…especially as I had very few suitable clothes for winter time. As someone who grew up in the north midlands back in the UK I know what cold is, but I’d been spoiled by S.E .Asia. The old Keefy would have been fine, but this new, warm blooded & tanned version needed to buy more clothes.

The next issue was how to get to Tokyo. From Narita (Tokyo’s main airport) it should be fairly simple, especially as I’ve done it once before…but unless you can understand Kanji or Kana (Japanese syllabic script) you can forget the word ‘simple’. Kick it out of your vocabulary. In fact, it will have been checked at the door as you left the airplane as I mentioned before anyway, so don’t worry about it.

Thankfully, another girl came to my rescue. Half Japanese/half American, but with a bizarre New Zealand accent thanks to studying there, L’Teesha introduced herself to me on the train platform, commenting on my inadequate clothing for the climate and we were able to work out together that we were indeed waiting for the right train. L’Teesha and I spent the 2hr train journey chatting and as we parted made plans to keep in touch. I had a feeling knowing as many English speakers as possible would be a good thing.

I had lined up 3 hosts for my time in Japan, 2 in Tokyo, and 1 in Kyoto and my first was a young Japanese girl called Nayu. Fairly inexperienced in Couch Surfing, it was her boyfriend Robert (an Englishman) who had inspired her to sign up and I was the 3rd guest to stay with her in her traditional Japanese style home. It’s actually very far removed from Japanese culture to take part in something like Couch Surfing – to invite strangers into their homes but Nayu seemed a natural. I’d arrived on a Friday, so thankfully she had time to spend with me over the weekend.

Couch 23.

On Saturday morning she took me to the Meiji Shrine, and then afterwards to a Ramen place where I had quite simply the best Ramen noodle soup that was ever made. The 40 minute queue to get a seat suggested it would be good, but it was an absolute taste sensation. I could in fact waffle on & on about it, but I’ll save you the details. Let’s just say it was pretty damn good! In fact, much of my time in Japan would be spent eating the wonderful variety of foods. I’d grown accustomed to spice during my time in South East Asia so at times it was fairly bland (the Japanese don’t really go for spice, Wasabi being the exception), but always great.

Nayu outside her house.

I still have wet dreams about this soup.

Best Ramen place ever. Its not blurred, the waiters just all move this fast.

On my last trip here, we had been limited to pointing at pictures to order food and so had not experienced much variety in Japanese cuisine outside of Tempura and Sushi. Another example of language issues holding you back from the true experience. With locals throughout my 11 days in Japan I was thankfully able to experience a greater sample of cuisine and learned to appreciate it’s not all just raw fish in Japan.

Raw fish in Japan.

Sadly, due to Nayu’s busy social life and work hours, after the weekend we were not able to spend much time together, but that did however allow me to hang out with L’Teesha. It took me a while to accept her ‘Stateside’ style name but she provided welcome light relief in Tokyo. As mentioned, fluent English speakers in Japan are few and far between, so (even despite her Kiwi accent) it was good to have someone to hang out with where conversation was natural and relaxed.

One afternoon we met up for lunch, drinks and of course, Karaoke! Karaoke is a national hobby in Japan of course, and people go there for an hour or two at least once a week. Whereas in the UK it’s strictly a (usually drunken) evening experience, it’s common at any hour here. On your way to work, on your way home from school…there’s no wrong time for it. I’d liken it to say a hobby like 10 pin bowling or going to play pool for teenagers in Britain, only here it’s not just a hobby for teens it’s people of all ages. Also unlike how it’s done in Britain, it’s also mostly conducted in a private room with friends, rather than in front of a bunch of strangers. Perhaps an example of the overtly shy society of Japan - they want to let their hair down, but not where anyone can see.

It's actually law that you hold up 2 fingers like this in photos in Japan.

Frosted beer for lunch.

L’Teesha and also I planned to visit Tokyo Disney together, but a lack of proper planning and my need to spend time finding a host in Kyoto, meant that we had to limit our plans to Toshimaen Park, a much smaller amusement park nearer to where I was staying with Nayu in Ikebukuru. Toshimaen was in fact an almost identical replica of Alton Towers from the 90s. Or vice-versa. Either way, they had all the ‘core’ rides that I remember from Alton Towers back in my childhood, the Corkscrew was even called Corkscrew! It was a very bizarre reality. All the old classics were there, Pirate Ship, Flying Carpet, Log Flume…I’d stepped back in time. Alton Towers has moved on, but Toshimaen is in suspended animation.

The Corkscrew!

Just like home.

Also an alarming step back in time was how much L’Teesha behaved like the very Ex that I’d visited Tokyo with 3 years before. Perhaps this was just in my mind, but she acted almost identically to her, saying and doing the same things my ex had done when I’d first met her in her early 20s. I’d have sworn at times I almost said her name by mistake. It wasn’t L’Teesha’s fault that this was happening and I tried to pretend I wasn’t being freaked out by the coincidences. I knew she liked me, which made things worse, but I couldn’t help feeling like I was in a Harumi Murakami novel. Those of you who know my ex might even see the physical resemblance – especially when my Ex would attempt to look more Japanese (she was a big fan of Asian culture). But it was a good time, especially as the park was practically empty and therefore there were no queues for any rides at all.

L'Teesha & Me.

The Pirate Ship.

The next day I left Nayu, but not to Kyoto as I had originally planned. It had been almost impossible to find Japanese hosts for my time here, as Couch Surfing really goes against the nature of the Japanese psyche. It’s very unusual to be invited into a stranger’s home for dinner, let alone to stay with them for a few nights. Hence, most of the people offering places to stay are Ex-Pats from outside Japan. So, when my Kyoto host cancelled on me at the last minute, I had a serious issue. I couldn’t impose upon Nayu any longer, so I began sending out more last minute requests. Thankfully, I’d already been in touch with Yuki, the girl I met on the plane, and no sooner had I mentioned my dilemma about not having a place to stay, she suggested that I come and stay with her boyfriend (Sou) in Yokohama. Wonderful.

So, Kyoto was out and Yokohama was the new destination. First though, I had a date with a Mountain. Mount Fuji: 12,388 feet of majestic beauty. I took a day trip out to Hakone, one of the villages surrounding the Mountain where you can view it from a distant perspective in a variety of ways. I selected the cable car experience, over the Pirate Ship cruise…I mean, why a bloody Pirate Ship? Kind of cool I guess, but the Japanese salesman dressed as a cross between Jack Sparrow and Genghis Khan put me off.

Mount Fuji.

Not bad.

Mount Fuji is quite spectacular to see, and Hakone is a lovely place to see it from. A beautifully quaint, modest village and it (generally) feels spared of the aggressive sales techniques that you find in other tourist zones. It was out of season though, so that probably helped. While there I had the chance to ride the cable car and take in a shrine – if there’s one thing Japan has in abundance, its beautiful shrines.

Beautiful Shrine.

Lake Ashi, near the Mountain.

Soon it was back to Yokohama and to my next ‘host’, Sou – Yuki’s boyfriend. Yokohama is a City just outside Tokyo, reachable by a 40 minute train journey. It’s still a big city, and it struck me as quite unusual that it can be found so close to Tokyo. With a population of 3.6 million, Yokohama is almost half the population of London, right on the capitals doorstep. If you didn’t already realize, space is a rarity in this country, especially in the cities, so apartments are suitably tiny, mostly consisting of just one room, akin to a studio flat. That’s another thing that explains the difficulty of finding a Couch in Tokyo – people just don’t have space to offer.

Yuki & Sou.

Couch 24.

So, I wasn’t shocked by the size of Sou’s place, and in fact it was very cozy sharing the room with him, Yuki and his best friend Toshiro. Yuki & Toshiro’s English was considerably better than most Japanese I’d met so far, but Sou’s was a little more basic. Thankfully, we quickly discovered a common language – I call it the language of ‘drunk’. After several beers, sake and shochu’s it really didn’t matter who spoke which language – we were all talking rubbish. I like to think I’d helped him advance his English because of our talks, but I’m pretty sure all he picked up was ‘Cheers’ and ‘more beer?’. Incidently, that is actually about the amount of Japanese I learnt too.

Yuki & I.

Toshiro & Sou.

I spent 3 nights with Sou, Yuki & Toshiro, and can’t actually remember any moments of sobriety. All students, their time was their own and Sou & Toshi decided to skip school to ‘take care’ of me – something I greatly appreciated…even if ‘take care of’ in Japanese means ‘relentlessly ply with alcohol until puking’. Japanese drinking sessions strongly resembled the cultural binge drinking we’ve all been told is exclusively an ‘English’ problem, the only difference being the mandatory couple of hours of Karaoke thrown into the mix. In my 12 days in Japan I must have done Karaoke more than the last 30yrs of my life. It’s not a myth; they are Karaoke Krazy in Japan.

Indian Poker.

Karaoke!

I wasn’t glad to be leaving Sou’s place, but my liver was. Considering meeting Yuki had been completely a chance encounter, and they had never even heard of Couch Surfing, I consider myself extremely lucky to have met them all. Had it not been for Sou's kindness, this mission may well have ended not even half way through.

Japanese high 5's.

Guiness time - bringing some Home to Yokohama.

Next up I was due to stay with Kosuke, who would be my third and final host in Japan. Kosuke lived almost as centrally as anyone can be in Tokyo, near the Tsukiji fish market. His flat was a stark contrast to the old style of Nayu’s place and the sparse square footage of Sou’s. Modern and chic, he even had a spare bedroom – unheard of in Tokyo, and I even had a bed. Bliss.

Couch 25.

Kosuke introduced me to many delights, including Okonomiyaki, which is a delicious omelette style dish that you cook yourself at your table. He also showed me 'Fake' Beer. It is exactly as it says on the tin, a synthetic lager made without traditional ingredients, just chemicals and alcohol. Those industrious Japanese, they never fail to surprise. Taste wise it was pretty spot on - the only difference I could detect was in the price – Fake Beer costing half the expense of the boring ‘Real’ stuff. The ‘Fake Beer’ should have come as no surprise really, I knew from my last visit that they like to experiment as I’d sampled various fruit lagers as well as toffee and chocolate flavoured (neither of which I’d recommend).

Fake Beer.

Kosuke being taught to cook Okonomiyaki.

Me & Okonomiyaki.

Together Kosuke and I also went on a trip to Kawagoe an ‘old style’ area of Tokyo which has so far survived modernization and has examples of old Japanese architecture. We also visited level 43 of the Government building where you can get an amazing overview of the city.

The view from the Government Tower.

I left Tokyo feeling like I perhaps hadn’t seen more of Japan than I had on my last visit – but I understood more about Japan, the people and the culture. My previous visit I’d thought everyone was kind and polite, but on this visit I discovered (from frank & candid discussions with Japanese and non-Japanese) that politeness can sometimes be just a smokescreen, and that no matter what the situation a Japanese person will (almost) always be polite to your face. This doesn’t always mean they feel that way inside. Another thing that suggests to me that despite the differences between Britain and Japan, we share many of the same character traits. I guess the thing is, no matter where we’re from, we’re all the same.

Blah, blah, blah we’re all the same underneath/it’s a small world/we’re all human beings. I know, I know, it’s an obvious thing to say - but it never rang more true to me than after my time in Japan. When I arrived I felt I was in a different world, almost like being in a Nintendo game at times thanks to the bright lights and crazy goings on, but even in this confusing & bizarre version of life, meeting locals through Couch Surfing and plain luck I can understand life there a lot more.

Could I live there? No. I met many ex-pats who have forged a life there and I admire them immensely. The language would just be too big an obstacle for me to overcome I think, and I just can’t spend 10 hours a week doing Karaoke - It wouldn’t be fair to the people of Japan.

For now Thailand reigns supreme as my favourite and possible future home – at the start I’d never thought that’s what this trip was about, but the idea has recently struck me as supremely appealing. Still lots of places to see though, and now I’m on to Seoul, South Korea. Again I have secured a place to stay and hopefully Bina (my next host) won’t let me down. Apparently it’s even colder over there, so I’m not looking forward to that, but I’m excited to see Seoul and meet some Couch Surfing friends – Jeong Eun, Soo Yeon and Jungwhan who had stayed with me in London.

Arigato Gozaimasu Japan, it’s been fun!

Nayu.

Sou & Yuki.

Me, Toshi & Sou in a Purikura Booth.

Me & Kosuke.

Thailand Pt 4: Back to BK.

2010-06-15T13:06:00.000+01:00

Landing at Bangkok for the second time, several thoughts revolve in my head, mostly concerning my love life, and in particular if I should see Am again. Was I too harsh on her – had I got the wrong end of the stick with what she had asked from me? She had apologized profusely and as I landed and my Thai phone (which doesn't work outside Thailand) sprung into life and I was bombarded by ‘sorry’ messages. Was it simply a misunderstanding? Should I give her the benefit of the doubt?

Ella was still in my heart, but realistically I have to assume that I’ll never see her again, so is it a bad idea to flirt with the romantic notion we can be together somehow? Things have broken off with the Muse, but at the moment it’s hard to say if that situation is 100% resolved. Confusion, come on in.

Best just to focus on seeing friends again, namely Apple and Decha. I was heading back to stay with Apple and couldn’t wait to get back ‘home’. I’d also saved up some drinking credits to be used with Decha and in that regard I knew I would never be disappointed.

'Couch' 18 revisited.

Indeed, my first night back in BK and Decha & I were off out to party. A record release party to be precise and as VIP’s…with free drink privileges, no less. After that, feeling somewhat merry, Decha took me on a trip to broaden my experience of Bangkok, to a place called Soi Cowboy. This area, a red-light district of BK, has a reputation for mainly the reason of scantily clothed dancing girls in its ‘go-go bars’ and of how you can buy them to join you for a drink. It’s similar to a more famous area called Pat Pong, although the word is that there’s much less men posing as women (aka Ladyboys)in Soi Cowboy. So yeah, a couple of hours there certainly expanded my Bangkok knowledge…I felt smarter and dumber by the second.

Indie Thai.

Decha & I.

Am had been continuously texting me asking to see me as I’d told her when I was coming back into town, and on my final night there I cracked and agreed to meet her but on the proviso that Apple would come out too – of my 3 weeks in Bangkok she’d always been working too hard to come out and have fun! So out us all went to Khao San Rd, a place swarmed with tourists & locals on any day of the week.

Apple (middle) & Am (right).

Even after seeing Am again I have no idea if she’s genuine. I’m told that Thai girls use the word ‘love’ as they have no true understanding of its meaning in English. For example, their translation of emotion is either love or hate, there are no gradients in between, so when Am told me frequently that she loves me, she simply means she likes me and doesn’t hate me. Reassuring, but confusing. My instincts, usually so street smart in all areas outside of matters of the heart, always fail me in these situations.

Of course, I don’t feel anything for her like how I feel in this moment towards Ella, or how I felt for Doris or Muse, I mean we hardly know each other. It’s impossible that she knows anything about me given our limited abilities to communicate, so I have to assume that Decha & Apple are right, it’s my skin tone, wallet and thoughts of a richer life that inspire her motivations towards me. That last night I do believe she was extremely sad I was leaving, and I have faith in the fact she wants me to return – eyes can’t lie. But I have to accept that those reasons she is sad and wants me to come back aren’t reasons I can live with. I, like most people in the world, want someone who loves me, not who loves what I can do for them.

So, I’m glad I took that evening to see her once last time. I don’t blame her for this; I feel it may be a cultural difference that has only the rich foreign men to blame who visit there looking for precisely this type of girl, young women desperate to be swept away to greener grass. But I’m not that kind of knight in shining armor and she’s not my damsel. Maybe I’ll find her somewhere, maybe I have already. But either way, I’m sure she’ll have her hand out to take mine, not my money.

I know I say this often, but leaving Bangkok was hard – the hardest yet for sure. Yes, I know I should be used to it by now, but this is the longest I’ve spent in any place so far and subsequently the bonds I’ve made here run deeper. I’m flirting with the idea of maybe coming here to live, or at least move here to write my book…actually it’s more than a flirting idea, it’s getting some serious consideration. But for now, it’s time to hit the road.

Next up, a return to Japan, a place I visited back in 2006 with an ex-girlfriend. I’m especially excited to visit by Couch Surfing, as I’m hoping this will add a totally unique way to experience the culture – a culture that completely befuddled me the last time I visited. I managed to find a place for the first few days with a girl called Nayu, who looks lovely and has an English boyfriend, so I’m hoping I’ll get the best of both local and ex-pat take on life in Tokyo.

Decha and Apple, I just hope they know how grateful I am for all they’ve done for me during my time in Thailand. I feel like I’m leaving great friends behind, and believe me when I say I’ll be back.

Decha inspecting Japanese art.

Apple & Chad.

Asia for Dummies.

2010-06-11T16:34:00.001+01:00

Singapore gave me the opportunity to reconnect with an old friend (not a long-lost friend…but almost), and I was happy to see a familiar face. Pria had moved to this part of the world several months ago, just as we’d become friends again in London after not having seen each other for many years. We’d both gone to the same college in Stoke-On-Trent, way back when. So, after several months away from the UK, staying with Pria was my ‘feel like home’ time in SE Asia.

I wouldn’t go as far as to say leaving Bali had been ‘painful’, but saying goodbye after the connection I’d made there with Ella wasn’t fun either. I’ve said it before; if there’s a downside to this journey it has been the goodbyes. Hanging out with an old friend was just the tonic I needed though.

'Couch' 22.

As was Singapore itself. What an odd place. There were certainly plenty of confusions to keep my mind busy, and as Pria explained things to me…it just became more confusing. It’s Asia, but as a former British colony, English is the first language and it’s entirely unnecessary to learn any of the ‘native’ languages Malay, Mandarin Chinese or Tamil. In fact, there’s almost no need to change in any way whatsoever, apart from perhaps adapting to the climate. Hence the nickname ‘Asia for Dummies’.

The result of this an extremely high percentage of immigrants from Europe and the USA who are drawn here by the opportunity of easy integration in the East, in fact 42% of the population are immigrants. If you look at alternative Asian countries I think only perhaps Hong Kong (though I’ve yet to go) would offer any similar ease of ‘settling’ with minimal effort. Japan, South Korea, China – all these countries would require native language skills. Perhaps there might be some occupations where it’s not essential (foreign language teacher for example) but it would be very limited. And social integration would be harder also. Sing-sing on the other hand, is primed as a satellite city for western business to operate out of, and is also the 4th leading financial area of the World, hosting a plethora of financial market companies & leading financial institutions.

Singapore Business District.

Including Banks. A fact which I thought would be of great service to me as I’d lost my Lloyds TSB debit card a couple of months previously in Turkey. For the millionth time on this trip, my assumption was WAY off. When will I learn?

As soon as I noticed I’d lost the card at the airport in Istanbul, I made the (very annoyingly) expensive phone call to my bank to inform them. Their response: When can you come into the branch to collect a new one? Well, not for another 8 months actually…so I painstakingly organized for them to send it to Singapore, as that would be the next destination I solidly knew the address of and it gave them 5 weeks to get it there. Surely, plenty of time? Surely. Especially as they have a branch in Singapore itself.

Maybe one of these is my bank?

But no. My hopes were absurd, and no new card awaited me on my arrival. I have measures in place to guard against such an issue, and am the bearer of two separate credit cards, but these also had provided much anguish. As I mentioned before in my ‘bit’ about Chennai (http://atwon80couches.blogspot.com/2010/01/plains-trainsor-14hr-bus-trip.html) I was having relentless problems with my Egg credit card, who deemed it necessary to block my card in EVERY new country I used it in, just in case it had been stolen….despite me telling them exactly WHEN & WHERE I was going to be. A measure which again was enforced (for my ‘benefit’) in Singapore, leaving me with one sole card; which was fast approaching its limit. Cue another expensive call to those thoughtful people at Egg (in a Mumbai call centre). It’s a frustrating feeling knowing you have money but can’t get to it!! I guess it’s a better feeling than needing it and not having it though…

But back to Sing-Sing. Another thing which struck me during my time here was just how much life for ex-pats there seemed to resemble the University life. Dress-up parties, all night drinking binges, lack of social responsibility and flaunting the rule of society – it’s on a different scale to ‘normal’ university life of course…the drinks are 10 times the price, the expendable cash is far greater, the toys are more lavish, and the all night parties happen on private islands rather than dorm kitchens, but the feeling – the atmosphere, seems identical. The volume has just been turned up, that’s all.

Raffles Hotel.

Perhaps this ‘rebellious’ atmosphere has been born out of the rigid, sterile enforcement on this tiny Island, often suggesting the title Singabore to me would be more appropriate. It’s a much regulated city, there’s a law for almost anything, including prohibiting the possession of chewing gum and even and enforcement on the flushing of public toilets. Seriously…do people need to be told by a policeman to flush a toilet? It’s no wonder Singapore is dubbed a ‘Nanny State’.

But, the flipside to this ‘Nanny State’ is the feeling of safety and security. Not once did I ever feel uncomfortable there in any situation at any time of day or night. I’m not certain as I didn’t see every inch of the Island, but there really doesn’t seem to be any ‘ghetto’ areas, or places you wouldn’t walk at night. I’m sure crime does happen, but if the police have time to worry if you’ve flushed the toilet, surely things can’t be too bad. I certainly can’t imagine I’d be smashed over the head with a bottle like I was in London a couple of months prior to my departure.

Another thing they do well here (if you like that kind of thing) is shop. As mentioned, it’s a fairly affluent country, so there’s plenty of spending cash floating around, and there’s no end of monstrous shopping centre’s happy to take that money from you. Some of the biggest ‘Mall’s’ in the World can be found on Singapore’s famous Orchard Rd. Singaling also has a quite superb underground subway system the MRT, which (so far) is the best I’ve seen. As the 2nd most dense country in the world though, it’s important to get those things right. Can you imagine a traffic jam with 5,000,000 people in an area only 275 sq miles?

One of the many, many Shopping Malls.

The MRT.

During my time in Singaling something fairly poignant occurred to me about my trip. As I was growing up my Father would often bore us with stories of his travelling exploits around the world from his days in the Merchant Navy. Anytime a country was mentioned in conversation, on TV or radio, he would pipe up with his catchphrase ‘Been there.’ Queuing groans from the rest of us, untraveled souls. It’s with regret now that we reacted so, as now I can hardly remember any of his stories from those years he spent sailing the world.

But being in Singapore reminded me that he too had been here, and I began to think about all the other ports he had visited. As I looked at my travel plans I counted the major ports I was planning to visit or had already been to. Mumbai. Singapore. Hong Kong. Tokyo. Melbourne. Perhaps just a coincidence, but I started to wonder have I subconsciously plotted a route to include these places to see what he once saw. To live in his shoes. To be able to say to my kids one day that very same catchphrase…and to be groaned at in reply.

Hanging out in Singapore mainly involved one thing. Food, and lots of it. This is another thing they do well here, especially (and this should not come as a surprise) Chinese & seafood. The China Town here is also (unsurprisingly) lovely, one of the nicest I’ve had the fortune to visit. Another nice thing I had the fortune to do was to go wakeboarding for the first time in my life.

Wakeboard Time.

You understand la? No. OK, let's go la!

My previous experience of ‘extreme sports’ has been limited to being bored by them on TV. Here though, I got the chance to strap my feet to a piece of wood and see what the fuss was about. When I (eventually) managed to stand, it was indeed fun. I looked on with jealousy at Pria and especially her friends who made the whole process look effortless, but I was just happy I’d managed to stand up a couple of times, regardless of how long it lasted!

Up.

Down.

Compared to the debauchery of Thailand, Bali and Singapore have been a welcome break and rest – something I’m learning quickly is essential on such a long trip. It’s impossible to party like its 1999 every night without going insane. Next stop was another quick stop in Thailand though, with the next flight as part of my round the world ticket talking me from Bangkok to Tokyo.

It’s hard to sum up my time in Singaling. I don’t know why but I’d expected something completely different. What I had expected was to have fun with an old friend, and in that respect I was far from disappointed. It did make me sad because I’ll miss her all the way out here in Asia, but Pria, whenever you finally get bored of the sun & fun and decide to move back to London, where the taxi drivers know where they're going, the first Lychee Martini is on me!

Pria, Me and the Lion.

Bali: Paradise Found.

2010-05-15T14:36:00.000+01:00

Phone issues continued to plague me as I arrived in Bali, with my phone still barred from making calls & texts. Because of this, I was a little nervy as the plane touched down. I was uncertain as to whether my next host, Marcella, had got my message that I would be arriving a day later than originally planned, due to the flight debacle suffered departing from Thailand. In that message I’d said that I’d call her when I got to the airport, but I hadn’t reckoned on Bali’s antiquated phone system – pay phones are unable to connect to mobile cellular phones as they work on their own network. Super.

Fortunately I did have her address, so I procured a taxi to take me there and just hoped that she’d be there. My luck was in and she was indeed home. Also luckily for me, Marcella worked from home, so even when she was ‘at work’ we were able to spend time together. And lovely time it was.

'Couch' 21.

Originally from Jakarta, the nation’s capital, Marcella moved to Bali several years ago, and had a job working for a foreign furniture company with production factories in Indonesia. Completely fluent in English we were soon conversing like old friends rather than strangers, being a similar age we had much alike despite our background differences.

Ella.

I’m not ashamed to say I was instantly attracted to Marcella. Couch Surfing obviously isn’t about hooking up with people and initially I attempted to ignore it and think of her as a sister, as I’ve done with other girls I’ve hosted or surfed with. After all, there is a HUGE trust involved with C.S. – a line that is not meant to be crossed.

Human nature being human nature though, sometimes it’s impossible. Couch Surfing is no different to work for example – not a place you go to meet people, but relationships can spring from it. It’s not the point of Couch Surfing, and it would be wrong to go looking for such things, but as we got to know each other more I was soon questioning my ethics and ignoring my feelings became more and more difficult.

As Marcella was a single woman hosting me alone though, I had absolutely no intention of making her uncomfortable so the more my attraction grew the harder I worked to conceal it. She had accepted a guest into her house, not a date after all, and I didn’t want to lose her trust.
By the end of my 4th day in Bali we’d spent time talking about everything & nothing. We shared our pasts and our dreams for the future. We spoke about the trivial and the monumental, no subject to small or too big. I had free reign to explore Bali, but I couldn’t tear myself away from her magnetic persona – what could an island offer better than the company of Ella.

Ella looking pleased with lunch =)

Cute, extremely funny and with a heart made of pure gold, she’s a wonderful person to be around, even when we were simply working side by side, her for a living and me on my writing. We ate in, we dined out. She showed me the sights of Bali and together we witnessed amazing sunsets - new to me, but common for her. We tried, and failed, to visit the islands only cinema, and resorted to sharing our passion for film on the small screen at home.

'Work'.

On our 5th day together we decided to take a trip to one of the snorkel coves out on the east side of the island. We planned to start the day ridiculously early, so as to catch the sunrise and breakfast on the beach on our way. It turned out to be a perfect day, despite the sunburn and sore arse I’d suffer from the long scooter journey.

Sunrise.

The cove itself that we went to is an absolute scene of paradise, and being there as early as we were it had the feeling of being our own private heaven. Swimming in crystal clear waters, bathed in scorching sunshine with natural beauty all around me (and next to me) I relaxed beyond how I thought possible. Troubles melted away, sad emotions seemed trivial and life regained a feeling of simplicity I don’t recall having since childhood. All that mattered was here & now. Have you felt like that recently? I know i haven't for a long time. It reinvigorated my soul, at the risk of sounding clichéd, and I felt at complete peace.

The Cove.

Back at Ella’s I found myself still swept away by the day we’d spent together, and let it slip that if that had been a date, it would have been the most perfect I’d ever had. And I wished it had been. Her response was to ask if she could kiss me.

It turned out that she’d felt a similar way to me all along, but as my host she had not wanted to cross the line either. We agreed, especially with the sensitivity and honesty I’m trying to share with the blog and book I’m attempting to compile that taking things too far wouldn’t be advisable. I also shared with her my rule about not sleeping with any of my hosts, after all this isn’t a sex tour I’m doing here. We decided just to enjoy each other during the rest of my time there, to have more perfect dates and see what happens.

I also admit that things in my head were still very confused regarding women in my life. Things were over with the Muse, but not forgotten. I’d met a wonderful girl in London, but London seemed so far away, almost like a different lifetime. Then there is Doris, who still pops into my head & heart now and again, but she's also a million miles away. Am was fresher, but I was still angry and upset at how she’d asked for money – not conducive to a future together, even if I was to stay in Thailand long term. Ella didn’t make demands of me in any way, and even when we discussed that I was moving on, she looked upon it with optimism that further emphasized her good heart and wonderful spirit.

My views on Bali are probably entirely sentimental and absolutely subjective. It would be impossible to comment on Bali as a passive observer, given that the time I spent there was entirely positive due to Ella. I will, however, offer my biased view to anyone who wishes to hear it. I found Bali as the closest thing to ‘paradise’ as I’ve seen. True, it’s rammed full of Australians, but even their loud drab tones couldn’t spoil the serenity. Granted, tourism is the islands sustaining industry, so there are lots of people trying to sell you things, but thankfully being with Ella offered some protection from that.

The beach. Not bad.

And yes, there’s still a feeling in the back of your mind about potential danger to tourists after the Bali Bombing in October 2002, but I never felt at risk or uncomfortable. No more than in any other place in the World I’ve visited anyway.

Monument to the bombing victims of 2002.

It’s the only time I’ve visited a small island ‘resort’ like Bali, a place to relax and enjoy the sun, beach and water sports so I can’t really compare to anything else I’ve seen. This trip has been mostly cities, and big ones at that. Therefore I can’t say Bali is the best of its type, but it ticks all the boxes in that category. Ella informed me that Bali does also have a similar sex trade to that of Phuket – it seems most of SE Asia suffers from this sort of Sex Tourism.

It also has curious tax systems regarding tourists. Though not unique just to Bali, foreigners are required to buy visas on entry, but the curious thing is that you also have to pay to leave. Surely they could rethink this, because truthfully it leaves you with a sour taste as you depart. I’d rather pay the ‘leaving’ fee combined in with the ‘entry’ fee – that way you don’t feel you’re being robbed as you go. Another robbery takes place in the wine and spirits industry. Taxes on these products are ridiculous, leaving even the worst available bottles of wine costing around 15-17 pounds in supermarkets. And when I say worst, I’m certainly referring to quality. I’m assuming it’s mostly import tax, as Bali probably doesn’t have its own vineyards, but I was still taken aback by the price.

Still, despite its faults, I thoroughly enjoyed my time there, especially the natural beauty. There’s something different about the sunrise and sunset in the southern hemisphere I’ve come to notice. A different perspective possibly, but the magic seems more intense. More breathtaking. Perhaps in a place like Bali it’s freer of pollution, but whatever it is, I couldn’t get enough of seeing them. I guess sat on a beach with someone, sharing a beer and talking adds to the experience, but it’s the first time in my life I’ve truly seen beauty like this. Something I doubt I would ever grow tired of seeing. Maybe I was carried away, swept up by what was developing with Ella, but I think you’ll agree that the pictures don’t lie. Pure beauty.

I can imagine without Ella, Bali could have meant very little to me, nothing more than an abundance of loud foreigners and rip-off locals trying to make a living. But being there with Ella gave Bali something special. Because of her, my stay there felt like more; like ‘paradise’. I may have been blinkered by passion and a growing affection, but I hope you forgive my lack of objectiveness in this circumstance. I’m only human, after all.

Saying goodbye was tough, and ideas of staying repeated inside me, but I still can’t bring myself to abandon this mission. Bali and Ella have provoked the hardest resistance within me to divert off my course, but I’ve managed (perhaps not for the best) that I have to keep moving. Still so much to see and do – and time is precious if I want to be in Australia for Christmas. Next up is Singapore, and then back to Bangkok before flying to Japan & South Korea. It doesn’t feel like a reality I’m living right now, and when I think of it I still have the occasional ‘wow, you’re really doing this’ moment.

I’ve a feeling the book isn’t closed on Bali, and certainly not on whatever is between Ella and I. At least, it doesn't feel it is just yet.

Thailand Pt 3: The American Dream & A Dream (Almost) Shattered.

2010-05-05T00:22:00.005+01:00

It was slightly easier to leave Bangkok despite my love for it with the knowledge that I would be returning in a couple of weeks. My next scheduled flight as part of my round the world ticket was from BK to Tokyo, so by hook or by crook I’d have to return.

I wanted to see more of Thailand, in particular the beaches – perhaps even ‘The Beach’ from the film of the same name, but my attempts to explore Thailand were marginalized by the lack of CS Hosts in such places. I found mainly ex-pats but also hostel & dive school owners offering their places not for free, as is the idea with CS, but attempting to draw in customers to stay with them. One guy I requested even offered the suggestion that if I paid for a Dive course accommodation would come as part of the package so it was not technically paying for accommodation.

Whether wrong or right, I allowed the mission to influence my choice of destination for the first time, and I decided to go where I COULD not where I WANTED. But, as is usually the case, it all turned out for the best in the end, and I found myself bound for Phuket.

Louie, as I mentioned in my previous article, was a first for me. All the way on my trip I’ve strived to reside with nationals of the country I’m visiting, but here I made an exception. Louie, hailing from Texas, USA responded to my request and offered up his flat to me for a few days. And what a few days it turned out to be.

Me on Couch 19. It´s actually a Couch!

To sum it up, I quote Louie directly: "This isn't what CouchSurfing is like.  That is to say, it's normally not so much fun".

It didn’t start fantastically though – through nothing to do with Phuket or Louie, but as I left Bangkok I received a text message from Am. The content of this message came as a surprise to me despite the warnings I’d had from Decha and Apple about Thai girls. In this text, Am asked if she could borrow money from me – a paltry sum, around 50 GBP, as she needed to attend a job interview which required travelling and she couldn’t afford it. She also said she would repay me, but she just needed it as she needed to travel on short notice. I have no real idea if this is true or not, but I sought council from my Thai friends. The word I got back from Decha and Apple was simply ‘we were waiting for this’. 

I’ll be honest, i was shocked. Am and I had had a great time together and I had no inkling this is the way it would go between us and it saddened me greatly. Apple told me that this goes on all the time between Thai girls and foreign men, but usually in that scenario it´s more immediate. Perhaps naively I thought this case might be different. She wasn’t a ‘girl of the night’, she worked in a supermarket. I met her well away from the tourist trap areas where many girls pick up foreign men. She’d even paid for us to stay in a hotel one night (I’d explained to her I couldn’t pay for a hotel due to my Couch Surf ‘mission’) so I thought it crazy that it was anything less than honest. Angry, I responded I was shocked and that I wouldn’t give her money.

Her response was intensely regretful, and she said that I’d misunderstood, and similar messages rained into my inbox. I told her I would return to Bangkok and we´d talk about it then...but I think I made my mind up that whatever we´d had together was over. Still, this was no time to be down, and if I needed some laughs Phuket certainly offered just that.

My time with Louie admittedly mostly revolved around alcohol and well, having an amazing amount of relaxed, chilled out unadulerated, debauched fun. Along the way I got to know Louie though, and I was glad I had the opportunity. I never fully understood what he did – I know it revolved around arranging or funding loans for poor individuals & small businesses, but as I say I never quite grasped it. By his own words he’s somewhat of an internet whizz-kid, making what I assumed to be modest if not more than sufficient income from the company he’s founded. 

Louie & I, pre debauched carnage.

This online business allows him the opportunity to work from wherever his heart desires, hence the living in Phuket. It also allows him to live the life of a ‘Malibu Surfer’. For those of you who don’t know the expression (as I didn’t until Louie explained) a ´Malibu Surfer´ way of life involves little work and much play – with plenty of surfing, as the handle suggests. As far as I could see, Louie lives a mighty fine life indeed. A yoga enthusiast, he also took me along to participate in a Hot Yoga class – something I admit that usually I wouldn’t go in for but in the vibe of trying anything once I gave it a shot. And suffered.

Louie and I took to the beach in the day and bars at night. There was no surfing involved that I can remember, but plenty of drinking, plenty of being chatted up by cute girls and almost more excitement than we could handle. There is a sad, disturbing side to parts of Phuket, in particular the sex trade that goes on which initially I was extremely naive to. Once Louie had pointed out that the girls were intersted in us for our money, it soon lost its charms, and I couldn´t help relating it to Am back in Bangkok. Are all Thai girls like this? Still, I put it all out of my mind and tried to have as entertaining a time as possible. I think we managed more than our fair share of good times.

Italian Champagne? Really Phuket? Really?

While in Phuket I hired a scooter to get around on. Louie had one himself, and it proved to be a source of incident during my short stay with him. Firstly, as we tripped to Patong for a night out the rear wheel suffered a malfunction (which I’m sure was to do with the weight of carrying me & my 30kg bag on the back!) which Louie had to have fixed by some drunk mechanics while I waited at a nearby bar. Later that night even worse luck for the bike, as when we returned to it after a few hours in a club it had been stolen. I’m convinced I was a curse on Louie and his bike, so decided to rent my own.

 Louie´s ill-fated scooter.

Phuket was a good place to learn to drive a Scooter with minimal traffic and easily navigated roads, but it turns out I didn’t learn fast enough. My last journey on the day I was leaving Phuket began by me saying goodbye to Louie and driving off…right into a ditch. Riding the previous day had been a piece of cake, despite it being my first experience of diving a scooter I felt i´d taken to it quite well. Of course, this time was different - I had 30kg´s on my back.

Hungover and severely sleep deprived I failed to take the weight into consideration as I set off, and also forgot to tighten the straps to my body, meaning as I turned off the pavement down the street my bag continued to turn as me and the bike straightened out. And pulled me with it. Seconds later I was wedged in a 2 foot deep ditch, weighed down by my bag and with my foot pinned beneath the bike which, unlike me, had only fallen halfway into the ditch.

Thankfully Louie was still around to help me up, as I was rather helpless at that point. Stranded on my back with my arms and free leg flapping - imagine an overturned turtle and you get the idea. Amazingly Louie being the nice guy he is, managed not to laugh as he helped me up, but I wish I´d had the presence of mind to get the camera out! 

I said a second goodbye to Louie (just one was hard enough) and drove successfully away this time. Not the best start to the day, but sadly it was the most I´d laugh for a long time as things gradually got worse and worse.

Because of the crash I found myself (already with a tight deadline to get my flight on time) running even later. After returning the bike (thankfully there was no visable damage) I procured a taxi to take me to the airport, but sadly I found the only speed conscious driver in the whole of Thailand.

For any normal airline I might have still made the flight, as I arrived 35mins before take off. Sadly, Tiger Airways is no ´normal´ airline. Think Easyjet without the ´frills´. They don´t even have a customer service desk at Phuket airport, leaving me in a hopeless position. My only course of action was to purchase another ticket with a different airline so I opted for Air Asia, a classier airline. Or so I thought.

I explained to the girl behind the counter that i needed to get to Bali. As there is no direct Phuket - Bali service it would require a connection in Kuala Lumpur. She dutifully sold me both tickets and I praised myself for dealing with the set-back without stress or frustration. After all, I´ve quickly learnt while travelling that there´s absolutely no point in worrying about things you can´t control. The trains in Eastern Europe certainly helped with that.

However, the nice young lady who sold me the tickets was a muppet. Air Asia themselves have a policy that they dont sell flights with connections, and should you be travelling on 2 flights in one day you should allow a minimum of 3hrs between landing and take off. The foolish girl who sold me the tickets had me landing in Kuala Lumpur and my next flight leaving 1h20mins later. Being in my relaxed zen state of mind this little fact had passed me by - I foolishly assumed she´d know what she was doing - but when that flight to KL was delayed by 30 mins, I started to question the timings.On the delayed flight to KL I mentioned my predicament to the stewardess, who basically said i was screwed.

The only light at the end of the tunnel was that it was the Air Asia employee who´d made the glaring mistake, not me. It was she who´d broken the 3hr rule, so they would of course put me on the next available flight. One problem. That flight was not until 09.30am the next day.

Despite my complaints the Customer Service rep at the Air Asia help desk was less than bothered and rather obtuse about my predicament. ´Get a hotel.´ was his response as to what I was supposed to do that night, and ´No.´ was his abrupt response to my demand for them to pay for the hotel. I thought UK companies had poor customer service, but the KL branch of Air Asia are a different league.

Of course, I couldn´t pay for a hotel. It´s not an option, I´m on a mission here. My first course of action was to hit the Couch Surf message boards with a plea for help but internet is limited to 2 free hours in KL airport and that time flew by. I also got in touch with a friend I´d met at Suchet´s wedding in India, Anitha, who lives in Kuala Lumpur. She wasn´t sure she´d be able to help but vowed to get back to me as soon as she finished at work.

Meanwhile, ways around my rules began to occur to me. Perhaps I could contact someone back home and ask them if they could book me into a hotel...but that would be cheating for sure. And also pretty damn cheeky. By 10pm, after 4hrs sitting in the airport and with internet access gone, I began to resign myself to a night in the airport.

Just as I´d begun to accept my fate, Anitha texted with news. She´d returned home after work and on hearing my predicament, her parents had insisted I come and stay with them and had already despatched their driver to collect me. Great news indeed - but then fate once again tried to play tricks.

I´d taken my UK mobile phone with me on this trip and set it to work all over the World. I knew it wouldnt be cheap, and a few phone calls here and there, internet access and emails, not to mention texting the USA regularly had caught up with me. Orange had been so alarmed by the excessive use they decided to put a block on my phone while they investigated the situation.

So just as Anitha and I were working out where I can be picked up, they chose this precise moment to activate the bar, sending me a text message: ´Please call Orange regarding your account. Thanks´. Tell me Orange, how am I supposed to call you when YOU BLOCK MY PHONE FROM MAKING CALLS? Genius. I finally tracked down a payphone and managed to call Anitha and arrange the pick-up, but it could have all been a lot simpler. Then again, what is easy in life?

To my relief, Peter was able to find me and we set off to the Haffina household, arriving a little after midnight. It was great to see a friendly face (even hers :-P ) and even though it was late her Uncle offered to take me out for dinner where he taught me much about KL and Malaysia and told me about his time studying in the UK.

 Couch 20, at the Haffina residence.

Anitha´s Uncle, my guide to KL.

Although we were technically not strangers, I was humbled by the Haffina´s kindness, especially her Uncle who then drove me back to the airport himself in the morning on his way to work. It would have been wonderful to have spent more time in Kuala Lumpur and with Anitha, but my next calling couldn´t wait.

The Haffinas, saviours of my misson.

Bali was my destination and relaxation was my focus. I´ve always imagined Bali would be the ideal holiday retreat, sun, beaches and island life seems like just the key to a stress free way of life. Let´s see if I´m right.

Thailand Pt 2: Living La Vida

2010-04-07T12:27:00.000+01:00

If I thought my first night out with Decha had set the tone for my stay in Thailand, the volume got pumped up the next day. I basically found myself in a utopia of hedonism, a place where you can throw away the rule book, where anything goes and I was being repeatedly surprised on an hourly basis.

I soon discovered another side to Thai people. Away from the City, away from the tourist areas, I found an incomparable level of friendliness and affability that I actually deemed unimaginable in today’s world. My time in Bangkok, but especially the small area of Samutprakarn (where Decha lives) has been a constant series of bizarre mini episodes which constantly flabbergasted and exhilarated, and I was often left wondering if it really happened or if I’d just imagined it.

My second night in BK was a classic example. My Host, Decha, had gone to attend a wedding of his Aunt’s friend, an event to which he’d invited me along to join him, but feeling so rough from the previous night’s Sangsom Bucket initiation and also a little shy about attending a strangers Wedding, I asked if I could hang at his place instead.

Feeling none too grand, I spent most of the afternoon and evening working on finding a place to stay at my next few destinations and some time writing my blog. Eventually I did get hungry though and took a walk around to explore the area and find a place to eat. An innocuous process almost everywhere else in the world, yet I found simply walking around in Thailand makes adventures happen.

I stumbled across a bar called ‘The Full Moon’, a small place, seating for 30 people and was apparently full of locals. As I expected there was a few cursory inquisitive glances my way as I entered, but also many smiles. Reasonably empty, I sat myself at a table and ordered a beer.

It wasn’t long before my presence attracted questions, and I found myself being approached by friendly locals asking in broken English my name/where was I from/why was I there etc. And when the bar staff couldn’t explain the menu in English, a guy called May was only too happy to break away from his birthday celebrations to help translate. May invited me to join him and his friends, and I soon found myself drinking whisky & soda with a group of older Thai gents in their 40s and 50s. It made no difference that I could not speak Thai, nor that they couldn’t speak English, they insisted I joined in the drinking & singing and made me feel like an old friend. The live band even treated me to all the English songs they knew to make me feel welcome.

As I stumbled home rather worse for wear, I told myself this kind of thing must be a one-off, I doubt I’ll be able to have as much fun as I did the first two nights during the rest of my stay in Thailand. How wrong I was.

My diary is literally crammed with such events, random happenings that somehow or another ended with me having an amazing time, each bizarre occurrence topping the previous ones. Nights like when I went to the 7/11 to buy some toilet roll and ended up drinking in a private Karaoke room with 4 Taiwanese business men and their ‘girlfriends’ (for the night) who taught me a ‘Liar’s Dice’ game (as seen in Pirates of the Caribbean) which I lost at miserably. They force fed me glass after glass of whisky and then danced like crazy, giving their hired ladies strip shows much to the girls feigned amusement. They even insisted I sing along to ‘Numb’ by Linkin Park. The night ended abruptly as one of the girls proposed to go home with me, much to the chagrin of the elderly Taiwanese businessman who assumed he’d secured her service for the evening. Needless to say I made a hasty exit, and rejected her kind offer.

Or the time I was, again, walking to the local 7/11 (that shop has a lot to answer for) when a scooter past me and accidently dropped some books off the back. I picked up the books and walked them to where I saw the scooter stop, where I presented them to the guy who’d dropped them. His name was Boy, and he offered to buy me a drink as thanks. I had no option but to accept his kind offer and found myself going with him to ‘Itchy’, a local nightclub in Samutprakarn, where two of his friends were waiting for him.

Am, me and Boy.

A bottle of whisky later (they really love their Johnny Walker in Thailand) and his friend Am, a cute 22yr old Thai girl presented me with a cardboard cut-out of a heart and stole a kiss on my cheek. It was to be the first moment of a drama filled week with Am, the beginning of a quick-fire romance which was an adventure in itself.

Countless other incidents and bizarre moments happened often – but you’ll have to wait for the book for those…they’ll need to come with a parental advisory label.

After a few days with Decha I moved to stay with another Host, Apple. I had only arranged to stay with Decha for a few days as a last minute arrangement, and didn’t want to outstay my welcome. Indeed I still spent most of my time with Decha, as Apple worked incredibly long hours as an accountant for a firm in Bangkok. Apple’s place is in a private apartment block just outside the City, a 2 bedroom flat and even a pool. From the first moment I met Apple all I could see was how big her smile was. I would end up staying with Apple for over a week and never once did I see her without her beam. Having lived in the USA for a period, her English was almost flawless and while I was in Bangkok she became more like a sister to me than a Host.

'Couch 18'

I’m absolutely certain I’d never have had so much fun in Bangkok if it hadn’t been for my amazing hosts Decha & Apple. With them I found friendship so easy and I wondered could all Thai people be this nice? This friendly? My initial view of Thailand the first morning I arrived was shady, dark and dishonourable, but spending time out of the City and with real Thai people helped me see the wonderful people here. It wasn’t the bright lights, hot women and cheap living that have made me fall in love with Thailand; it was the smiles, the friendliness and the joy of being around genuine people. Oh, and the amazing food!

Apple, her (sort of) boyfriend Chad & a friend.

The warmth I felt from my new friendships with my new mates was again a testament to the Couch Surfing system. Had I come here as a backpacker I would have no doubt ended up staying on or around the Khao San Rd area, the tourist centre of Bangkok…and I would have probably ended up loathing it. Indeed, to walk through that area made my stomach turn. Endless groups of drunken foreigners parading the streets. Americans & Australians being loud & obnoxious, Brits wasted on anything & everything they can get their hands on. Thai ‘businessmen’ aggressively offering tuk-tuk rides, bargain Hostel rates or illegal substances & services. This isn’t Thailand.

It should come as no surprise having lived both in a big City (London) and in smaller places like my hometown (Newcastle-Under-Lyme) that Bangkok would be like this – Cities so rarely reflect a country accurately. If you visit London, you don’t really see England – the country isn’t just red buses, theatre and knife crime. There’s a saying in England (or maybe I made it up) that the further north you go, the friendlier people get and I think every country is similar. Venture away from the City to find the real people.

Thankfully for me and the nature of my Couch Surf journey, I met the best people in Bangkok. During the days of hanging out with Decha we talked extensively about Thailand and the unique features of the Thai people, society & religion. We discussed every subject you can imagine while shopping, lazily dining, frequenting bars or people watching. When Apple and I went to dinner she had a wonderfully naughty habit of ordering the hottest food on the menu for us. Then she would watch me eat, while sporting a cheeky grin, waiting for me to suffer. The joke was on her though, as I’d been to Sri Lanka. Thai food can be hot, but it’s got nothing on SL.

Decha with 'Le Sac', the mobile version of the Sangsom Bucket.

Had I not been CSing and stayed in a Hostel I would have met nothing but foreigners, Americans, Australians and fellow Brits. While I’m sure I would have met some great people by hostelling, I would have got wasted, seen the sights and learned bugger all about Thailand and that’s why I was here. With Couch Surfing you get the inside view of a place, you get to feel, learn and experience things with locals that you’d never do otherwise. Decha and Apple could tell me and show me so much more than any Lonely Planet guide. I can meet Australians in Australia, Thailand is about the Thais.

One thing I did notice about Thai culture was the tolerance of sexuality. Indeed, I think that in Thailand ways are so accepted as sex and people’s sexuality are looked at completely differently from that of the west. I think much of this is due to the Buddhist culture, where people are taught to tolerate and accept people for who they are. Stigmas so prevalent in the Western World just don’t seem to exist.

If a boy decides he wants to be a girl, he’s raised as one with the parents blessing. They dress, act and ‘become’ women from an early age. Hence the phenomenon of the ‘Ladyboy’ that Thailand is so famous for. The naturally thin, hairless body type and bone structure of the Asian genetics lends itself to a very asexual type and aids in this easy transition in a way that’s probably not possible in the West. But it’s not just the way they look that makes it an easy transition; it’s the way that society tolerates it. I also found that most Thai’s view sex and sexual relationships slightly differently to the West, and indeed, no matter of gender I found them a very sexually charged people.

Throughout my stay with Apple I continued to see Am, although initially our conversations were very broken and disjointed (due to my complete lack of Thai and her challenging English), the more time we spent together the easier things became. In the 10 days I was in Bangkok I saw her frequently and I found her incredibly sweet and fun to hang out with…but all this came with a warning. Both Apple and Decha frequently warned me about Thai women, going as far to suggest that her intentions might not be 100% genuine and that Thai girls aren’t always ‘stable’. I took their warnings on board, but didn’t see any reason to not trust her, although her forward approach and relentless desire for me did make me wonder.

Am & I.

I don’t claim to be the best looking guy in the world and I was surprised how Am and other girls in Thailand would react to me. Particularly outside the City, where I was stared at frequently, approached by women (and men!) regularly and to some extent, treated like a ‘star’. For a while I got to sample how it might feel to be David Beckham. At one point I was even approached by a gaggle of girls who ran up and hugged me, then walked off giggling. It would be easy to let this go to one’s head. I realize that it is predominantly to do with skin tone, white skin being revered as a sign of wealth and class, and perhaps bagging a Western man is a possible way for these girls to escape poverty in Thailand…but it was nice to feel special.

As I’d also seen in India, most skin creams and moisturizers promise to ‘lighten’ skin tone. Whereas in the UK you can buy creams with a toning element fake tan element, it seems it’s the complete opposite anywhere east of India. Europeans want to be darker, Asians want to be lighter. A classic example of wanting what you don’t have. The reason for this, I found in Asia, was that historically dark skin was a sign that you were working class or poor – as a labourer, farmer or worked in the rice fields, therefore you were exposed to the sun regularly. In the UK there is no sun, so having a tan is desirable and would have shown (before fake tanning salons and such) that you could afford to holiday in sunnier climes, thus an indication of wealth.

So, in Thailand I found that I’m an object of desire, and yeah, I must admit it’s been fun. I know I can’t stay forever (for now anyway), although I’ve not felt the desire to stay so strongly anywhere else. As I said earlier, you can’t stay in the City to experience a country, so I’ve made myself move on. I have 5 weeks to spend in SE Asia and burned up 10 days already in Bangkok with so much else to see. For my next move I really want to see more of Thailand so I began searching the popular ‘beachy’ type places – Koh Tao, Phi Phi etc, but have been totally unable to find anyone willing or able to offer me a Couch. Eventually I came across Louie in Phuket who graciously offered me a place to stay.

It will be the first time I’ve stayed with someone who isn’t a citizen of that country (Louie is an American living in Thailand) but I decided that he looked like a very cool person in his profile and as I was considering Thailand as somewhere I could live in the future it would be interesting to see how it’s done. Plus, I need to move on, the temptation to stay in Bangkok is almost irresistible but I know I’ll regret not pushing on and expriencing more of SE Asia. I’ve planned out a mini itinerary, Phuket for 3 nights then on to Bali before visiting an old friend in Singapore.

So I leave Apple, Decha, Am and the bright lights of Bangkok behind reluctantly, but happy to have the chance to see another part of Thailand and elated in the knowledge that Apple has given me an open invitation to return anytime and stay as long as my heart desires. As my flight to Tokyo is from Bangkok I’ll be returning for sure so that’s great news. I’m already looking forward to coming back, but the excitement of exploration is outweighing that for now. Onwards to Phuket.

Thailand Pt 1: The Land of Frowns (that became Smiles).

2010-03-22T09:06:00.000Z

For the first time since I left Europe I managed to find a ‘Couch’ in the traditional manner. Rather than having to resort to a mass appeal on the forum for the place I was visiting, I’d had a personal request accepted…but my relief was short lived. My prospective host had indeed confirmed that I was welcome to stay with him in Bangkok, but he’d neglected to give me either his address or contact number.

As I had limited email access in Sri Lanka I was totally unaware of this as I boarded the plane however, and simply assumed these details were waiting for me in my inbox. How wrong I was.

It was an overnight flight to Bangkok, which touched me down in the Land of Smiles early in the morning. My first objective was to get myself to the centre of the City, where I was sure to find an internet cafe, and hopefully access the email from my Bangkok Host. Sadly, my inbox was disappointingly empty.

So at 9am in SE Asia, I found myself in a foreign city, tired, alone, hot & flustered…but with the lift of my renewed vigour and enthusiasm after Sri Lanka I didn’t let it get me down. Treating the situation with positivity, I decided that my Host had simply been out the night before and not yet responded. He would email me during the day, we would meet, laugh and joke about the situation and all would be well.

With nothing to do but wait, I decided to explore the City. Armed with a free map from the Airport, I negotiated the sun washed streets, politely smiling my ‘no thank you’s to the gaggle of Thais attempting to sell me something/take me somewhere/convince me to stay in their hostel. India and Sri Lanka had prepared me for the heat, but the fierce humidity was a new thing and quickly I found myself wilting. The 30kg bag certainly didn’t do me any favours once more, but just as bad as the heat was the attention it drew.

My time in Europe & Asia as a tourist had already prepared me for a certain level of harassment from pushy salesmen, touts and scammers, but in tourism areas all around the world you wear your rucksack on your back like a flag. I don’t claim to be able to offer much advice, but the less you look like a tourist while travelling the better. Certainly dumping your backpack helps not only in terms of comfort, but helps you blend in a little more. I learnt this early on in my time in Bangkok, and even almost fell victim to a scam within the first couple of hours.

I must have looked like the easiest target ever as I stood taking photos of a Temple, backpack equipped, red faced and flustered, aiming my Canon at various architectures snapping away while checking my free map for the next point of interest, with a look of exultation associated with newly arriving in a foreign land. Even though I pride myself on my cynicism, aside from standing there with my wallet open I couldn’t have done much more to encourage being taken advantage of.

I’d hardly managed to snap off 3 pictures when I was approached by a Thai gentleman in his 60s, who, claiming to be an English teacher at a local school, asked if he could chat with me a while – to practice his English skills. More than happy to help, and to make a local acquaintance so easily, I welcomed the opportunity. Quickly though, the conversation turned to his best friend, a tuk-tuk driver. Amused that I was planning to walk around the City with my heavy backpack, the gent offered to introduce me to his friend, who would happily take me around a few of Bangkok’s premium tourist sights…for free. Of course, at that point I knew there was wrong a doin’. Still, I had little else to do, and I wanted to believe the old man was genuine…it was time to shirk my negativity and ignore the cynic in me.

Temple Time.

Democracy Monument.

He explained to me where his friend would take me, firstly to the kickboxing arena, then to a ‘World Famous’ suit maker (“Have you heard of them?”, He asked) and finally he would drop me to an information centre, so I could find out more about Thailand. The suit business seemed odd – I wasn’t sure where he’d got the ‘World Famous’ reputation for Thai suits from, but I decided to let it run its course.As promised, his friend welcomed me into his tuk-tuk and I was taken to the Temple where the National Kickboxing events were held. Sadly it was undergoing a refurb, so was surrounded by scaffolding. I’d also arrived too late and had just missed the National Champ who’d been practicing there that day. Still, it was a free ride, so back into the tuk-tuk I went and off to see the tailor it was. I did question why we were going there to the driver, but my questions were met with broken English (even though he’d been fluent only 10 minutes before) and he ushered me into the shop. Immediately I knew there was something amiss.

Tuk-tuk on commission.

Jackie Chan could have one hell of a fight scene here.

I was greeted with fake smiles and creepy slick hairstyles as questionable salesmen swooped around me, all offering me all kinds of clothes I didn’t need. Sitting in conference with other salesmen I saw foreigner after foreigner either being measured for or trying on suit jackets, all with a look of bemusement on their faces. In their eyes I could see that they too had not been expecting to be shopping for a ‘World Famous’ handmade suit that morning in Bangkok.

As I made my excuses (“No, thank you, I don’t need a wool suit in a country where the ‘winter’ days are 28C.”) and left, I noticed several other tuk-tuks all parked outside the small shop, the drivers all waiting for their unexpected customers as my driver was for me…and it made sense. We’d all been brought here, against our will, to buy suits we didn’t want. I was glad I’d escaped without trying anything on, but it became clear why my driver was tuk-tuking me around for free when I saw the disappointment on his face that I hadn’t bought anything. Clearly he, and all the others waiting patiently outside the shop, were on commission from whatever their passengers bought.

I mulled all this over in my head as I was driven to the ‘Information’ centre, which turned out to be a travel agent. Again, I was ushered inside, and almost apologetically I explained that I had no idea why I was there. Merely out of embarrassment I asked for details of how to get to Phi Phi, the only island I remembered the name of (and only then because it’s pronounced pee-pee…yes, childish I know…) and then once she’d given me the price I cordially pretended to be interested but I needed to confirm my plans for the week before I could commit, and made my exit.

My driver, again disappointed I’d not purchased anything, offered to take me somewhere else (his English had become fluent again), but I quickly declined. I was now painfully aware of what was happening and didn’t care to waste any more of my day. I handed him 50 Baht for his troubles (equivalent to £1) to soften our parting. I hadn’t fallen for the scam financially, but I had wasted a couple of hours and vowed to be more vigilant in the future about whom I take at their word. Being open and receptive is wonderful and I’ve certainly become a lot more easy going than the London version of me, but there’s something to be said for remaining somewhat cynical.

After that unexpected interlude I sought out another internet cafe, where I was saddened to see there was still no response from my supposed host. Now the afternoon, I began to worry about what this could mean for my quest. I decided to go ahead and place an emergency request on the Bangkok notice board. I’d been relieved I hadn’t had to depend on this for once, but I figured that I had little choice. Stress levels had begun to increase, and my run in with the scam artists, pushy touts and salesmen had temporarily lowered my opinions of Thailand. A feeling of loneliness returned like a wave of nausea, and I admit my rollercoaster of emotion dipped to hit rock bottom in less time than it took to write yet another last minute request. I began to question the merits of what I was attempting, why I was in Thailand, and the point of it all. I was also questioning once more the validity of Muse’s claims to be visiting me in Australia.

Where once she was certain, now it all appeared to be in the balance. What had been offered as a promise had become a ‘we’ll see’. Perhaps foolishly I chose this moment of loneliness to seek comfort that she would be making that trip. It was 2 months away, and while she’d booked time off from work, the ticket had yet to be purchased. I was at a low point and I needed good news…but I was looking in the wrong place. A discussion on Skype turned into a fight. Far from getting the lift I needed, all I found was more grief. The low became a chasm. As I listened to a new reason as to why she hadn’t booked yet, I lost faith in it happening. Even if it was to come true, I began to reason that I should stop letting the idea of it influence my trip.

Since she’d promised to visit me in Australia, I’d been acting not like a single person, but someone who’d committed. It hadn’t been spoken about, but since that moment a couple of weeks previously, I’d only sought out males to stay with – not because anything was going on with the girls I’d stayed with, but as a gesture. I considered how I’d feel if roles were reversed, and I wanted to remove any doubt. Up until that point I realized I’d stayed mostly with girls – not on purpose, I was accepting places with whoever would accept me. Generally I’d apply to around 10 people per City, the only stipulation being that they be people indigenous to the area I’m visiting. I would usually apply to an equal number of males & females, of any age around my own. One cannot afford to be overly selective in this process, and it’s more accurate to say that it’s the Host that chooses the Surfer, not the other way around. Rarely have I had the luxury of being offered more than one place to stay. I’d made things trickier for myself with this ‘only staying with males’ rule, especially as it was females who historically had appeared more receptive to Hosting me. At that point I took a reality check and realized that I couldn’t live this Adventure this way. I wasn’t in a relationship, but I wasn’t being completely free either.

While this moment of clarity was enlightening me, I received a solution to my dilemma. My last minute emergency request had been answered by Decha, a Thai guy who offered me a place to stay. I jumped at his offer with relief, and what a great leap it would prove to be.

Decha lives on the outskirts of the City centre, out towards the airport in an area called Samutprakarn. He warned me when I made contact that taking a taxi’s out to his place would probably end up costing more than it would to stay in a Hostel, but I assured him that saving money wasn’t the reason for my Couch Surfing mission. Decha works in the fashion industry as a stylist, mostly freelance work so thankfully for me he had plenty of free time on his hands. Having spent much of his life living in Perth, Australia, he was completely fluent in English. Decha struck me immediately as a very switched on individual and I felt confident I couldn’t have found a better Host than this one fate had delivered my way.

My first night with Decha pretty much set the tone for Thailand. After taking a bus ride into the Bangkok we met up with some of his friends Henri & Kaisa, and they introduced me to Sangsom Buckets – basically a sand castle bucket filled with ice, Sangsom rum and peach flavoured ice tea. The combination of rum and peach tea is not one I’d ever considered, but proved to be both potent and delicious, and easier to drink than water. A lethal combination. One bucket became two, and then it was off to Bed. Bed Supperclub to be precise, a somewhat boujis nightspot filled with sexy young things of all (3) genders, lively music and strong cocktails. A few hours there and several Long Islands later we took off to another club, not quite so up market as ‘Bed’, but still with many…attractions.

Decha & Henri.

Sangsom Bucket.

So my first day in Thailand had already delivered highs and lows. I’d gone from down and ready to quit to having one of the best nights of my trip so far. At least it had ended on a high, and I was extremely happy to have found a new friend in Decha. Once again my faith had been restored that not only was this mission possible, it was turning into the Great Adventure I’d hoped it would and along the way I was meeting amazing people.

'Couch' 17.

I had no idea exactly how much of an Adventure The Land of Smiles was to offer me though. The fun (and craziness) had just begun.

Decha & I. Drunk.

R&R in SL.

2010-02-24T08:14:00.018Z

Despite my doubts to the contrary, I managed to make it to Colombo, alive and somewhat sane. As I ever was, anyway. I was tested further at the airport by a confused receptionist at the airport as I tried to secure a taxi though. I knew Suchith (my Host) wouldn’t be finishing work until much later in the day and I wanted to kill some time with some sight-seeing. Only problem was I had no idea of where to go (as a rule I don’t generally like to rely on guidebooks) so I just asked to be taken ‘Into the City’...but something was lost in translation:

“Where would you like to go Sir?”
“The City.”
“But where in the City Sir?”
“Oh, just anywhere.”
“But where Sir?”
“I don’t have a place in mind, anywhere is ok.”
“I’ll have to get my supervisor.”

After 10 minutes of this back and forth I’d had enough and instead just gave them the address Suchith had supplied me with, and decided I’d explore his local area and neighbourhood instead.

As expected, when I arrived at Suchith’s house there was no answer at the door, so I set off back down the lane that the taxi had driven me down to explore. My pioneer spirit was halted however, after 50 yards I came across some young men playing cricket. So, less than 2hrs in the country and I found myself joining in a game of street cricket with the locals. Happy Days. It was played at a far less intense pace as the game I’d taken part in while in Mumbai, but there was no less raw ability on show (not from me I might add).

Street Cricket.

What was similar to India was the friendliness and curiosity of the Sri Lankans I met throughout my time there. Happy, smiling and inquisitive, I was barraged by my new friends with as many questions as I was Doosra’s.

Even on this suface the ball turned a mile. Unless i was bowling.

I had my own questions also though, and found out while chatting over a coconut juice (freshly picked and chopped for me) that this game of street cricket was part of their daily routine, every day after work from 5-7 (light permitting) they came out in the alley to play. Only rain interfered with their schedule, and only heavy rain stopped play. As it was rainy season while I was in Sri Lanka I was rather fortunate to have caught them playing – the days before had been awful, and the following days would also prove unfavourable for Cricket.

Over the next two days I really got to experience what the words ‘Rainy Season’ mean. It had actually begun to rain just as we were winding up the day’s play, but that didn’t make me feel any better about losing their ball with a cover drive smash over the mid-wicket boundary wall. Suchith soon texted saying he was heading back home and that his brother was actually now back at the house waiting for me, so I said (a guilty) goodbye to my new cricketing buddies and made it indoors just before it REALLY started to rain.

It rains a lot in the UK, but in Sri Lanka it rains HARD. It’s serious rain, large marble-like droplets, the sounds of which hammered down on the roof, amplified several decibels by the tin roof, reaching almost deafening levels. As I saw, it’s impossible to watch TV or listen to music at these times; the rain simply drowns everything out (excuse the pun).

Suchith arrived home from work armed with a bountiful feast of Sri Lankan treats and delicacies for dinner. I don’t think it’s any exaggeration to say that Sri Lankan spice is in a category of Hot that stands alone. Suchith assured me, as we prepared to dine, that this food was not spicy – it was more towards the ‘Korma’ end of the Sri Lankan spice spectrum...and within seconds I was gasping for water as sweat rolled down my face.

'Couch' 16.

The next morning, after I awoke from some much needed slumber, I found that Suchith’s mum, Mrs Abeyewickreme had laid on breakfast for me. There waiting on my plate, alongside a cup of tea were three seemingly innocent pastries, one round and bun shaped and two long and thin with a crumb exterior that I’d liken to a Scotch Egg. Innocent though they looked from the outside, the interior held an impossibly hot concoction which literally tasted like fire. Of course, I wasn’t aware of this, so my first drowsy bite woke me as abruptly as a bucket of water in the face. It wasn’t an unpleasant surprise, but certainly a shock. What was a nice surprise was the jar of marmite on the table – one of many remnants from the era of British rule.

Fire for breakfast. Looks innocent, right?

Again, like India, all around Colombo I saw relics of Britain like an old stamp, faded but evident. Post boxes in particular are obvious instalments, foreign and iconic, almost like memorabilia of the 133yrs of British reign. If you’re unaware, Sri Lanka (then known as Ceylon) was colonised originally by the Portuguese and then the Dutch, before Great Britain occupied the South Asian Island early in the 19th Century. Shortly after the Second World War, peaceful negotiations granted political independence from the British and brought our rule to an end.

Made me feel at home. I've seen worse conditioned ones in Stoke.

As with India, I was wondering if there would be any animosity towards me because of my nationality – as a Brit I’m acutely aware of the ill’s my homeland have committed throughout the World in era’s past. Just as in India though, all my questions about ill feeling were rubbished. In fact, if anything the pro-British sentiment surprised me. Although I’m sure we have committed heinous crimes against the indigenous population, apparently we also developed Sri Lanka in positive ways. The question never escapes me though, would they have been better off without our influence – a question it’s probably impossible to answer.

Anyway, I digress from more important matters – namely food. Sri Lankan food is spicy. We’re not talking Vindaloo spicy; we’re talking off the scale. I’ve certainly never experienced such levels of spice, not even from eating raw chillies whole (as silly dares). It didn’t take too long to adapt to the spice however (either that or my taste buds were frazzled) and before long I was able to savour the authentic taste and wonderful flavours without crying while I ate. I can’t thank Mrs Abeyewickreme enough for all the wonderful meals; I doubt I could have got better food anywhere else in Colombo.

Apart from great food, the Abeyewickreme home also provided me with a peaceful, relaxing place where I was able to recharge. Suchith had stressed in his messages to me that he lived in a quiet neighbourhood, but that suited me just fine. After my nightmare journey (http://atwon80couches.blogspot.com/2010/01/plains-trainsor-14hr-bus-trip.html) I was badly in need of sleep, and the peaceful location of their house was ideal for resting and writing, which is mostly what I did in Colombo and in the process I regained my zeal and enthusiasm about the trip.

On my only full day there I did journey into the City to see what Colombo was like. I met with Suchith and Hisham after they finished work and Hisham drove us (swiftly!) around Colombo, allowing me the opportunity to experience Sri Lankan driving up close. Just like I’d seen in India, the Sri Lankans use the car horn is a very unfamiliar way to us in the West. In Europe and North America I’ve only ever known a honk on the car horn as an aggressive move, usually accompanied by a hand (or finger) gesture. Here in South Asia however, the horn is far from hostile and is in fact a warning system to alert other drivers to your presence – it’s like a ‘Hey, don’t change lanes I’m here next to you’, which prevents the ‘Hey, idiot didn’t you see me here’ we see so often in the West. Although maybe noisy, it’s a great system, if you ask me. I even saw trucks with ‘Please Horn’ signs on the bumpers – a stark contrast to ‘How’s my driving? Call: 1800 *uck you’ or ‘Horn broken, watch for finger’.

Me & Hisham.

Hisham drove us around, and in a few hours we managed to see most of the gems of Colombo. We went to the Galle Face Green promenade, saw the Sri Lankan ‘Twin Towers’, The Presidential Secretariat, the night bazaar and also stopped at a remarkable temple – The Gangaramaya Vihara. Not being a religious person myself, my knowledge of various faiths is a passing one, and something I’ve always felt ignorant about. An example of this ignorance, I’d actually been completely unaware that Sri Lanka had a large Buddhist culture. Even more shocked was I to learn that Buddhism is actually accredited to beginning in ancient India – a country where it is now virtually extinct as a practiced religion.

The Twin Towers of Sri Lanka.

Inside the Temple.

Many statues.

The Gangaramaya Vihara Temple was simply outstanding though, and I was glad photographs were permitted throughout the Temple – especially as they had a ‘Tusker’ (as Hisham called it); a large Indian elephant (complete with giant tusks – hence the name) that I was able to have my picture taken with. Amusingly, while Hisham was snapping away taking pictures he was able to capture the moment the Elephant Keeper fleeced me for money. Even Buddhists have a price it seems.

Me and the Tusker.

What's he asking me for?

Money, plain and simple. Can't help but chuckle.

After a visit to a local fast food street vendor (imaginatively called ‘Burger’s King’), Suchith and I headed home, taking a bus from the City. Once at home and in bed I received a call from ‘Muse’, she’d just been to her Grandma’s funeral and was upset. Again, feelings of guilt and regret attacked me but they were over-ridden by compassion. The subject of her visiting me when I reached Australia had arisen a few times recently but plans had understandably been shelved due to the trauma of the last few days.

The next day I found myself yet again packing my bag, a process I’d come to hate. This time however, I was optimistic about the future, and getting to Thailand. I’d already arranged a place to stay, although I hadn’t had an address from my next host I felt secure that I’d be able to contact him once I arrived to iron out the details. I was feeling positive and I didn’t want to consider failure. As I boarded my overnight flight to Bangkok I felt I could conquer any obstacle in my path.

My time in Sri Lanka may have been brief, but it enabled me to climb the wall I’d hit so abruptly in India, and my lust for adventure was renewed. The smile was back on my face and I left the Abeyewickreme household joyous and energized – a different man to the one who had arrived just 2 nights previously. I must return to Sri Lanka one day, I’m aware that just 3 days was far too short a time to spend in such a Country. For now though, Bangkok was calling, and I couldn’t wait to answer.

Suchith & Me.

Plains, Trains...or a 14hr Bus Trip.

2010-02-18T21:08:00.001Z

I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll survive this trip. On an Adventure of highs I’ve hit an all-time low. As I write, I’m sitting in Channai airport feeling completely empty and broken. I’m desperately trying to lift myself up – not physically, the flight has been delayed by 2hrs so I’m not going anywhere for a while –just emotionally. I’m trying to get excited about Sri Lanka, Country number 12 on my trip. But ‘The Wall’ has been well and truly hit.

Despite the luxury I’ve been living in the last few days I’ve also been completely and hopelessly stressed. We (the wedding party) all arrived in Visakhapatnam several days ago, the home of Dr. Prasad Rao, Suchet’s Father, to celebrate the union of Suchet and Roshni with family members who couldn’t make the trip to the Wedding proper in Udaipur. The Hotel again was outstanding. 5 Star luxuries. Great food, fantastic scenery & good times had with great people. So, why the stress?

I’d received news that my ‘Muse’ had suffered a death in her family; her Grandma had passed away after months of illness. We’d talked a lot recently and it hadn’t been totally unexpected, but as anyone knows who’s suffered the loss of someone important, there is no way to prepare for it. And no matter how strong or resilient we are, everyone is vulnerable when it comes to losing loved ones, and her Grandma had been a Mother figure to her throughout her life.

At that moment, all I wanted was to be there for her. Hours spent scowering airline websites brought only bad news however. There was no possible way I could get there before the funeral would take place. At a cost of just over $2500 (USD) I could travel by 5 flights that would take approx 50hrs - and still not be there in time. This really deflated me. There was no option but to be ‘there for her’ via phone – in itself an oxymoron as only my voice would be 'there', but that was all I could offer. To put it bluntly, and despite her protest to the contrary - I’d let her down.

The day after the big reception in Visakhapatnam, most of the party left India – some to return to the UK, others headed back to the USA, but not I. I had to plan my next stop, Sri Lanka. As of that moment I had still been unable to find a Host to accommodate me. I had sent out 6 requests while we were at the Palace in Udaipur, all of which had fallen on deaf ears. 6 doesn’t sound like much I know, but those 6 were the only people available to host in Colombo uncovered by my search on the CouchSurf network. Reluctant to travel without having a place to stay sorted, I decided to hold on one more day in Vizag and hoped for positive news.

Having made a mass appeal (again, for the 3rd Country in a row) on the Colombo message board, I eventually received a message from Suchith, who offered me a place to stay with his family on the outskirts of the City. Problem number 1 was solved, but now I just had to figure out how to get there.

I found however, that my attempts to book plane/train/bus tickets online were being thwarted at every attempt, costing me dearly in more expensive internet time and a phone call to my credit card company asking why the transactions were being refused. The irony there was that I was calling a UK Credit Card company, but the call was being routed through a UK network…back to India. International rates, for a local call. Having lost my UK Debit Card in Turkey I’d been operating on Credit Card only basis since, and the fact that I’d withdrawn money in Jordan and now India had them all in a twist – despite the fact I’d already informed them I was travelling to these places, whenever I make a transaction in a new Country the security system kicks in, and blocks my card. Fantastic.

Eventually, I was able to book transport to Chennai in the South of India, where I knew it would be possible to fly to Colombo from. Then I figured I’d just get a plane ticket at the airport with cash. I thought this as a wise idea – now being familiar with the Indian transport system I was fully aware that my trip to Chennai would somehow be delayed, so why risk booking a flight only to miss it anyway. The overnight bus journey was ‘only’ supposed to take 14hrs, but I had little faith in that estimation.

I left the luxury of the Hotel in Vizag feeling stressed, sad and rather alone again. After the pleasure of seeing good friends again and being able to fully relax among such wonderful people, the welcome interlude was over and I was back to my Adventure. I knew that I was unlikely to be living in such splendor for quite some time, and the bus was indeed a stark contrast.

I confess, I had actually expected a lot worse. The bus was a ‘Sleeper’ Bus, very similar to a Train of the same ilk if you’ve ever had the experience of one. A normal coach, transformed into 6 ‘rooms’, each measuring around the length of the bunks (6 foot) and just a little wider than the width of the 2 beds (perhaps 5-6 feet) with 4 bunks (2 double bunk beds), and a corridor running all the way down one side allowing access to the ‘rooms’. The sheets seemed clean, and it was indeed air conditioned as advertised. Each bunk even had a TV, of similar size to that which you might find on an airplane (not that it was any use to me as it only showed subtitle-less Indian movies) and I was provided with a complimentary bottle of water. But there was a problem. A big problem. No toilet.

Having eaten nothing save Indian cuisine for the previous 9 days (not to mention consuming fairly copious amounts of alcohol), my system was still coming to terms with the adjustment, my visits to the WC were frequent and often time consuming affairs. Not a problem when surrounded by 5 Star Luxury, but such an issue provided somewhat of a conundrum on a 14hr toilet-less Bus Trip. The fact I already needed to go before we set off didn’t exactly help matters any.

For the first few hours I consoled myself with the knowledge that there would be a scheduled stop after several hours to purchase food, I assumed at some kind of Motorway Service station or rest stop, whatever, it was sure to have toilet facilities…right? Well, I guess you could say that it did…if you consider the street a toilet. Indeed, when we stopped and I asked fellow traveller Rafi where the toilet was, he merely opened out his arms wide and gestured to the surrounding land and said ‘It’s an open toilet, you can go anywhere’. Wonderful.

Despite my desperate need, I was totally unable. Call it stage fright if you will, but doing your number 2’s in the wild is an experience I’ve suffered before in my life and I wasn’t keen to repeat the feat. Especially in the dark. And especially when some of the locals, unfamiliar and unused to seeing foreigners, felt the need and curiousity to follow me as I searched for a quiet, secluded spot, just to see what I was up to.

Consider me spoiled, but I’m a Westerner. I live in a City. I’m used to home comforts. I’ve been camping but I’d never suggest I’m an outdoorsman. I’m accustomed to taking all the time I need, usually something to read and complete privacy to do what’s required. With the bus prepared to leave at any minute, and the lack of any reading material whatsoever, indigenous fauna & foliage surrounding me and people seeing what the White Boy is up to and how he will manage…these were far from conducive conditions.

So back to the bus it was. I’m not sure how I survived the next few hours. To my memory, I hadn’t soiled myself since at LEAST around 1982, and it was a 27yr streak of not poohing my pants that I really, really wanted to keep alive. My thoughts for the next 5hrs were totally occupied by toilets. Similar to a starving man who can only visualize food, and the meal they would most love to feast on, I was consumed by recalling all the loos of my past, even trying to narrow it down to my all-time favourite ‘Throne’. Wooden seat or plastic. Chain pull, or handle flush. Toilet only room, or as part of a bathroom suite. Everything was considered down to the finest detail, even what kind of air freshener I’d use afterwards and the colour of the towel I’d use to dry my hands.

Of course, this did nothing but add to the trauma. I tried to sleep, but so worried was I that if I relaxed, would I awake to a nightmare? Would my bowels control themselves without my conscious effort? I had no choice but to wait, and somehow block out the uncomfortable physical pain I was suffering.

After what felt like a tortured eternity, we arrived at our next stop, now approximately 9hrs into the journey. I moved as swiftly as I dared and disembarked the Bus, only to be told that no, there was no toilet here either. We had stopped at one of the travel companies offices in a built up area (though God knows where exactly – my thoughts were preoccupied by my basic need rather than geographical location) and my prayers had not been answered. I really had no choice but to go now though, so I headed down the nearest alleyway.

I wouldn’t say that it affected my dignity, doing a ‘number 2’ in an alleyway, but the experience did fill me with some shame. It also saddened me that this was a country where this was the norm, and shows exactly the distance in parity between a largely undeveloped Country like India and the Western World. I was very thankful for my foresight of always having toilet roll about my person though. I know in many Middle Eastern and Asian cultures toilet roll is not used at all, but I can only reflect on my experience of that night in the alleyway and how I would have coped without the toilet roll. Now also consider that it’s a normal custom for people in India to eat with their hands. For me, those two things really don’t go together.

So I returned to the bus feeling better but also embarrassed. Even if my fellow commuters were unaware of what I’d been up to, I still felt wrong. It had alleviated the possibility of me breaking my 27yr streak though, and for that I was grateful. By this time I was well and truly exhausted, having been anxious about allowing myself to sleep (just in case the unthinkable happened) I could now permit myself some sleep time, to dream about what else? Toilets, of course.

It seemed quite relevant that toilets should play an important role on my trip, as I mentioned at the start I was fascinated to see how toilets reflected culture and society on my travels. As you may (or may not) have noticed, I stopped referencing toilets in my blog very early on. This was mainly because Europe was all so similar. Even in the Middle East and most of India (granted it was mostly hotels I stayed in) I found a standard style and there was nothing special to report. I’ve got a feeling that from here on in toilets will become more important and also more different!

One last stop before we arrived in Chennai early in the morning offered one more opportunity, this time with an actual outside toilet, or should I say ‘hole in the ground in a wooden shack’. At least it had slightly more privacy. Again I congratulated myself for having toilet roll on my person. If you ever visit India you should make this your main priority to carry about your person at all times!

However, the actual process of 'going' in a hole in the ground is certainly a more complex one than it sounds. Forget the fact that this was a shack with a door that didn't shut, thus removing any semblance of privacy - that was barely a concern for me at this point. What worried me was...well, frankly, crapping on myself. Not just myself, but my clothes too. After some deliberation (and a couple of 'dry runs' and anticipation of projected angles) I concluded that it was essential to remove both shorts and boxer shorts completely. As well as the risk of my own waste products ending up on them, the mere idea that they might touch the floor of the 'toilet' filled me with mortal fear. I hadn't even touched the door on the way in, just nudged it with my feet. It's hard to compare it to anything, but if you've seen Danny Boyle's Trainspotting, 'The Worst Toilet In Scotland' doesn't even come close to this. I'd hasten to say that the shack itself had stood since the British last ruled here, and hadn't been sanitised since.

A typical 'hole in the ground' toilet in India

(not the shit-shack i used).

Next on my list of concerns was The Stance. Western toilets are simple - you sit. Nothing can go wrong with that really. A hole in the ground however, is a different matter. Several options occured to me. Starting from the bottom, it could be possible to sit perhaps, both legs stretched out in front. This was right out though, especially considering the lack of hygeine as I already mentioned. Next possibility is to squat. This always seemed the most likely of options, but for me it wasn't really a viable one. Years of sport have ruined my knees to the point where a position like that would become uncomfortable in a matter of seconds. There had to be a way though, and in the end I had to settle for a position somewhere between standing & squatting, slightly bent forwards at the waist. Did it work? I wouldn't go so far as to say it was smooth sailing, but it would be considered a success. Sadly, I didn't manage to get any reading done.

So finally we made it to Chennai, and without ending my 27yr streak. The next challenge was to find the Airport, thankfully a chore made much easier by my new friend Rafi who showed me to the bus and also helped fend off beggars and eager Auto/Tuk-Tuk drivers. At that point I had nothing left in me, tried and broken by the journey I was ripe for the slaughter had he not been around to offer his help and I’ll be always in his debt.

Another horrible hour long journey was in store however, this time on a packed, hot (over 30C), sweaty, smelly bus in 100% humidity with standing room only (not fun with 30kgs on your back) which made me crave the comparative comfort of the sleeper I’d grown to hate so on the previous bus. Southern India really heats up during the afternoon and in my already weakened state I actually thought at several points that I might faint. If toilet roll should be the first thing you pack, make water the second. That complimentary bottle I received on the sleeper bus may have been the only reason I didn’t pass out.

Thankfully I was able to purchase a ticket for the next flight out of Chennai to Colombo without too much hassle and, despite its delay I know I will make it there OK. And I know, 'Woh is me', poor Adam out there in India, travelling the World...but I'm not looking for sympathy, so don't take this Blog the wrong way. Stress levels have started to recede while I’ve been writing this, perhaps this is really just a cheap form of therapy?

Outside the world of toilets, I’m just hoping that Sri Lanka can offer me a chance to recharge. I’m sure a good night of sleep will fix my woes…and maybe a good book and flushing toilet wouldn’t hurt. Fingers crossed.

Introducing Dr & Dr Rao.

2010-02-02T13:28:00.016Z

They say typical Indian weddings are lavish, extravagant affairs. I don’t really feel in a position to pass comment on that however, as the Indian wedding I attended in Udaipur was far from ‘typical’. This extravaganza was more similar to (how I imagine it would be) attending the wedding of Royalty. An explosion of rich colours, a veritable jamboree of food, music and laughter.

While at high school in Newcastle-Under-Lyme, Staffordshire, I was fortunate enough to make several good – nay - great friends, many of whom I am still in contact with 14yrs after I left high school. Dr. Suchet Rao is one such peer (though he wasn't a Dr. at high school...had to point that out...just in case). I’m honoured to say I’ve known him for nigh on 19yrs (are we really that old already??) and although geographically we haven’t always been close, we’ve remained great mates.

So, when it was decided that he would wed the lovely Dr. Roshni Shah in India, one of the original motivations to execute this trip was born. The wedding date was, of course, decided a long time ago and I was also needing to plan a trip to Auckland for my friends Dan and Sonja’s wedding, so the idea came to me to ‘fill in the gaps’ between India (in October) and New Zealand (in February). When I lost my job at MTV, the idea sprouted, and that initially ridiculous dream grew into the Epic Adventure and reality that I’m now living.

Drs. Suchet and Roshni met while studying Medicine in Trinidad, and while Such was raised in the UK and Rosh in the USA, both have strong Indian lineage, hence the mass excursion to India to tie the knot. I also imagine it solved the issue of making the choice between the USA and the UK for venue. Another by-product of doing so, they certainly created some unforgettable memories about their special day, not just for themselves but for all the lucky people fortunate enough to attend.

For me, it was my very first experience of an Indian wedding. I’d heard stories and read that they are the epitome of lavishness, often lasting several days and costing small fortunes. Well, all this was correct, but it was so much more. As I said earlier, this was far from the norm.

Firstly there were celebrations in Udaipur (North West of India in the state of Rajasthan) for 5 days, and then the Wedding Party would head from Udaipur to Visakhapatnam on the East Coast of India for a few more to complete the wedding rituals in Suchet’s father’s (Dr. Prasad Rao) home town, making the days of Wedding celebration total 8. Eight days of beautiful opulence and fun filled indulgence - and all put on at the expense of the parents of the Bride and Groom.

The first evening (3 days prior to the wedding) in Udaipur was a relaxed affair, giving old friends a chance to catch up and for old school friends Suchet, James and I it was the first time we’d been together for several months. Suchet had relocated to the USA some time ago to live, and with James in Stoke and me in London our get-togethers were rare events. To his credit, throughout the wedding Such showed amazing stamina (something he’s really not known for) and even though the preparations and obligations had already clearly taken its toll on him he managed to last well into the night as we acclimatized ourselves to the warm Udaipur evenings sampling fine malt whisky.

An Englishman in India.

The next day the proper celebrations began with the Welcome Dinner. This was a meal on the 'Wedding Day Eve Eve', two days before the wedding would take place, and if you’d just walked in off the street not knowing any better you’d be forgiven for thinking this was in fact the main reception on the wedding day itself. In fact, it was bigger than any wedding reception I’ve ever been to back in England…and it was merely the night before 'The Wedding Day Eve'. Already my mind was boggling with what we were building up to, and indeed the events somehow managed to top themselves one after another.

The powerful sun set on us (to the relief of all those from cooler climates), as if to signal the festivities could begin. And begin they did, with cocktails and chat, followed by a gigantic, beautiful, gourmet buffet in the open air on a warm Rajasthan evening. As the alcohol flowed the tongues loosened and we began to mingle with the various friends and relatives of both Bride and Groom, meeting some lovely people in the process. More drinks were followed by a speech by Sandy (Suchet’s younger brother and Best Man), and then an extraordinary performance of Indian folk music (by the Qawwali Group) and dancing. The male singer had some comical facial expressions and although I had no idea of the words he sang, I was able to get the gist of the songs I think… they were mostly either about love and the pain or joy of romance - or getting himself caught in the zip of his trousers, I’m not totally sure which.

The Qawwali Group. Dont be alarmed, the eyebrows are part of the act.

As I said though, that evening (grand as it was) was merely a warm up for the 'Eve of the Wedding', which shows you just how seriously Indian weddings are taken and the scale of this event. 'Wedding Day Eve' began by picking out our new Indian formal dress for the big day. It was the first time I’ve donned such garb and have to say I rather like it. Comfortable and stylish – I may have to add it to my wardrobe rotation for nights out back in London. Like everything else for us (Grooms side) on this trip it was all bought and paid for by Dr. Prasad Rao, Suchet’s Father. He truly spoilt his guests over the two weeks, and everyone who attended owes him their heartfelt thanks. We were all treated like close family members and despite being in a foreign land and not speaking the language we all felt totally at home.

Welcome Dinner eaten, cocktails drank, eyebrows marvelled at. Great night!

Outfits chosen, the next event was all the Mehndi Ceremony. This was, of course, accompanied by a bountiful supply of wonderful food, music and dancing. The colours and decoration lit up the Palace grounds of the (real) Royal Family of Rajasthan in such a way they must have mistaken this day as their own. Bellies full yet again, we had a chance to relax before the main event.

The Palace, dressed for lunch.

LOTS of dancing at Indian weddings, and a chance for some Henna.

We weren’t entirely sure how the scale of the previous evening could be topped, but word from Sandy was that the evening’s entertainment would be provided by one of India’s biggest singing sensations Daler Mehndi, who has to date, the best selling (non-soundtrack) album in Indian music history 'Bolo Ta Ra Ra'. Not bad. He's also lent his voice to many a Bollywood flick...and even appeared (as himself) on the Indian version of Sesame Street. As well as this, the free bar was being tended by a professional cocktail team from Mumbai who’d been flown out and put up for 2 days specially, just to cater the wedding. All the stops were certainly pulled out.

Daler Mehndi, the Indian King Of Pop rockin' the stage.

The party ran late into the night, the bar staff fuelling the night with their martini’s, long islands and dentist chair style flaming shots poured directly into the mouth of the victim (I'm not so sure that would be considered traditional for an Indian wedding though!). The amazing feast of food gave all the energy to dance away relentlessly and carelessly. We few revelers who could make it until the early hours retreated to our hotel room fully aware that we were still merely building up to the main celebration and, worried about potential hangover, we only managed a couple more drinks. Honest.

Srini, Suchet, Sandy, Myself & James.

So we awoke on the day of the Wedding actually exhausted (and perhaps hungover) from the build up to it. Never people who shirk at the challenge of having to party though, we dutifully plugged on. Thankfully the hangovers weren’t serious – or at least nothing a paracetamol couldn’t fix. The day began completely segregated, with the Bride and Groom families each having their own ceremonies to complete. First up on Suchet’s side was a small ceremony called the 'Pellikoduku Ceremony' (which literally means "Wedding son") in the morning to prepare him for marriage and to make him aware of his responsibilities and obligations as a married man.

After a brief interlude for lunch it was time to suit up, Indian style. Thankfully in formal Indian wear there is little to confuse even the likes of myself, and within minutes I’d transformed into a native, headdress and all. I’m unsure as to how well I carried off the look, but if I looked out of place in the outfit, what was next in store really would put me like a fish out of water.

Stoke Boys, Sultan Style.

As is traditional in Indian weddings there was to be a procession taking the Groom to meet his Bride, commonly referred to as a Barat. Of course, it was no normal parade. My good friend the Groom would be in the place of honour atop a giant Indian Elephant, while the fellow groomsmen (including yours truly) were each astride a white horse. Growing up in a small suburban town in the Midlands and living in London I’ve as yet in my life had little opportunity to ride a horse, so this was certainly something new - and people could tell it was new to me I'm certain!

I look so natural...right?

As the party paraded down the 1km to the shoreline to catch boats to Jagmandir Island (Palace on an Island) the music belted out and there was much dancing and rejoicing. The party had begun for real, the warm ups were over – it was time to get groovy. It was hard to dance from horseback – even though I quickly felt at home riding despite my early nerves – but we gave it a good go, occasionally waving to the masses of tourists lining the streets to take photos for their scrapbooks, or to the remote controlled drone helicopter camera swooping overhead to capture otherwise impossible ariel angles.

The Parade, first on foot then by boat.

After the short jaunt across the lake to the Island, the traditions continued as the Bride’s family put up some last minute resistance to test the Groom’s resolve. Bartering completed, the entire family was welcomed to join the Bride’s family in the Palace and the Ceremony could begin. As one of the Groomsmen I was also lucky enough to take part in some of the Ceremony itself – with myself and Ash being charged with the responsibility of holding up the silk divider to keep Suchet and Roshni apart before they could be joined in union forever more. Another unique experience and I doubt I’ll ever see such a beautiful Ceremony at close quarters again.

Cermony couldn't have happened without me (left).

Married!

Blessings made, Rings exchanged and Love proclaimed, the partying resumed. The Bride and Groom were announced to rapturous applause, and we watched the Newly Wedded couple take their first dance. The cake was cut, the toasts made, and then Suchet surprised his new bride with a Solo Serenade of a song he had written, especially for her. It was truly a beautiful moment, something that could so easily have fallen the wrong side of soulfully romantic into cliché cheesy, but Such managed to avoid this with consumate ease. He projected his love and devotion harmoniously with his heart melting lyrics that touched everyone and surprised many with his eloquence.

Not a bad place to have dinner.

Cutting of the cake, and the serenade by Suchet.

Following his performance, but not surpassing it, was Indian band Rodney, fronted by a man wearing more leather than even Freddie Mercury would have dared, who encouraged all to join on stage for yet more dancing. This was only interrupted by visits to the bar, returns to the buffet for more delicious food and the taking of an occasional flaming (as in on fire, not homosexual) shot - which proved to be a hit with revellers of all ages.

What a great idea these were...

...and it led to this.

It was unclear to us actually how late we’d partied – a question that was answered for me as we boarded our plane to Vishakhapatnam (or Vizag for a short, anglicised version) the next morning. Still dressed in my Indian dress from the previous evening (sleep is for the weak) I was instantly recognized as one of the 'Horsemen' by some Scottish tourists who’d witnessed our Groom’s parade to the boats. They were staying nearby and said that the noise had carried across the lake to their hotel…so they were painfully aware that we’d been dancing away until well after 4am for certain. It’s the most accurate recollection I think we’re likely to get. I wonder what the Royal Family made of it.

James, Such & I. One of us is Indian...can you guess which one?

Vizag again provided luxurious and picturesque sets to celebrate, set right on the beach. We forced our unwilling bodies to arise to the challenge and managed to celebrate in style for another 3 nights, the highlight of which almost certainly was the karaoke. Vizag (a major Indian port) can be found on the East coast of India, it shores lapped by the warm salty waters of the Bay of Bengal and provided a lovely wind down from the week's excesses. It's no wonder it has adopted the moniker 'The Jewel Of The East Coast'.

Karaoke in Vizag (a warm up for me for Japan) and drinking Whisky on the rocks...on the rocks, with James.

It wouldn't be inaccurate to say that I'd witnessed something pretty special in India. Not just the sumptous food, the blindingly colourful decorations or the sheer scale of the event. No. I'm talking about Love. It was clear to all to see the strength that has grown already between Suchet and Roshni, and rarely have I observed such obvious tenderness and a couple so deeply enamoured. The Marriage for them was an expression of their love, their devotion and adoration for one-another, a way of displaying their joy of being together for all to see. For being a part of this, to see how Love can be, I'm eternally grateful.

And it was a lesson. A lesson on life and Happy Endings - or rather Happy Beginnings, as their Story has only just begun...it's far from over. It would take a lot to eclipse their Adventure - one from Staffordshire, one from Touscon. They found each other, against all odds in Trinidad, far from home for either. A probability defying union that will fuel their spirit for the good times and challanges that await them in life.

So Dr. & Dr. Rao, if you get the chance to cast your eyes across this measly blog one day, I hope you find this and realize my gratitude at the invitation you extended my way to be a part of your Adventure. You are proof of Love.

Roshni & Suchet.

Gateway To India.

2009-12-09T12:34:00.006Z

There was never an intention to Couch Surf in India. Well, not in the typical manner. The rule of my trip is that I'M not allowed to pay for accom - not that someone else can't pay for me, and all accommodation during the wedding festivities had been kindly provided and paid for by Dr Prasad Rao, the Father of the Groom. However, during my planning phase I managed to book my flight 3 days earlier than I was expected to meet the Wedding Party, so I took the opportunity to stay in Mumbai (or Bombay, depending who you ask) for a couple of days to acclimatize myself to India.

So with little notice (it wasn’t until I was in Jordan that I realized I’d made the date error), I took to finding a Couch to Surf and with so little time I resorted to a general appeal again, similar to how I found my place in Jordan, on the CS Message boards of Mumbai.

The responses were fairly astounding. Within an hour of posting my appeal I’d received my first offer (which I accepted) from a kind hearted guy called Vikash. 7 other offers rolled in during the next 2hrs, which somewhat amazed & humbled me. I knew from that moment that the people of India were really something.

Although that confidence was temporarily rattled by the typical rip-off taxi driver vultures circling around the airport arrivals, Vikash reinforced the good nature theory by welcoming me into his home at the ridiculous hour of 6am on a Saturday morning. I can’t think of too many of my friends even who would rise at that hour to open their door at that time on a weekend, let alone a total stranger! Of course, when I arrived I insisted he return to bed – especially when he mentioned the fact he’d only actually got to sleep around 5am!

Couch 13.

I was only too happy to get some rest myself too; another night in transit had again cost me sleep. Those sleeping tablets my Dr had made me promise not to take on planes were seemingly a complete waste of time. It was only Christian Bale’s mediocre performance in Terminator Salvation while watching the in-flight movie that eventually put me to Slumberland. When we both arose from our dozing we chatted for a while, and then as he had work to be getting on with I ventured out into the City alone.

Tuk-Tuk Time.

After hailing my first tuk-tuk (or Auto as they call it here) to take me to the train station, I headed to the ticket office and automatically purchased a 2nd class ticket, as I would in the UK (though we call it ‘Economy’ in the UK so as not to infer people are 2nd class) but I didn’t fully understand what I was letting myself in for. If one was to compare the Indian version of ‘2nd Class’ directly to the UK train service, I’d have to say its comparable to 4th or even 5th class during peak times (which in Mumbai peak time means 6am-10pm!).

Train station.

Initially I actually boarded a 1st Class carriage, as the group of men I enquired to about the train's destination ignored my question and gestured me to get on in 1st Class as they assumed (by the colour of my skin I presume) I would be traveling this way. As they had missed the point of my question however, they put me on a train heading the opposite direction. Small payback for the tyrannous British rule perhaps.

1st Class.

3 or 4 stops down the line I realized the error and changed direction, this time hopping on in my assigned class coach. I say ‘hopped on’ but to put it more accurately, I ran alongside the train as it slowed into the station, then after people had leapt from the train to disembark, I picked my own moment to jump aboard.

You see, trains in Mumbai see passengers as an inconvenience and don’t see the need to actually stop in stations to allow boarding and alighting. Instead, they slow down to give you a chance of getting on/off without killing yourself but still maintain their good time keeping. This means you have to hope that the people getting off (leaping from) the train do so quickly enough so you can make your move before the train has reached full speed again.

Calm before the storm.

If you survive that moment of insanity, the fun continues. If you’ve ever traveled on public transport in any big City in the World you have an idea of how crowded Mumbai’s trains are. Try to remember the most crowded tram/tube/bus you’ve ever been on and multiply that feeling of claustrophobia by 5. I really thought Istanbul was crowded, but Mumbai is a different level.

My first instinct once aboard was to find a rail, post or other solid structure to cling to for balance, but I quickly realized that it was not only impossible to fight through the crowd, but it was totally unnecessary. The mere volume of people squashed into the cabin meant we were all so close we had a united balance. Even had I tried to fall over, the 8 people surrounding me would have held me up. My closeness to those men around me demonstrated exactly me why females have their own carriages on these trains.

Sardine class.

After I’d settled myself in-between the other 162 people in the 5 foot sq. area I was standing I began to notice that I was the subject of much intrigue. As I looked around and checked out my surroundings, my eyes met almost every one of the 324 staring back my way. I wouldn’t say it was an uncomfortable feeling, it was merely curiosity on their part – I’m certain they were wondering why I was there. I hadn’t seen any other white skinned people in my brief time in 1st class and certainly not here in 2nd. 1st class is actually ridiculously cheap and I found out later that it would have cost me around 2 pounds for a return ticket, so perhaps this is why my presence had caused such a stir. As was the case for most of my time in India, many of the gazes I met were accompanied by broad smiles and nodded greetings, further emphasizing the warmth of the people.

When I finally arrived at Mumbai Central station thankfully it was the final stop for the train so there was no need for a jump & run death defying exit. I decided to wander aimlessly and see where my feet would take me. I’ve always found this to be a great way to experience a new City, and often results in adventures and escapades. For around an hour I strolled the streets, attracting much attention along the way. The danger of my wayward meandering though was soon pointed out to me though, as I was stopped from entering a slum by one kind citizen who was worried for my safety in such an area.

We began to talk, as with most others I met in India his curiousity about me brought questions. While talking he revealed his occupation as a taxi driver and he’d just finished his shift and was headed home. So shocked he was by my disclosure that I had no plan of what to see in Mumbai and I was simply strolling aimlessly he offered to personally chauffeur me around the main tourist sites. Not purely out of the kindness of his heart of course, there was a monetary figure attached, but it was a poultry amount – 600 Rupees – approximately 7 pounds.

I’m informed that 600 Rupees is probably double what a taxi driver would earn daily, but for what he was offering me it felt like an absolute bargain. After all, 7 pounds in London would only just cover an all-day all zones travel card and there’s certainly no tour guide included.

Mahalaxmi Dhobi.

This kind gent was offering me his personal guide service and although his English was limited, we were able to adequately communicate with few problems. For 3 hours he chauffeured me all around Mumbai, showing me all sights of interest he could think of - the Mahalaxmi Dhobi washing area, the Kamala Nehru Park, the beach, the Gateway to India, the Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus (formerly Queen Victoria Terminus) before returning to the station with me. As he also lived in Andheri he also insisted in helping me navigate my journey home and we rode the sardine class together.

The Gateway to India.

So guilty that I was giving him such a meager amount of money for the amount of effort he put in to show me a good time and impress me with his home town (not to mention helping me home) I did give him a further 500 rupees as a tip – but he really had earned it.

My tour guide & I.

It turned out to be a great way to see the City and certainly didn’t feel like it was a scam, even though when he first suggested it to me I thought that was exactly what was happening. At any time during the day I fully expected a hidden charge to be revealed and I’d be robbed of whatever money I had on me. Was I born so skeptical, or is my distrust a product of experience? I’m sad to say previous encounters in my life have made me view situations like this as suspicious, but I was elated to be proved wrong. Of course, the irony is that the only scam artists I’ve met on this trip so far were taxi drivers…which is exactly what this man was…yet he turned out to be completely genuine. Perhaps it’s only during work hours they are the scum of the earth! Somehow I can’t imagine a bad bone in his body though.

After he’d helped me get back to Andheri in one piece (and negotiated a tuk-tuk for me to get back to Vilas’s house) I met Vikash and we went for another car tour, this one around his neighbourhood. It was a lot less frantic than the City tour and we had the chance to chat properly about life, his wife & child, Mumbai and even my women troubles.

Vikash has already established himself in the movie industry and is at the start of a very promising directing career in Bollywood. His biggest project was as an Assistant Director on the hit ‘Jab We Met’ which featured 2 of Bollywoods hottest actors Shahid Kapur and Kareena Kapoor who won 3 awards or her performance.

The Film Poster.

I really got the sense Vikash has the drive and motivation to achieve great things in what he wants to do. He certainly has a great inspiration in the form of his young daughter. During my stay his wife & baby girl were away, staying with his in-laws, so sadly I didn’t get the chance to meet them, but it was easy to see his devotion to them and he clearly missed his daughter terribly.

After cruising around a while we picked up a friend and then drove over to chill at another friends place to share some beers and talk shop. His friends also worked in the TV/Film industry, one as Senior Editor on Big Brother (called Big Boss in India) and the other runs a big production company making high budget projects.

Although most of the chat wasn’t in English, I was still able to follow reasonably well. Even when speaking Hindi (or one of the many other Indian dialects) English phrases and terminology are often interwoven in the sentences, producing a mish-mash of language that is seriously confusing at first. Add to that the technical terminology that is all in English I was able to at least get the gist of what was being talked about.

I have said many times on this trip that I really don’t expect people to speak English around me just for my benefit. It’s really nice if people do so if they wish and are able effortlessly, but it really doesn’t offend me for people to converse in their own tongue. I’m the foreigner after all, and people shouldn’t have to adapt just because of my ignorance in foreign language. Of course, Vikash and his friends addressed me in English, and I really appreciated that, but I had no qualms with them speaking with each other in whatever lingo they desired.

The next day was a real treat. After taking a stroll to see the ocean (the beach only a stone’s throw from Vikash apartment) we wandered down to the courtyard of his building to join the Sunday cricket game, which takes place every week without fail.

Game on.

Vikash warned me in advance that it would become a heated affair and it was taken very seriously. He wasn’t kidding. As you probably know Cricket is treated like religion in India and almost every single man & boy plays or watches the game. Having not picked up a bat or ball for a good while I was slightly nervous about showing myself up, but I think I managed to hold my own and represented England adequately.

Tense.

It was great fun, even if I was on the receiving end of some Aussie style sledging. Frequently I was asked ‘Do you know Cricket?’, ‘Do people play Cricket in England?’ and my favourite ‘Is this your first time playing Cricket?’. Given the polite & inquisitive nature of Indian people I concluded they were simply innocent questions, not actually designed to knock me off my game or get into my head!

Textbook (underarm) Doosra.

The game itself was just like the street Cricket I used to play as a kid on the streets of Wolstanton. Under-arm bowling, walls for boundaries, one hand one bounce catches and if you hit the ball out of the play area you’re out (and you have to retrieve the ball!)...something I managed to repeatedly do. I'm a big hitter, it's not my game!

Always time to smile, despite the pressure.

With approx 8 players a side, with people coming and going at various times, each game lasted around 30mins and we ended up playing a 5 game series. The Ashes had nothing on the tenseness of the contest and it came down to the last game decider with the series poised at 2-2. Sadly my side suffered a dramatic batting collapse attempting to chase down the required total and we lost the series 3-2. My protests (through a grin) that bad light should have stopped play and the game a draw were of course laughed off!

Seriously, get the light meters out Ump!

After the Cricket Vikash and I showered and went to grab some food and catch the Liverpool v Man Utd game then caught the second half of Man City v Fulham, which turned out to be a great game with The Mighty Whites coming back from 2-0 down to draw 2-2 away from home. One of Vikash friends also joined in supporting my boys and adorned my Fulham scarf, much to the amusement of Vikash and his other friend.

In the morning it was time to leave Mumbai. As I was headed to the airport to meet Sandy and Louis, Vikash offered to drop me a lot closer, near his work as it would make it a cheaper journey for me, for which I was extremely grateful. It had been a short but sweet stay in Mumbai and while it was only a glimpse at India I am already thoroughly enjoying my time here. The people really make it a wonderful place to be.

Vikash, poised like a Tiger.

Up next though is one of the reasons I even considered this Epic adventure in the first place, the Wedding of my very good friend Dr Suchet (Rawfish) Rao. Time to get excited.

Two Nights in Amman (not A Man).

2009-11-25T06:29:00.003Z

Jordan was to be my only dabble into the Middle East on this trip and I really didn't have much time set aside for it, but I wanted to take the time to check out some of it, rather than just fly straight over. My good friend Suchet's wedding was fast approaching in India, giving me only 2 nights spare for Amman before I was expected in Mumbai. I was finally leaving Europe however, much to my excitement.

Before this trip began I'd already been fortunate enough to see lots of Europe over the last 29yrs and to be honest it's all much of a muchness. Everybody looks fairly similar, architecture varies very little, culture is reasonably close and language isn't really a barrier anywhere except the more remote areas. So, my yearn for the unknown & alien began now, in the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan.

Patriotic Mini.

The problem was I was having trouble finding a place to stay. All the requests I had sent out seemed to have fallen on deaf ears, my only response from the 6 requests I sent being 1 negative one. All the others simply went without reply. Two days before I was due to arrive in Amman I was facing a serious dilemma. I had a plane ticket to get me there, but no couch to surf.

In my desperation I resorted to posting a plea for help on the Jordan forum to try to find a kindly soul whom I might have missed in my search that could Host me. In bigger Cities they usually have a special forum designed just for such last minute requests to find a couch, but Amman (having only 400ish registered surfers & hosts they only have one main forum. I'd just have to hope my message reached the right person.

Luckily for me, my anxious wait lasted less than 24hrs as my (and the Project's) savior appeared, going by the name: Rami.

Couch 12.

Rami not only came to my rescue, but he was also able to shed light on the reason why I'd had such a hard time finding a couch in Amman. According to him, of the 400ish registered members around 385 of those are single males hoping to meet 'open minded' Western Women to host. Put it another way, they don't want to host guys. So he wasn't the least bit surprised to hear of my difficulties. It saddened me to learn this, but at the same time it comes as little surprise.

In a networking system such as this, and other social network sites (Facebook, MySpace) you will always get a small minority abusing it, mistreating it for their own personal agenda. The fact that Couch Surfing even involves staying the night in a stranger’s home means that some people can easily misinterpret people’s motivations. Thankfully, people's profiles and references make it somewhat possible to assess and identify genuine hosts/surfers from the swingers. Don’t get me wrong, relationships do occur and have been known to happen after meeting through Couch Surfing - my own time in Germany a case in point, but that is more of a by-product of the system, not the reason for it.

Rami is certainly one of those people who sees the beauty of Couch Surfing, and treats it with the respect it deserves. A native Jordanian, he spends both his working time and social time helping people. For a job he works for the UN in Amman where he's a software technician of sorts and has a flat above his parent’s house he uses to Host Surfers.

City Skyline.

From my first interaction with Rami I could tell he’s all about helping people. It’s easy to see that this is his MO and he takes great pleasure in doing it. While discussing our experiences of Couch Surfing, it didn’t surprise me that Rami has yet to take advantage of actually Surfing and up to today still hasn’t done anything besides Hosting people. What did surprise me however was the fact that he Hosted over 100 people. In one night. It was during a Ramadan celebration and lots of people came to Jordan to party and Rami had the heart to say yes to everyone who wanted to stay. It’s quite mind-blowing to imagine that many people coming to stay in your Home, no matter the size. It’s merely representative the size of his heart though.

As I said earlier, I only had 2 nights, barely 3 days to spend in Jordan I was limited to wandering the streets of Amman, observing what I could of people, culture and attempting to find good food.

City Centre.

On Thursday, my first full day there, Rami had to work so I set off alone to explore the City alone, taking a bus to add to the ‘experience’. Buses certainly are a great way to interact and get (sometimes too) close to the people of a Nation. And with relatively few tourists in Amman, the public transport system certainly is something for locals. The buses DO have stops, but they may as well not. People board the bus wherever they like, and also get off where they please. The trick is as a foreigner to rely on others to both hail and request the stop and just hope it’s near where you want to go. After I overshot the City Centre by 1 or 2km, I walked back the 30 minutes in blazing mid-day heat and continued on foot to tour the City.

Ruins.

Amman is far from a Western styled metropolis, and offers (thankfully) few tacky tourist shops, which came as quite a relief. With no destination in mind I took to walking in random directions to ‘explore’. As far as I was aware there was no threat to tourists in Jordan, save the scorching sun. Eventually, after many misturns and dead ends, I happened upon a fast-food for the Middle East type restaurant I thought I’d give a go.

Fast food - Middle Eastern style.

Having strayed rather far from the City Centre itself (if you can call it a centre), I found myself in an area I assume foreigners rarely visit. I think this because my arrival had caused quite a stir. Also as I’d strayed from the Centre, it became apparent that language was now a barrier.

My waiter and I exchanged words neither understood and we both followed that with the same words spoken slower and louder, and to both of our surprise, had no success. The futility and hopelessness nature of our ‘conversation’ wasn’t lost on either of us, and we both couldn’t help but laugh at ourselves as we tried to communicate in this fashion, accented with meaningless gestures and mimes.

Eventually the obvious occurred to him, and he asked me to point at the pictures on the wall of what I would like. Simple, yet effective. I even received what I wanted, more than can be said for some of my visits to restaurants in England! I have to say the food was absolutely excellent in Jordan, not something I had expected – or considered for that matter. The food there, even in a fast food place was great, as was a dish that Rami’s Mother prepared for us one evening at home. I’d go back to Jordan just for the Hummus.

Success!

After my meal I set about another walk. While meandering the streets I was often met with the cry ‘Welcome to Jordan’ from many a local – many of whom would not be able to converse past this one English sentence. It seems the Jordanian Tourism board has trained 90% of their population with this simple sentence to make tourists feel more welcome. As I say however, any further attempts at conversation will merely receive ‘Welcome to Jordan’ over and over.

More Jordan.

To balance out the warm welcome of the People of Jordan though, I came across a most unwelcome sight – a Chelsea shirt. How far do I have to go to avoid them, I wonder? Still the boy was young, and I attempted to educate him as they invited me to join them in a kick around. Already missing my regular 5-aside weekly game back home (and I see they are missing me too – 2nd to bottom of the league boys?? What the hell?) I was more than happy to join in.

Although my new friends spoke little English (though I expect they knew ‘Welcome to Jordan’), we managed to communicate some vital details. Names, ages, the fact I hate Chelsea…that kind of thing. After an hour of playing in the late afternoon sunshine, sunset arrived and the boys had to leave, called away by the power of prayer. I was actually thankful by that point though, the heat and their ages (all 16) had meant I was now cream crackered.

Yes, OK, I look exhausted. Gimme a break,

I'm almost twice their age!

My footballing day wasn’t over though, as I returned to Rami’s place to find Europa League coverage on domestic TV none other than my beloved Fulham vs. Roma. Of course, when I say ‘find’ I mean I had to flick through some 300 channels…but my persistence paid off. I almost witnessed a great victory too, only for it to be snatched from our grasp last minute as the lucky Italians equalized with the last kick of the game.

My last day in Amman fell on a Friday, which in Jordan (and many other Muslim countries) is the first day of the weekend, with their working week running Sunday – Thursday. It really did have the feel of a Saturday, and we spent it lazily watching movies. The only thing missing was Soccer Saturday and Jeff Stelling.

When it came time to leave Rami again showed his generosity and gifted me a ride to the airport in his car. I was relatively unmoved about saying goodbye to the dustbowl that was Amman, but I genuinely felt sorry that my meeting with Rami had flown by so quickly.

Rami (on the right if you didn't guess).

But now it was time for a more literal type of flight to my next destination, the highly anticipated visit to India. I would meet with friends later on, but first it was time to experience the wonderful sights, sounds and smells of Mumbai.

Turkish Delights.

2009-11-19T06:51:00.005Z

As I mentioned in my piece about Amsterdam, some of the countries I selected for my journey had reason or significance and Turkey was one of those. In my last (serious) relationship I had pretty much been brainwashed into thinking Turkey (in particular Constantinople - oops, I mean Istanbul) - is an evil place filled with dastardly people. She just so happened to be Greek, this ex, and if you know anything about the history between Greece and Turkey you'll understand why she had such a strong opinion. I was of course expected to take her (and Greece's) side on this, which I admit I did.

So as this trip was to take me all the way through Europe, I was relishing the chance to see Turkey with my own eyes and without the cloud of someone else's prejudice & passion. After all, once my relationship with my ex ended, so did my allegiance to Greece.

Couch number 11.

The rivalry between the two countries has obviously stemmed from serious, grave issues prompted by religion and land disputes, but I find today’s rivalry more on the humorous side. Where once they argued over who owned what land, now they tend to bicker about who invented which food, which celebrity came from their race and even the nationality of great ancient philosophers.

Turkish Coffee. Or, is it...?

Take Turkish Delight for example. It's most obviously Turkish, isn't it? Ask a Greek they will swear it's their creation - stolen (like Istanbul) from them by the Turks. I even bought some Greek Delight home from one trip to Athens...but if I'm honest the Turkish certainly do it better. Other items for dispute are Ouzo - something I always thought was Greek, but Turkey lays its claim to this too. Even kebabs, or gyros and the Greeks call them are questionable in origin.

Fishing. Turkish mens' way of escaping their 'Trouble & Strife'.

Of course, with me being me, this provided me with perfect ammunition to playfully wind up my lovely Host, Gulsah, who (thankfuly) took all of my jibes with good humour...even when I referred to her City as Constantinople! I know, I'm hilarious.

Gulsah lives with her Father, a judge for the City, who worked so much and such long hours I only saw him once for 10 minutes throughout my 3 night stay. A Government man, he is afforded the luxury of a flat in a safe, wealthy area of Istanbul. Her Mother is also a judge in her home town and Gulsah herself is following in their footsteps studying Law herself at the University of Istanbul.

Random Turks.

I traveled to Turkey via the overnight sleeper train (another first) from Sofia - so technically I paid for accommodation for the night...but I hope you'll forgive this minor technicality. If it's any consolation, sleep was scarce. It wasn't actually as bad of an experience as I had expected, although I wasn't too thrilled to be sharing the cabin with one other person - a person who refused to engage in any verbal exchange beyond 'Hi' without relentless prompting. I eventually found out he was Canadian, a Quebecker in fact, but even my knowledge and love of Montreal met with deaf ears.

The Sights. Well, some of them.

I hoped my Host would be more companionable, and although it wasn't hard to be friendlier than my Canadian (train) roommate, Gulsah turned out to be an absolute delight. Whatever my preconceptions of Turks, she set me straight, and I'm ashamed that I'd ever let myself be so influenced by my ex. Short in stature but big in heart, Gulsah has a cheekiness and playfulness that I never expected, her mischievous smile hinting at a little devil within.

The Blue Mosque.

Although having to attend classes when I was there, Gulsah was more than happy to hang out with me during her spare time...which basically meant we sat on a lot of buses together. I was actually impressed with the transit system, and I had plenty of time to appreciate it - Istanbul is a big place and it takes a while to get anywhere. It consists of trams, taxi's, buses and something in-between a taxi and a bus. Some buses operate with their own express lanes completely separate from the rest of traffic - and therefore are able to avoid jams. And in Istanbul they have traffic jams. Everywhere.

Old Bus.

The trams are very pleasant to ride, although they frequently overcrowd like London in rush hour, unlike London they are thankfully air-conditioned. Gulsah was always reluctant to ride in packed carriages though. Apparently even though shows of public affection are considered an outrage in this Muslim country, incidents of sexual harassment (like men using overcrowded transport as an excuse to fondle young girls) are sadly frequent. Just one of the strange contradictions I found in this Country.

New trams.

The other is the view on homosexuality. Although technically not illegal in Turkey, with it being a Muslim country it is still severely frowned upon. Stories of homosexuals being 'outed' and beaten by homophobic mobs are common (to which the police turn a blind eye), and it's rare to see open displays of homosexuality. All this I find so curious, in a Country where it's considered normal for two heterosexual men to walk down the street hand in hand, or with arms around one another. Even more curious is the attempt to pass a law banning males kissing in public - in a Country where the continental cheek kissing as greeting is as regular for males as females.

I have to admit I am not a fan of Istanbul. Please don't get me wrong, it’s not the people, it's more the volume of people. Where London has an 'official' population of approx 8 million (God knows how many illegal’s though), Istanbul boasts just under 12 million and really has a claustrophobic, over populated feel. London is of course a busy place, but Istanbul is a different scale. Istanbul is the 5th most populated City in the World, and feels very geographically rather small, despite it taking an eternity to get anywhere.

Millions walk this street daily. Apparently.

To be honest, I really didn't engage in conversation with too many Turks while I was there besides Gulsah, but I did spend an interesting time with and became close to a gent called Umit. Having neglected to get my hair cut before I left the UK, my locks had now grown beyond how I would like, and with the wedding in India coming up, I'd run out of time to do something about it. I wanted to get it cut in Europe (if Turkey is even Europe...I mean...is it??) as I figured there would be more hope with language communication and possibly style. How wrong I was on both counts. Perhaps the main male hair fashion I saw around being the mullet should have given me fair warning...but it was now or never. I couldn't turn up to the Wedding of The Century looking shabby after all.

The Bazaar.

As I lazily meandered the streets of Istanbul, I came upon a hair salon with a portly gent sitting on guard outside. As I passed, obviously noticing the A board outside in English advertising gents haircuts, the stout Turk leapt to his feet and barraged me with Turkish, to which I responded with my usual reflex when I know someone is trying to sell me something (even if it's something I actually want), a raised hand and a firm 'No Thank You'. Another of my personal qualities, don't try to sell me something - if I want it I'll ask you. Silly, it occurred to me, as now I had to keep walking, pretend to think about it and come back. Which I did.

I have only myself to blame for what followed. As soon as my 'Do you speak English?' question received a quizzical look I should have turned and ran. But that would have created a scene. No, much rather I'll sit and suffer the consequences rather than be un-British. I'll complain about it later with friends.

We began with the usual. Warm green goo applied to each ear hole with a wooden stick, and some on the nose for good measure. Ears filled giving my acoustic senses an underwater feel and my nose nice and warm; we cracked on with cutting the hair. On my face. I despise shaving myself, and maintain short stubble for that 'can't be bothered' rough look. I especially dislike men holding lethal weapons to my jugular. It makes me nervous. But at the risk of causing offence while he holds said blade to my throat, I decided to let it ride. It's the adventurer’s spirit after all, and (besides him slipping and killing me) what's the worst that could happen? Hair grows back.

And grow back with a vengeance it will, now that he shaved between my eyebrows. There really was no need for that. Now those hairs will return, and thicker, meaning I am now going to have to maintain this area of my face, which was once happy to be untouched. Not only the middle either, he felt the need to shape the entire eyebrow. I mean, honestly, my eyes are girly enough, now Umit had managed to make me look even more like a drag queen. Next came the nose hair, shedded by electric means and the old fashioned scissor approach. He was nothing if not thorough.

So 40 minutes in and no sign of him touching the hair on top of my head. But my face was now hairless, spare what was left of my eyebrows, so surely it was time to tackle the hair. I was gearing up to try to explain how I want it cut with facial expressions and gestures, when his assistant stepped in to scrub my face. This basically involved him pushing my head down into the sink and almost to the point of bruising smashing my face around with soap, which was followed with a (only slightly) more tender facial massage and then another green substance applied as a face mask which set my face in a look of bemusement. My main tool of communication now rendered useless, I began to lose any hope of being able to control the hair cutting process. I would have laughed, had I been able. I've a suspicion the green paralysis goo was merely an objection nullifier. Sneaky Turks.

An hour in now, and surely the haircut must be next. Almost. First the shampooing, followed by a 10 minute scalp massage. Finally it was time to cut the hair. Still unable to move my face or do anything other than mumble through paralyzed lips all I could do was gesture as to how much I wanted cut, by holding up finger and thumb with about an inch in-between. But, hang on, would he think I wanted it down to that length, not that much removed as I intended it to mean? I'd really given up and submitted by this point and just let him get on with it. Thankfully I think he understood my gesturing and set about the business of trimming my hair.

So, hair cut, we went through another wash of my hair and face to remove the facial concrete (and finally the green goo from my ears which stung as he removed it...still no idea what the hell that was for) and I began to rise to leave. But we weren't done yet. I'd forgotten I'd obviously asked for the full package, because I was then on the receiving end of an aggressive neck & shoulder rub, complete with arm massage. I don't think the word 'gentle' exists in Turkish. Perhaps he was just worried I'd been sat so long I wouldn't be able to reach for my wallet. After paying Umit and thanking him, I stumbled out feeling like I'd been drinking, with my hair in a sort of 'straight up' Zach Braff style. It could have been worse, I kept telling myself!

Straight UP. Like the afro for the white guy.

So Istanbul came and went. I really enjoyed my days there, hanging out with Gulsah really being the highlight. She taught me so much about Turkey and their culture that I now feel reasonably educated on how things are there. I'm glad I decided to visit, and especially glad to have met Gulsah. She put up with a lot of playful jibes from me and by the end was giving as good as she got. She gave great lessons on Turkish history and knowing my love of buses entertained me with countless journeys.

Gulsah & I on a bus (of course).

Side note...

I fear my head wasn't always there in Istanbul though. During my Turkey visit something also developed in the confusing part of my life, concerning a love interest: my 'Muse'. While talking on my overnight train journey from Bulgaria to Turkey, she began to express an interest in coming to see me on my travels, for New Years Eve in Australia. Needless to say this got me excited, and compounded my confusion in matters of the heart. While it's made my trip a lot more complex, in a way it's also eased some tension. If she does book the trip it clears up something nagging in my mind about her dedication to trying to make something work between us. It'll feel more real. Previously, I'd begun to feel that it was I that made all the running, made the travel, sacrificed the costs. Then we lost contact several months ago and I gave up on anything between us. Maybe if she does join me we'll finally get the chance to see what's possible, even if that does have to happen in Australia. Who knows, let's see.

M.I.A.

2009-11-10T06:21:00.000Z

Just a quick note to say that I haven't abandoned this blog...and yes, I AM still alive!

Lack of decent internet connection and no access to computers has meant I've been unable to update...but I have been writing and am going to buy a Notebook today hopefully in Thailand, which will make everything easier!

On a related note, Thailand is awesome.

Bulgaria, Sofia and Rabbits.

2009-10-26T02:18:00.002Z

Of course I should have expected it, but my train journey to Sofia from Belgrade ran, inexplicably, 3hrs late. I was especially sorry for this, as it was in fact Petya's (my Host) 'Name Day' and had plans for the evening which I didn't want to affect by my lateness! A 'Name Day' for those who are unfamiliar, is a practice that takes place in countries with Eastern Orthodox or Greek Orthodox religion. Every Saint has a specific day, and if your name is the same (or even a version of the name) then it's cause for celebration, on a scale similar to a Birthday party. Sounds like a good excuse to drink to me!

Thankfully my train (if that's what it was) did manage to deliver me to Sofia just before Petya was due to meet her friends, practically with mere moments to spare. This was important, as no invitations are sent to any friends, they are expected to know it's a Name Day and meet at a pre-arranged place without advance notice. Hence the importance of her being on time!

Petya (holding flowers) and her friends.

We were quite the League of Nations that evening, with Bulgaria, France, Macedonia, Turkey and England all being represented to help celebrate Petya...being called Petya. Bar Steppenwolf was the venue, the eponymous band being a Canadian hard rock group that formed in the late 1960's. Bulgaria is nothing if not random. The bar played a varied mix of Metal, Heavy Metal, Rock, Hard Rock and Elvis. Like I say, random.

As is the case in all the Euro Countries I've visited so far, the conversation warms as the liquor flows and although at the start of the evening I felt slightly awkward in (yet another) room of complete strangers, by the end I felt I'd made some great new friends. Valentin & Vesselin in particular were more than happy to chat football - even despite my Fulham allegiance after The Whites had recently visited Sofia and earned a valuable draw. In fact, we managed to bond over our mutual hatred of Chelsea!

Chelsea haters. Valentin, Me and Maxime.

So my first night, despite being chronically fatigued, went swimmingly. I did have a mild panic attack when we returned to Petya's place to learn she cohabited with her Mum, as I'd only brought Petya a gift and felt awful arriving with nothing for her Mum. The only unopened item I had in my bag was a tube of Colgate...and I really think giving that would have caused more offence than anything.

'Couch' 10

My first full day in Sofia I spent nursing a hangover in front of Petya's computer. I'm not proud of it, but I had writing to catch up on, and once again the weather had followed me, to Bulgaria this time. I was quickly gaining a reputation as the Rain Man...but without the autism or savant skills. Petya, a medical student in her 4th year was working 10hr day shifts during my stay, so our time together would be spent in the evenings, allowing me free reign of Sofia during the day.

Feeding me throughout the day at random periods was my savior, Mrs Petrova, Petya's Mum. As I spoke absolutely no Bulgarian, communication again was tested, and we succeeded to correspond wordlessly, without the noise that comes from small talk. I do wish I could have told her exactly how much I appreciated all the food and treats (believe me, it kept coming!) but I think the smile on my face told the story every time she appeared with something new.

One of Mrs P's specials.

A solid day of work behind us both, Petya and I were both shattered by the time she finished work, though whereas I had been sat at a PC all day, she had been out making a difference in the World! Well, in Sofia at least. I was impressed by her energy and willingness to spend time with me in the evenings though, I truly appreciated that.

While we hung out we learned much about each other, filtering out the nonsense and only conversing on the meaningful. We discussed our passions, our dislikes and obscure music and film. We talked about my Adventure so far and what it could bring in the future and her travels and own adventures. And of course, Couch Surfing.

I'm always fascinated by people's motivations to Host people. With Surfing, the reasons are fairly plain, but Hosting is far more complex. To Surf is to not only get a free place to stay, but also a chance to learn about the Country you're visiting through the eyes of a local and to grasp the culture a lot easier. Petya believes that everyone on Couch Surfing is looking for something, be it an ear to listen, a companion to sight-see with, an extra body around the house or a way to meet 'like minded' people. I think she could be right. It didn't take me long to find out what I think Petya is seeking (or trying to reproduce) but I think that should stay between us.

All this talk did provoke the question to me though, what am I doing this adventure for? Aside from the obvious, I'm going to be attending the weddings of two of my dearest friends. Also, I'm hoping the writing and (possible) book could do something positive for my career. But, before I'd had the brainwave for my trip, why did I begin to Host?

Was I so bored in London? I had lost my job at MTV and spent most of my free time applying for similar work, which was becoming soul destroying. So I had plenty of time on my hands which possibly amplified the feeling of loneliness, in my one-bed flat with Merlin. I have a great social life in London, sometimes too active perhaps, but as I found in my experience on the Kroll Farm (The Good Life - http://atwon80couches.blogspot.com/2009/10/good-life.html) it appears I've been missing something in my life. Maybe that explains why I've become so close with some of the people I've met along the way through CS. They offer me scaled down versions of family in bite sized chunks, giving me something I'm searching for? Of course, that could all just be psycho-babble...maybe I'm just doing it to pick up chicks.

Inside the Alexander Levski Cathedral.

You aren't supposed to take pictures here...

My third day in Sofia I spend wandering the streets, trying to decipher incomprehensible street names in search of tourist attractions. It served as a good reminder of what I'm in for throughout the next few months - and taught me the need to be better prepared the next time I venture onto the streets of a non-English speaking country.

Exterior of the Levski.

Church of St Sofia

The weather was once again against me, resolute Northerner I may be, but I'd been living in Southern Fairy territory (London) too long. I managed to find the major 'sights' of Sofia, but was close to hypothermia by the time Petya met me from her shift. Good thing she's a medical student. After a couple of prescribed beers in a bar, we headed home to find another feast laid on by Mrs P. It was during this meal that I learnt why rabbits are kept in cages, behind bars, and why 1 pair of jeans just isn't enough on a trip like this.

I have to hand it to the rabbit, he got me good and proper. He lulled me in, hook line and sinker. He managed to have me believe his attention towards me was all honest, in the name of hunger and being fed. Especially cunning, he even waited until after all the food was gone before his unprovoked and well timed assault. Petya has clearly trained him well.

I'd been stroking him for a few minutes in my lap when I started to feel a warm sensation on my leg. Perhaps the hypothermia I'd experienced during my sightseeing had finally dissipated and feeling was returning...or perhaps the rabbit was pissing on me.

Evil Bunny.

The warm sensation in my lap quickly turned into a warm sensation running down my leg, and I knew for sure what the score was. The little **** managed to unload what appeared to be his body weight in urine all over me, the chair and the coffee table in just under 5 seconds. Quite impressive, if you're not covered in rabbit piss. Petya certainly seemed impressed by the way she was rolling around on the floor laughing. This rabbit may not have had 'Big Sharp Pointy Teeth' like the vicious Rabbit of Caerbannog in Monty Python and the Holy Grail, but I really wished I'd had a Holy Hand Grenade at that moment.

It was (almost) worth being pissed on by a Rabbit to see Petya laugh so hard though, and I must admit, even sat there soaked with Rabbit piddle I found it hilarious. Which was fortunate, because as it was my only pair of jeans and I was leaving in the morning, we then had to wait for them to go through the washing machine! I never could have predicted exactly why I would need 2 pairs of jeans, but I certainly learnt my lesson.

With the morning came another goodbye, and another long trip. First I would head to Plovdiv and then catch the overnight train to Istanbul. Sofia was not exactly my favourite City so far, but I'm glad I visited it as I feel I made some lovely new friends. Petya has promised to visit London some day...but there's one proviso: The Rabbit stays in Sofia.

Petya, with the lovely Gabi & Valentin

Rain Stopped Play.

2009-10-22T17:57:00.002+01:00

A more sensible train journey direct from Zabreb to Belgrade offered me 7hrs of decent writing time, but also further solitude similar to that which got me so excited about 'That Chimney'. Thankfully, although I would lose writing time, fate landed a couple of guys in my cabin to make me feel at home again. No sooner had I rested my bag on the overhead rack than my carriage was invaded by two Aussies, whom I would later discover go by the names Stix and Phil. What better way to be reminded of London, than by two guys from Perth?

Even though all my Hosts have spoken amazing English, it was nice to be able to converse with two native speakers, in the casual tone that only Perthonians can offer. In all honesty, they probably speak worse English than many of my 2nd language speaking Hosts, but it was hard to hold it against them.

Stix and Phil had already been travelling around Europe for a couple of months and had zig-zagged their way around taking in England, France, Spain, Germany, Sloveia and Croatia and, like myself, were headed to Belgrade for a couple of nights. Both 23yrs old, when back at home Stix works in the mines while Phil is a journo for a local paper. From Belgrade they would continue their geographically bemusing journey north up to Budapest.

Phil & Stix on the train.

Very interesting and amusing fellas, the time flew by as we swapped stories about travelling, the World and our respective Homes. Most of Stix's offerings amusingly all began with the phrase 'When we were in [insert country name here] we got kicked out of this one place...'. In a way I was jealous of them, no planning, going with the flow etc. Even their crazy route around Europe had the pioneer spirit about it, whereas I'd had to plan mine through necessity - well, the flights anyway. From the stories they shared with me, I got the impression these boys were certainly enjoying themselves...even if that enjoyment did lead to being kicked out of almost everywhere they've been!

Most amusingly, their use of the 'C' word seemed to be gratuitous at first, but then I heard from a friend back home that 'C***' is actually a way of saying hello in Perth. Indeed, I also quickly picked up that it's usage doesn't always mean a negative or as an aggressive challenge and before I knew it I was fighting the urge to say it all the time myself.

When we (finally) arrived in Belgrade I had a few hours to kill before Beba (my Host) could meet me, so I went with them to find their Hostel then we went for a beer. The Summer really seemed to have disappeared from Serbia and sure enough it had begun to rain as soon as we disembarked the train - but it was only a teaser for the weather we'd experience the next day.

After the c***ing drink with the c*** Perthonians I met Beba. Beba is around the same age as me, and one of her (3!) jobs is with a Publishing company. Her work and passions compliment each other and her house closely resembles a library, with books everywhere. Feeling tired and slightly under the weather, Beba prepared dinner for us before she had to leave for a meeting with her illustrator whom she's collaborating on a book with. To be honest I was gracious for the time to write and update my Blog - it's been tough to keep the Blog as up-to-date as I'd like, but I knew it wouldn't be easy.

Couch 9

With it being a week day Beba was off to work the next day, and rather than hang out alone all day I met up with the Aussie boys and we attempted to find something 'fun' to do. The weather however, was not conducive to any fun of any kind. Rain was bucketing down and the temperature (even during the afternoon) had dropped to below 4°C with a biting wind that would shake even the most hardened Northerner, let alone the poor fellas from Perth. If you ever feel the need to visit Serbia, allow me to advise doing it during the Summer months - October is too late!

Some buildings.

With all (2) of Belgrade's attractions being outdoor pastimes, we had to find something to do inside. The Nikola Tesla museum was tempting, but as he's Croatian I wondered why they were honouring him so much in Serbia. It turns out his mum was from Serbia, so apparently HE is Serbian. Ooooooook. Feels like they need some more famous Serbians to focus on. Besides, I'd walked past his statue a mere 24hrs before in Zagreb so I felt like I'd had my fill of the Croat Sparky. Thankfully, Belgrade did offer an activity that combined culture, sophistication and a taste of Serbia we would never forget. 10 Pin Bowling.

Belgrade Fun.

Typically, it wasn't actually the bowling that provided the most fun of the day, but the Red Star Belgrade hooligan taxi driver who provided the entertainment. He had no idea I was English and living in London as the Aussies had done all the talking and he attempted to convince us Belgrade is on a par with London for expensiveness and cost of living. Baring in mind we'd been for a pint the previous evening that cost around £1.20 each, and we'd just had a sit-down lunch in a posh restaurant with 2 courses and 2 drinks for less than a £10er, we instantly had the feeling this guy was a bit of a c***.

Still, his stories of football violence against Partizan Belgrade fans in his youth were, while borderline fantasy, amusing none-the-less. Apparently in Serbia it's 'no problem' to 'poke each other with knives' and shoot at police. I think it was all part of the ploy however, to keep us entertained as he took us for a ride. Not just literally, he totally ripped us off as well - our return journey from the shopping centre cost us 1/6th of what he had charged us. As Stix put so eloquently: C***.

Being Cultural. The 'Other' C word.

I returned to Beba's flat later that evening and because of her illness and the appalling weather conditions we decided not to venture out again, but order in food instead. Although I was sad not to have seen Belgrade properly, in a way I was thankful for some downtime from seeing buildings, European architecture etc, etc. Although all Europe is obviously different, to some degree it's all very similar. I would never refuse a Host who generously offers me their time to see their City, but 4 weeks of Europe was enough, I was already itching to get further afield.

Belgrade is certainly a City I can imagine is totally alive during the Summer months every day. It's cafe culture would thrive on the terraces of the main square, where the beautiful people would go to see and be seen. Even in the coldest depths of the Winter I can visualize the weekends out in bars being the spark that warms the people...but Autumn having arrived as we did provided the blues in the City and the realization that Summer was over for another year.

I will definitely try to return one day, but for sure at a time when the sun will shine. The people are friendly (and stunningly beautiful - which I hadn't expected) and for Pound and Euro spenders it's still reasonably cheap. Unless you get picked up by any Red Star Belgrade, taxi drivers of course.

My time in Belgrade proved to be a bit of a washout, but to compensate I met couple of good lads who I'll be sure to look up in January when I hit Oz. If time allows, I'll be sure to make the trip out Perth way, and visit those c***s.

Stix and Philthy.

C***s, but top blokes all the same.

Zig Zag Medveščak!

2009-10-15T16:01:00.030+01:00

Because of my train dramas I arrived in Zagreb around 5hrs later than planned, but on a high from my visit with Europe's TALLEST CHIMNEY (see last artıcle - 'Slovenia's Hidden Gem') I arrived in Zagreb tired but with a reborn zest.

'Couch' 8.

My Host in Zagreb was again a former guest of mine in London, Jan, who I'd met with Vedran his close friend when they visited the UK in the summer. Still a student at the University of Zagreb though, Jan resides with his parents and younger sister Barbera in their lovely, wonderfully located flat in central Zagreb.

Most trains in Zagreb support Dinamo.

The majority of tourists who visit Croatia (especially in the summer) tend to visit Split or one of the other coastal locations to the West of Croatia, but for me it was all about going to visit my friends Jan and Vedran. We'd had a great time in London, and not just because England had thumped them 5-1 at Wembley while they were there...

Eerie Sky.

Jan is a 22yr old Computer Science student whos main passions involve music, sports and the computers. Jan's younger sister Barbara is somewhat of a linguist and spoke not just perfect English (just like Jan, Vedran and all his friends come to think of it) but also French and German too. Other nations really put us Brits to shame when it comes to language! They did however, lead me to believe Mr and Mrs Lovrinic spoke no English at all. It turns out Mr L had been holding out on his kids, and spoke pretty damn good English actually. I wonder if it was a ruse, incase Jan & Barbara used English to speak in code in front of him? Busted Jan!

Now pointing towards Slovenia...

The Lovrinic's were absolutely wonderful to me and welcomed me graciously into their home, despite not knowing me from Adam (yes, bad joke I know). Jan's generousity also astounded me as he even gave up his room for me and slept on the sofa himself! I tried to reason with him that it was I that was Couch Surfing, but he wouldn't hear of it. Perhaps they just didn't want me stinking up the living room!

NOT Jan's Parents...but I don't have a picture of them...

Vedran, who lives in his parents house without doors, is a medical student and I've no doubts he'll make a top Dr. I'm sure very soon he'll realize his dream - to have a bedroom door to help hide the girl in his bed! Vedran suits the Zagreb lifestyle to a tee, relaxed, laid back and cool.

St. Mark's Church. Crazy Roof

My first night there was the night of the Ukraine vs England World Cup Qualifier. England has already qualified but the game was of utmost importance to Croatia. A Ukraine win or even a draw would make it mathematically impossible for Croatia to qualify for next summer's World Cup in South Africa, so all of Croatia was firmly behind England. Ironically, due to the collapse of the TV channel Setanta back home, no one in England could actually watch the game live as I was doing wıth Jan and hıs friends, a few hundred miles away in Zagreb.

A few hundred miles away in Zagreb,

with Vedran, Jan & Mario.

So that's how it came to pass that I was sat in a basement bar in Zagreb, surrounded by Croats cheering on England with more passion than I, with Jan even sporting my Gerrard jersey. Quite a bizarre sensation, I can tell you. I obviously was wanting an England win, even though we've already qualified, but I also wanted the victory for my Croatian friends...plus I didn't want to be the only Englishman in town if it didn't turn out well.

In fact, after a fluke goal, inept refereeing by the Slovenian ref (perhaps he was day dreaming about Europe's TALLEST CHIMNEY back home??) and Ukraine win, the only person in danger was Vedran who had taken over wearing the England shirt for the evening after Jan had torn it off in disgust at the final whistle.

Jan & Mario 'burning' my shirt.

The mood was somber and deflated after the game, so it was time to join them in drinking away their sorrows, knocking back the Tomislav (a dark beer that tastes like Caramel - try it if you're ever in Croatia). As Homer Simpson so eloquently put, "There's nothing like a depressant to chase away the blues.", and drink we did, combining the bars table service with some B.Y.O.B. Rakia freepoured by Jan. I was apprehensive about the Rakia after my last experience of it in London, but this wasnt any old tosh, it was premium moonshine. Apparently its like urine, the lighter the yellow colour to it, the better it is.

Wearing that shirt while pouring Rakia. Irony.

Suitably oiled up (by drinking that piss), it was time to bust a move, so we headed up a mountain (it felt like it) to Jabuka, a club boasting an 80s playlist. Well, 80s music in England, it's only just arrived here in Zagreb (just kidding). It was great fun, besides my chronic fatigue. Jan's dancing to the New Romantics was a highlight especially, as was the discovery that it is actually possible to fall asleep while dancing, which I managed briefly. Thankfully I awoke before I tumbled to the ground. In my defence, it had been a long day of travelling on little sleep, and also the excitement of seeing Europe's TALLEST CHIMNEY had really taken it out of me.

Legendary dancing.

The following day I'm afraid I was an awful guest and was terribly rude, sleeping in until after mid-day. Not good form. Lunch had been prepared by the time I surfaced and I awoke to a fantastic traditional Croatian feast of meats, chickpea salad, cabbage and a spicy horseradish sauce which was superb. I've been truely spoiled by all the amazing home cooking thats been laid on for me during all my stays so far and this was truely no exception. Absolutely superb and just what I needed.

Nice Park.

After lunch Jan and I went to meet Vedran for another walk around the the sights of Zagreb, this one by day in the glorious sunshine. The weather the previous day seemed to reflect the mood of the Croatian Nation - tears raining down from the Heavens at their failure to Qualify. Today was a new day though, and you wouldn't believe how different it was. Clear blue skies, gorgeous sun, with the temperature peaking at around 28 degrees C.

The evidence is clear.

I'm becomming a Hobbit thanks to my backpack.

Zagreb is often referred to as 'Little Vienna' and seeing it by day I can understand why. The parks, the Opera House, the coffee culture, the trams - it's all very similar, just on a smaller scale. If anything though, I preferred it to Wien - it may have just been because it was Sunday, but the laid back attitude really encouraged you to relax, chill out and enjoy yourself.

Chilling.

It was surprising to me that it is very much a cafe/coffee culture, something I would more associate with the French, Italians or Viennese.

Zig Zag!

After a chilled out coffee (I mean the way we drank it was chilled, not a Frappe) we headed to the Dom Sportova stadium as Jan had scored us tickets to see 'Zig Zag' Medveščak Zagreb take on Hungarian side Alba Volan 19 Szekesfehervar (Worst. Name. Ever.). Having never seen a live Ice Hockey game I was excited about the prospect, and the match didn't disappoint. Zig Zag were rubbish (at least I discerned this from my limited knowledge of the game) but the standard wasn't too high from the visiting Hungarians either.

Face Off.

The highlights of the game did however include a wonder goal by Zagreb's Aaron Fox, who scooped the puck up onto his stick while behind the Hungarian goal and reached around the front, flicking it into the net. If you're curious about it you can see it here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TPo85vUT28s&feature=player_embedded. Quite remarkable, and apparently only the 3rd time in competitive Hockey history it's been done. The game sadly finished 3-4, a home loss. I clearly am not the luckiest of charms for Croatia.

Fighting. The real reason people go to see Ice Hockey.

Fortunately for them I won't manage to attend another game, as that was my last night in Zagreb for a while at least. Another great night's sleep in Jan's bed and in the morning it was time to move on once more, on to Serbia and Belgrade.

Me & Ved.

Aside from feeling guilty about the sports results, particularly the England game, I thoroughly enjoyed my time in Zagreb and I'm certain I'll visit Croatia again, perhaps during the summer months. After all, I've yet to see the wonderful Western coast line I've heard so much about. I also know I'll see my good friends Jan & Vedran again - if I don't make it back to Croatia before, I'll see you in London for New Years Eve 2010/11!

Jan & Vedran

Zig Zag!

Slovenia's Hidden Gem.

2009-10-15T14:31:00.017+01:00

Due to a train crash in Hungary a few days previously, the Hungarian rail network had been thrown into chaos meaning that my direct train from Vienna had been cancelled and wouldn't run for a few more days. The only alternative to the direct 6hr journey was an indirect 9hr one through the Karawanken Mountains (no, I'm not making that up), with a connection in Ljubljana, Slovenia. Because of a 'technical difficulty' (it's shit) with the 'train' (if that's what it was) in Vienna we were already around an hour behind schedule whıch meant I would miss my rediculous connection in Ljubljana and add around 6hrs extra, totalling around 15hrs of travellıng. Gotta love Baltic States travel.

Thankfully, my man in Zagreb, Jan, was on the ball. He figured out I could actually change traıns in Trbovlje rather than go all the way to Ljubljana. Asıde from the traın swıtch savıng me tıme, there was also a wonderful suprise awaitıng me there.

Trbovlje

Sometimes in life, things happen for a reason and when travelling it's usually the unplanned events and unexpected treats that we end up cherishing the most. Wikipedia fed Jan some information which he in turn relayed to me, which would more than compensate for the 6hrs stolen from me by this diverted trip.

Trbovlje is home to none other than the TALLEST CHIMNEY in Europe. I'll let that sink in with you for a second. Not the 3rd tallest, not even the 2nd...THE TALLEST.

Perhaps I'd been in solitary confinement on the train for way too long and I was going a little loopy - the excıtement began to bubble as soon as I received word from Jan. Was not having anyone to talk to affecting me? Ahh who am I trying to kid...it's Europe's TALLEST CHIMNEY!! Who wouldn't be excited!?

The train had barely grinded to a halt when I bolted (unsteadily thanks to the weight of my backpack) out onto the train 'platform' to take my first glimpse of this mega feat of structural engineering.

Majestıc.

The pictures, I'm sure fail to replicate the awe which such a Wonder can instill seeing it live, in person. 360m (1,200ft) of (seemingly completely gratuitous) smog expelling, o-zone layer slaying concrete, protruding from (and dwarfing) the surrounding trees.

As I stood gaping I turned, expecting to see fellow awe-struck gazers...only to be totally bemused that I was the only person admiring thıs man-made miracle. My fellow disembarkees never even casted a glance in its direction! Everything inside me felt like screaming at them, taking them in my hands and shaking them, making them see, help them admire. But then I thought, perhaps they see it every day. One would even tire of seeing the Mona Lisa if one was subjected to it daily for their entire life. And I understood.

What material is burning to produce the smoke?,

I hear you ask. That's the mystery, I repost.

After all, to stare at something so spectacular as the sun would leave you blind, then you'd be unable to see any of life's other beauties. I imagine though, the people of Trbovlje do occasionally steal a glimpse and admire their leagacy...it would be impossible not to. Perhaps even some of the lucky people actually work IN the building that creates the smoke the travells up Europe's TALLEST CHIMNEY. Can you imagine that? Lucky, lucky people.

If you ever find yourself travelling through Slovenia (I'm assured thats the only kind of travel one does when regarding Slovenia - passing through), ensure you set aside 10 seconds in Trbovlje. Even just take a look out of the window as you trundle past on your 'train'. You could do worse than adding this experience to your itinerary...

The Station 'Platform'

Research into the WORLD'S tallest chimney tells me that Khazakstan is the proud bearer of that title with a prodigious 419.7m (1,377ft) tall smokestack. I did momentarily flirt with the idea of altering my trip's plans to take in this gargantuan miracle, but I think I can only handle one such experience at a time. Another day, another trip perhaps. After all, a thing such as seeing the Worlds Tallest Chimney is not something that should be rushed.

As my train for Zagreb limped into the station, I cast one last admiring glance at Europe's TALLEST CHIMNEY, sad I may never get closer than I was at that moment. Icarus provides the fable to warn me of such flights of fancy though. No, I must leave while my eyes are still unblinded, there is so much more for me to see. And I'll always have the memories.

I feared Zagreb would be a let down after Trbovlje...but for Jan & Vedran's sakes I'd put on a brave face. To Zagreb!