Level 3

Hong Kong Highlights

2009-09-12T13:40:00.002+01:00

Gearoid didn’t leave as soon as he got to Hong Kong, he was with us for a few days sightseeing first - which in Hong Kong mainly consists of staring in awe at the height of the buildings. There is nature to be found too though. In fact, surprisingly, 80% of Hong Kong Island is greenery, with plenty of hiking opportunities. I was happy enough to stay in the urban areas though - with the experience of Everest base camp still quite fresh in my mind, hiking on the comparatively tiny hills here would be like taking part in a go-kart race after winning a grand prix.

Happy Valley Racecourse was the most impressive of the sights seen in those first two days. Not for the racecourse itself, which is pretty standard as far as racecourses go (not that I’m any kind of expert on racecourse design), but for it’s location. On the side of the hill where a large proportion of the city’s buildings reside, it’s completely surrounded by skyscrapers. From the outside you wouldn’t know it was there. Inside the grounds I noticed a picture of the racecourse as it looked when it was recently built in the 19th century. With featureless hillside grassland surrounding it, I got an idea of the incredible changes that have happened to the landscape on this little island, from a few small fishing villages to metropolitan behemoth during 155 years of British rule.

As impressive as the skyscrapers are during the day, at night the city is transformed. The famous Hong Kong skyline known worldwide is located on Hong Kong Island, where we were also based, meaning we were unable to get the panoramic view. It wasn’t until our fourth day here, when we traversed the bay to Kowloon on the mainland (which is still part of Hong Kong territory), that we were able to see it with out own eyes. I can still remember the spine-tingling moment - it’s such an impressive sight that I won’t say any more about it, except to go and see it for yourself if you get the opportunity.

The previous day, while Gearoid was busy sorting out his transport to Shanghai, John and I were busy seeing other parts of the territory. By my reckoning, Hong Kong has more escalators than any other part of the world, and seeing that a lot of the city is located on the side of a hill, the world’s longest escalator was built so that people wouldn’t have to work up a sweat going to work. It takes a good 20-25 minutes from bottom to top, and it works quite well. If only they had built a slide to go back down.

Gladly they hadn’t built an escalator all the way up to Victoria Peak, but they had built the Peak Tram Line, which was also an experience in itself. It’s a tram that travels straight as an arrow up to the peak, with the journey steep enough to warrant carriages with specially angled seats so that you sit level while the rest of the tram is at a steep angle.

The view from the top wasn’t bad either.

And Then There Were Two

2009-09-12T13:38:00.001+01:00

I knew it would happen at some stage, I just thought I would be the first to do it. No matter how strong they are, travelling together puts a demand on friendships greater than marriage (would). In each other’s pockets twenty four hours a day, sleeping in the same room, eating together, drinking together - it can be tough.

However, the first exodus from the trio was not the result of a massive bust-up, as I’m sure some people back home were expecting. It was because of a woman. Gearoid was returning to Shnaghai to see Kaisa again. After three days exploring a horrendously humid Hong Kong, he cheesed it, leaving just John and myself.

Bread and Lucozade

2009-09-12T13:32:00.002+01:00

Just about half-way through the planned six months, Hong Kong was perfect for a half-time break. The city is a mish-mash of eastern and western values, but it has enough of the western elements to feel somewhat closer to home than, say, Beijing.

Lucozade, a drink to which I have a mild addiction, is one such just-like-home comforting treat available. So too is decent bread (impossible to find in India, Nepal and China). In the plethora of supermarkets dotted all over Hong Kong many other items could be found that I had not seen since leaving Irish soil.

I was surprised at just how delighted I felt at seeing these little links to home. I didn’t feel particularly homesick before Hong Kong, but now there was a tingle of that feeling inside me. I had read that three months is often the time when most travellers hit a homesickness barrier, when they start to reconnect with their own cultural values after the novelty of new ones wear off. Seeing links to the life I left behind sparked this in me. Funnily enough, having these western comforts around also helped reduce the homesickness, the cause also being a good cure. This is why I (and maybe John too - John fill us in with a comment) ended up staying in budget-damaging Hong Kong longer than initially planned - a week’s break from alien cultures.

There’s A Shenzhen East?

2009-09-08T17:47:00.001+01:00

Our break from big cities didn’t last very long - after Luotiancun our next destination was a little bigger: Hong Kong. Once again though, getting to the place was not a simple matter. Travelling over land, the gateway to Hong Kong in China is Shenzhen (a city that is mostly noted for getting incredibly rich incredibly fast in recent times). Seeing as Hong Kong is not completely part of China yet (it remains a “Special Administrative Region” until 2047), a border control and customs must be passed through to reach the territory.

Seeing as we were getting an overnight train to Shenzhen, we were pleased to learn that the border crossing is adjacent to Shenzhen train station, saving us a bit of bother. What we didn’t know was that our train was to Shenzhen East, which was actually about 25km east of the main station. After our arrival we had some difficulty working out how to get to the Hong Kong border. It came down to a choice between paying too much to some hard-nosed taxi drivers (who frustratingly refused to lower their extortionate quoted prices) and taking our chances with public transport. Typical of the Chinese, there was one young woman who saw our predicament and decided to help. With her basic English, she guided us to the correct bus. In the end it was easy, the bus conductor letting us know exactly which stop to depart for our metro connection - the metro here being like the other metro systems in China, efficient and easy to follow.

After breezing through customs, the differences between Hong Kong and her (step) motherland were noticeable, though obviously not as pronounced as the differences between China and Nepal. Stopping for a quick coffee, I was able to browse through an English language newspaper, something of a specialty item pre-border crossing. The different currency was the most noticeable difference, though it was an easy adjustment, dividing by 100 (rather than by 10 in China) to convert from the Hong Kong Dollar to Euro.

With the border now linked to the city’s metro system, we were able to travel all the way to our Hong Kong Island-located hostel in amazingly quick time for somewhere as densely populated and urbanized as this. More differences were apparent after we resurfaced from our metro journey. Compared to Chinese cities, here seemed less chaotic, better organized, and certainly more developed. Some Chinese cities can seem like they’ve been rapidly thrown together quite recently, and are still adjusting to this new, faster pace - whereas for Hong Kong life in the fast lane is all it’s known for quite some time.

The Village

2009-08-27T10:26:00.003+01:00

While I was in college, the buildup to the all important end-of-year exams was a hectic period, with huge amounts of last minute cramming - this was when I was at my most focused. At the climax you sit down and write for three hours and then - nothing. All the pressure, anxiety and sobriety disappears once the final answer of the final exam has been written - and in the days that immediately follow I found it very hard switch to idle mode - restless, I always felt I should be doing something.

Switching from big-city China (too much to see with not enough time) to miniscule Luotiancun (too little to see with too much time) had a similar effect. I had to slow my brain down to the pace of life I found myself in. After we had sorted our accommodation, we went for a stroll around the village.

After an hour of curious observation, both from us and the locals we came across, we had seen everything there was to see. Freed from the sightseeing pressure that we had grown accustomed to, there was nothing to do but relax and enjoy the snail’s pace.

The scenery surrounding the village was a much needed break from concrete and glass, though the most memorable things about our time here were interacting with the locals whilst living the same way and doing the everyday things just like they did. Our toilet was communal, shared with numerous other households in our vicinity, and consisted of no more than a small shed with a narrow gap in the concrete floor to squat over. Only a few days before, I encountered the most advanced toilet I had ever seen - toilets providing excellent evidence of the huge contrast between city and rural life in China.

Having a shower was the most fun though, with the following routine:

Go to shower room to collect bucket.
Bring bucket to village well to fill with water.
Return to shower room with bucket.
Use bucket to wash yourself.

With the well and the shower room a couple of minutes walk from each other, it was definitely the most unique shower routine of my trip.

By the third day I’m certain the whole village had a name for each of us. We were different, but never felt like outsiders, being greeted with smiles wherever we wandered. I grew up in a small town, so perhaps this is one reason why I felt so at home here, so at ease.

Our host, who someone soon nicknamed “hostel mama” (I can’t remember who came up with that), cooked us a delicious dinner on a couple of occasions, but we also tried out the local restaurants. Some of the most memorable interactions with the locals were had here, where, with no menu to speak of, and no common language, ordering ended up with visits to the kitchen to point at ingredients.

With my charades experience finally proving useful, we had to mime how we wanted it cooked too - although at times it proved near impossible to convey to them that we wanted our noodles fried. At one meal Kaisa even supervised the whole cooking process, to make sure they cooked it the way we (she) wanted - though being a passionate fan of cooking herself, I think this was more for her own enjoyment. She cracked the whip quite well, as the subsequent meal was the best we had in our time in the village.

Of course, with the five of us together, there were many many games of bullshit and many beers had too. Somehow it always ended up with Fred and myself retrieving the beer, and we stayed loyal to a single shop for most of our brew supply. The kindly woman that owned the establishment sold more beer in three days than she probably had sold in the previous year - having to restock numerous times, she probably installed a new kitchen in her house after our visit.

Alas, all good things must come to an end, and the picture above is from the very last game of bullshit. Our plans too divergent, we would have to split back into the groups of two and three that we were before that night in Shanghai. We had made the first truly great friends of the trip.

The possibility of meeting Fred again in Vietnam was there, so that made it easier, though we didn’t know if we’d ever see Kaisa again. Such is life on the road. This was more difficult for Gearoid, for whom romance had sprung up with Kaisa. Would they ever see each other again? To find out, you’ll just have to keep reading.

Half the Fun

2009-08-15T08:26:00.003+01:00

What do Chengdu, Xian, Beijing, Qingdao, Nanjing, Suzhou, Shanghai and Hangzhou all have in common? Answer: they’re all huge (Qingdao is by far the smallest of that set, but still has a population of 1.6 million). We knew there had to be more to China then concrete blocks and swathing masses, so I was tasked with finding somewhere more rural for our next destination.

And that I did. Luotiancun is a 1120-year-old village in the middle of nowhere northwest of Nanchang. It gets a passing mention in Lonely Planet as a possible day trip if you’re in Nanchang, which itself isn’t worth visiting (due to it’s staunchly communist past, and the fact there‘s nothing of note in the city). Once we arrived by train in Nanchang, bar the five of us, there was nary a westerner in sight.

An unpleasant walk through industrial and traffic-clogged streets took us to the bus station, where we played the ‘match the Chinese symbols’ game (there was no English anywhere) to board a bus to Anyi, a provincial town and a link on our journey to the village. With the help of some bemused locals, we eventually found the bus station for local destinations. Now we had to get to a place named Shibi, and from there it was a simple matter of hiring a sanlunche (three-wheeled motorbike) to the village. Easy!

All eyes were on the out-of-place whiteys as we marched with our backpacks into this most rustic of bus stations. Every attempt to point out our destination (in Chinese characters) in our guide book ended with a local browsing through most of the book with a look of fascination on their face. After a few minutes, where not one word of English was understood by the locals, and not one word of Mandarin was understood by us, we were herded onto a rickety old bus. As is common across Asia, the bus didn’t leave until it was filled - with weathered-faced farmers, various agricultural produce/equipment, the five of us, and our backpacks.

Our bus journey into the unknown terminated in a remote village square. I made the natural assumption that this was Shibi, and that somehow we had to find and arrange a lift to Luotiancun. Empty stomachs meant one of the pair of restaurants bordering the village square would have to be frequented.

We ordered using the “point and shout” method. I pointed at the uncooked leg of a pig that was dangling next to the vegetables - some pork would fill me up nicely I thought. After an interminable wait for our food (in which every Chinese diner, even those that arrived after us, were taken care of first), the food began to arrive. What I got was the pig’s leg - sliced up into large chunks, hair, claws and all. There was no meat to speak of, just bone and hog-fat. A step too far in the strange food scale for me (and everyone else). At least Fred and John enjoyed their eel and fried frog respectively.

Luckily the Chinese meal custom means everything is shared, so I didn’t go too hungry. Now it was time to somehow get to our destination. Asking a few different groups of locals, none of them seemed to understand what it was we wanted to do. We cursed our lack of Mandarin. After running around in circles, the penny dropped. What each local had been trying to tell us is that we were already in Luotiancun. We had bypassed Shibi somehow. Great! Now we had to find a place to stay.

Pointing to the word for ‘accommodation’ in my phrasebook, the first local I asked took us to a friendly woman in a small shop. We followed her as gestured, wandering down narrow little village laneways past numerous ancient yards and homes - eventually making our way to this woman’s house.

The two rooms were basic, but we could hardly expect anything else given where we were - this wasn’t a hostel, it was someone’s home.

And Then There Were Five

2009-08-06T15:13:00.002+01:00

Shanghai was a city where we saw a lot of amazing things and had a lot of fun - but our traveling momentum meant it was impossible to stay any longer. This time leaving a place was different, as our group had grown to include Kaisa and Fred.

Kaisa and Fred had been traveling together in China for a while before we met them, but they themselves had only met for the first time on their travels. These kinds of friendships crop up all the time when traveling, especially with solo travellers.

Fred’s decision to join us in heading to Hangzhou, only a couple of hundred kilometers south-west of Shanghai, was made close to the last minute, meaning he had to take a later train. Kaisa, John, Gearoid and I had no problem in getting a taxi and finding our hostel, but poor Fred made a brave attempt to use local buses and ended up having to take two taxies (the first one had no idea where the hostel was).

The hostel itself was one of the highlights of our time here, a serene place away from the tourist hustle and bustle with a Chinese garden and communal area combined adjacent to the dorms. But the highlight of Hangzhou is undoubtedly West Lake (Xi Hu).

Almost all the time spent outside the hostel was spent on the shores of this picturesque tranquil reservoir. You couldn’t help but lower your heart rate strolling around it’s edge, in direct opposite to the Shanghai effect. I could see why it was so popular with Chinese tourists, although I can’t imagine it being quite as tranquil when they arrive in their hordes (all Chinese have their holidays on the same days of the year - meaning that on those days the entire country is a swirling mess of holidaymakers - we were to experience it ourselves soon).

Slowly making our way back to the hostel, down a street awash with money (with upmarket clubs/bars, as well as Ferrari, Porshe, Maserati and Aston Martin dealerships, no less), we came across a vendor cooking the best street food I had in China. Watching the noodles, vegetables and egg being expertly fried together in the wok right in front of me was a pleasure in itself, though nothing compared to the actual eating.

The new five-member group dynamic was working well - so well in fact that we spent the entire next day just hanging out together in the hostel. We had plans to go out in Hangzhou that night, but it started to rain, so we just played bullshit instead. Not exactly top blogging subject matter, but for me this day was memorable just for the fact that all day we did nothing yet had so much fun.

The next day wasn’t exactly the most active of our trip either, thanks to the inevitable post-bullshit hangover. Kaisa, Gearoid and myself did make a new culinary discovery though - Taiwanese food is amazing. We found a tiny food place not too far from our hostel. Unbeknownst to us, the cook (and his son - both pictured above) were from Taiwan, and they cooked food from their island. A post-meal chat revealed their friendliness and gave a glowing endorsement to Taiwanese people. In my head I added Taiwan to the list of places I want to travel to.

Complications involving extending Kaisa and Fred’s visas meant the following day was spent wondering/worrying whether they would be able to continue travelling in China with us, while at the same time finally getting our arses in gear to walk around the lake and see the far side (which we hadn’t managed yet). When we returned to the hostel the news was good - they were able to get their visas extended. All of us were getting sick of big Chinese cities, so for our next destination we decided for a change of scenery.

Birthday Celebrations Chinese Style

2009-08-04T13:36:00.006+01:00

Chinese beer is very weak. At 3.1%, it takes a few to have any effect on us. But this also means it takes a lot to get any sort of a hangover, a fact we were grateful for as we groggily arose the morning after our card-playing shenanigans the previous night. I was just about able for the Shanghai Museum, which was excellent, taking me most of the day to explore (John and Gearoid were waiting for me outside for over an hour).

Seeing as it was close by, we decided to go for a stroll down the French concession, with examples of colonial architecture that would become a familiar sight in Vietnam and Laos. It was mostly shops, that were well out of our price range, so we found a cheap restaurant and returned to the hostel for a (relatively) quiet night in preparation for Gearoid’s birthday the following day.

I slept in extra-late the next day, and made my way downstairs to find that the birthday celebrations had already begun without me. John and Gearoid, along with Kaisa (Finnish) and Fred (German) (you’ll be hearing those names a lot on this blog), were playing bullshit again. I (Irish) joined, then Dan and Jonas joined (Aussies), then Risto (Finnish) joined, then Leanne (English) joined. All these people just happened to be staying in the hostel.

A marathon bullshit session ensued. The only break we had was for dinner at a nearby restaurant - the nine of us were given a room to ourselves with a round table. Whether that was to protect the other diners or not is open to debate. The scene of grown men crying after the chili-eating contest suggests it was the right decision (to this day my mouth has never experienced anything that hot). Back to the hostel we stumbled for more card/drink shenanigans. We strictly adhered to the rules of the game, so you can imagine what state the birthday boy was in. He wanted to stay there for the night, but we were having none of it. We were gonna go out and celebrate, Chinese style.

We had seen signs for KTV absolutely everywhere in China. We eventually learned that it’s karaoke, and is China’s national pastime. What better way to make Gearoid’s birthday special for him than forcing him up in front of a small crowd and making him sing?

Well, it wasn’t quite like that. We arrived at the KTV building thinking it was a four-star hotel. I wondered into the lobby area, and confirmed that it was our intended destination. Somehow it took ten minutes of confused interchanges between staff in Chinese and celebrators in drunken English to make progress past the lobby. A porter took us into a lift, and we were brought to the fourth floor, where I was amazed to see a maze of halls lined with doorways, behind each one a room with the sound of unpleasant vocal warbling coming from within.

I think it was this small level of privacy (and lots and lots of alcohol) that lowered everyone’s level of inhibition - no-one held back on the singing front. There were solos, duets, and whole choirs. I’m sure we were the loudest in the whole building. We were also quite possibly the last to leave - dawn had already come and gone when we re-emerged out into the Shanghai street.

I believe it was good to experience this important aspect of Chinese culture. Without doubt, one of the best nights out of the whole trip. Gearoid’s birthday next year has a lot to live up to.

The Rules of Bullshit

2009-08-04T12:55:00.004+01:00

Bullshit is a card game for 2+ players, though it’s best with four or more.

Requirements for play:

One deck of cards.
One bar nearby, preferably with cheap beer (if no bar is available, an off-licence will suffice).

Rules:

The cards are arranged in a pyramid as in the picture above. The rows have values as follows: the bottom (first) row is 1 drink, the second row is 2 drinks, the third row 3 drinks, the fourth 4 and the fifth 5.
Each player is given four cards.
Before the game begins, each player is given 3 seconds to look at and remember the value and position of each of their cards.
The game begins: the first card of the bottom row is turned over and is in play.
Now any player can call “drink” to any other player. When they do this they claim that they have a card of the same value as the one that was turned over. When this happens: The targeted player can believe the person by drinking or can not believe them and call “bullshit”. If the targeted player calls “bullshit”, then the player who called “drink” initially has to turn over the card. If it doesn’t match the card that’s in play, then the person who called “drink” (who lied) has to drink twice the amount. If it does match (telling the truth), then the person that called “bullshit” has to drink twice the amount.

It’s also possible to call “drink drink” (and “drink drink drink“), where you claim you have two cards of the same value as the card in play. This doubles the amount of drinks involved.

Special rules added in by ourselves:

If it is the birthday of a participant, then whilst that participant is away at the toilet or another urgent matter, the other players are obliged to fix the game so that said participant consumes as much alcohol as possible.
If Gearoid Crowley is playing, remember that he is boring and honest and never lies.

Sights, Beer and Bullshit

2009-08-03T17:59:00.003+01:00

With a huge number of things to see, we decided to start our first day proper in Shanghai with the tallest: the Shanghai World Financial Centre. Like Beijing, Shanghai’s metro system, running above and below ground, is extremely efficient and easy to use (save for a couple of minor problems with it’s e-card ticket system). We breezed over to Pudong New Area, the area of the city with the tallest skyscrapers, in no time.

Ascending the stairs leading out of the metro station, the collection of tallest skyscrapers slowly came into view, and my jaw dropped. Having never been to New York or anywhere else with buildings near this height, this was a new sensation for my eyes. I felt a child-like excitement surge inside me, and spent close to two minutes just standing in one spot skyscraper-gazing.

To get to the top-floor observation deck of the SWFC was expensive, but worth it. This really was China showing off it’s financial might, with an impressive lights/special effects show preceding the incredibly fast ascent up to the 97th floor (the lift ascends at 8m per second). Once there, the extra money we paid meant we could ascend three stories higher. The views from the top were outstanding. If you visit the SWFC and you’ve never been to Japan (I haven’t, yet), then go down to the food court in the basement and check out the toilets, an experience in itself.

It took a bit of convincing, but I persuaded John and Gearoid that the best way to get across the river to the Bund district on the other side was to take the famously bad Bund Sightseeing Tunnel. Passengers are herded onto a moving platform, which slowly proceeds under the river through a barrage of cheap light effects and a soundtrack straight from “BBC Sound Effects Volume 3“. Like a Steven Seagal film, it was so bad it was hilarious, at least I thought so. John and Gearoid still haven’t forgiven me though.

The Bund itself in many parts looks more like a street in New York than China. With neoclassical reminders of Shanghai’s past on one side, and the ultra-modern Pudong skyline across the Huangpu River on the other, walking down the Bund was, for me, another experience unique to China that I enjoyed immensely.

If I thought it all looked impressive during the day, after dusk the views really blew my socks off. We went for a stroll down the enormous East Nanjing Road, the biggest capitalist/shopping street in the city, and by the time we returned to the Bund for a boat tour on the river, the Pudong skyline had transformed into a neon wonderment, an iconic sight and rightly so.

A long day’s sightseeing earned a few drinks that night, the after-effects of which resulted in a long lie-in the next morning. We got so comfortable in the hostel bar that this ended up being the second day spent entirely within it‘s borders.

With weary eyes, we were nearly ready to retire to our dorm room when, unwittingly, one of the defining moments of our trip occurred. A Finnish girl came over and asked us if we wanted to join in a game of cards. We agreed, joining a motley crew of travellers at the table, and learned the skills of a drinking/card game that would come to define a significant part of our time in China. The name of the game? Bullshit.

Heads Up

2009-08-03T17:55:00.002+01:00

Being the largest city, and also arguably the most happening spot in the country, Shanghai was the main draw of the eastern side of China. Because of it’s history (the small fishing town that existed here was aggrandized into a city by the British, French and other foreign powers), it has a mix of architecture and an atmosphere that’s different to any other city in China.

Before entering the Shanghai metropolis, we spent a couple of uneventful days in Suzhou - one of the most traditionally Chinese looking (in the centre) cities in China, full of gardens and ancient buildings. Emerging from Shanghai’s northern train station, the scene presented to us was as big a contrast to that as you can get in this country. My neck took the first of many strains as I looked up in awe at the size of the skyscrapers.

The size of the city is apparent from the amount of pages taken up by maps in Lonely Planet - most places have a single page - Shanghai has nine. Just picking a region to base ourselves in was a big task. With help from the invaluable (and Irish) hostelworld.com, we picked a hostel that turned out to be arguably the best accommodation of the entire trip.

The communal/bar area was so nice that we didn’t even manage to make it outside the hostel front door on the day we arrived (though the rain outside played a part in that too). It wouldn’t be the first day spent exclusively in the hostel.

A Bedtime Story

2009-08-01T10:19:00.001+01:00

The single night we resided in Nanjing happened to coincide with a very important Italy versus Ireland world cup qualifier in Bari. The time difference meant that kick-off was at about 2am - and the chances of finding a bar in Nanjing showing it were almost non-existent. So I would have to rely on the internet for coverage (and of course I was going to watch the game at that hour!)

With the hostel bar closed, I had to watch it in my bed, one of eight in our cozy dorm in which every bed was occupied that night. 1-0 down and with the Italians never looking like conceding a goal, out of nowhere Robbie Keane grabbed an unexpected equaliser. I had my earphones on, so I’m not sure exactly how loud my cheer was, but it took all my restraint to stop myself screaming my heart out. Luckily no-one woke up. Or maybe they did, and were too embarrassed to ask why the hell I was screaming with joy in my top-bunk bed at four o’clock in the morning.

Paying our Respects

2009-07-30T12:45:00.001+01:00

I had heard it mentioned, but I had never fully understood what happened at the ‘Rape of Nanking’ until I started reading up on China in advance of my visit. Bloody hell. It’s without doubt one of the most shocking atrocities committed in modern warfare, and a black mark on Japanese history for the rest of time. If you’re also unfamiliar with what took place in 1937, I’d suggest you look it up.

With only one day in Nanjing, a visit to The Memorial Hall of the Nanjing Massacre was top priority. This exhibition alone made the city worth a visit. It truly was dumbfounding. With no grisly detail spared, at times it was difficult to take in the events and the personal stories from those infamous six weeks. But that’s one of the reasons that it left such an impression on me. It was incredible that these events took place in this beautiful, historical, thriving modern city only 72 years previous.

And that’s the thing, Nanjing really is a beautiful city in parts, especially when compared to other Chinese cities. In a restaurant recommended by a hostel staff member, we enjoyed one of the best meals we had in China (John in particular enjoyed eating duck embryo). With an abundance of history (it was China’s capital on two occasions, most recently during the time of the massacre), and excellent food, it has a lot going for it.

Towards the end of the massacre memorial exhibition you can hear what sounds like a slowly dripping tap. Each drop lights up a picture of a victim on the wall of a dark hall at the end. Brilliantly effective, I can still hear the drops in my head even now. Unforgettable - as it should be.

Exile on Beer Street

2009-07-30T12:36:00.002+01:00

I’ll be honest - the biggest factor our decision of where to go next was: beer. Qingdao, located south-east of Beijing on the Yellow Sea coast, was occupied by Germany from 1898 until an Anglo-Japanese force wrestled it from them in 1914.

In those 16 years, the Germans certainly made their mark, with the old part of the city looking far more German than Chinese in parts. Their other main legacy besides the architecture was beer - the Tsingtao brewery they set up in 1903 was still going strong. Though now under Chinese control, Tsingtao is by far the most popular beer in China today.

Many Chinese holiday here to make use of the beaches. The weather was far too cold for that during our visit - in fact thanks to the ocean breeze it was even colder here than in Beijing - and rainier too - exasperating the cold I had picked up in the capital.

The day we arrived we saw most of the relatively few (compared to Beijing) sights the city had to offer - including a mildly interesting (very interesting for John - going by the number of photographs he took) naval museum. Just wandering about the old town witnessing the unique mix of old German architecture in modern China was fun in itself.

The following day I hardly left the hostel, due to a combination of a hangover, a cold, and the cold outside. Taking it relatively easy that night, we had big plans for the brewery the following day. But that day it rained, and rained, then rained some more. Stuck indoors, unable to do anything, it felt like home. So we drank, and drank, then drank some more. This time we didn’t even make it out the hostel door.

Having bought our train ticket a couple of days previously (you have to in China or else they sell out), we had an early evening train to catch, and a brewery still to visit, and a major hangover to nurse, all on one final day in Qingdao.

Having heard of a mythical ‘beer street’ (where, legend has it, you can buy beer by the bag), and failing to find it on our first night here, we were disgusted to finally locate it with only a couple of hours until our train. "Beer Street" was it's actual official name (pijiuchang) - and as well as the brewery it was home to a plethora of decent watering holes - something we had great difficulty locating previously (we were looking in the wrong place). The whole street was beer themed, right down to the cheery images populating the footpath.

With our train departure imminent, we had to rush through the brewery museum/exhibition, which was a shame as what we saw was excellent. In the end however, the miserable weather conditions meant I was glad to leave Qingdao, though not as glad as my liver was.

Have You Really Been to Cork?

2009-07-28T16:56:00.002+01:00

During a wander about to find a bar after exploring the Forbidden City, a chauvinistic English speaking Chinese man accompanied by two young (and very cute) Chinese girls struck up a conversation with us on the footpath. Our trust level lowered by the experience of a couple of days before, we were instantly suspicious. This time the pretext was slightly different - he was the head of an English language school, and the girls were his students, and he wanted to use this opportunity for them to get some practice.

“Which country are you from?”
“Ireland”.
“Ah! Ireland! I’ve been there!”
“Really?”
“Yes, I like Drogheda a lot”.
(Surprised laughter). “We’re from Cork, do you know it?”
“Yes, I have been there”. (Changes subject)
….(brief chat about something else)…
(Returning to subject) “So did you like Cork? What did you see there?”
(Changes subject without answering question)

The bullshitting above ended any thoughts that this guy was genuine. After more small talk, he asked did we all want to come to a bar for a drink and more conversation. It’s not often we turn down a drink.

Enjoy the Cold While it Lasts

2009-07-28T16:52:00.003+01:00

One of the problems with Beijing for visiting travellers is that it has too many things to see, especially for a casual Chinese history enthusiast like myself. There were still a few items on our must see list, and fear of guilt over not visiting them while we were in Beijing (when would we be here again?) initially overcame sightseeing fatigue. My own personal excitement over our next ‘sight’ also helped - the Forbidden City.

If you want a real taste of the power and might that China’s rulers wielded in the past, look no further than here. The entire complex conveys a grandeur and opulence unmatched by anything else I saw in China. Having recently been given a good scrub before the Olympics arrived, we were able to marvel at the halls and palaces in a pristine state, how they would have been kept when only the emperor, his eunuchs and concubines inhabited the area inside the complex walls.

Later that evening we stumbled upon a large night food market whilst looking to satisfy the hunger built up from exploring the forbidden city - one that had plenty of the more unusual Chinese delicacies. Fried centipede anyone? How about fried scorpion? Silkworms on a stick? Who would eat such things?

John ate them all.

Rising the next morning it was a case of another day, another unmissible sight to see - the Temple of Heaven. We were all getting tired of sightseeing at this stage, but it was nice to explore the park surrounding it’s main monuments, a refreshing break from the uniform drudgery of big city China. To be fair the Temple of Heaven complex itself is impressive, and perhaps we should have taken a break from sightseeing before this point, but we had already been in Beijing for almost a week and there was so much more of China to see!

In the two months since we left a chilly winter Ireland, my body seemed to have forgotten how to cope with cold weather (it was below ten degrees most days in Beijing). Perhaps all the rushing around to see things contributed too, but whatever it was, I had caught a cold. I spent the final day in Beijing feeling sorry for myself in the hostel. As our train departed from Beijing's station that night, I was able to comfort myself with the fact that this would be the coldest weather I’d see for at least a year and a half (or so I thought).

Blogging From Memory

2009-07-17T14:45:00.002+01:00

Before I left home, I had a Nintendo DS with Dr. Kawashima's Brain Training, which I used occasionally. One of the things it's meant to improve is your memory. Well now I (and you) will get to see if it actually works - I lost my blognotes and now have to blog from memory.

I say "lost" when in fact my bag containing said notes was stolen - but stolen from a bar in the wee small hours of the night. It was partially (some would say wholly) my fault for bringing the bag out with me in the first place. As I learned later my bag wasn't the only one stolen that night. Other people that fell asleep in hammocks (in the same outdoor bar) awoke the next morning to find their pockets emptied.

So now I have to soldier on with the blog, sans the notes for the rest of China and the whole of Vietnam. I'll have to write from memory, with some help from the photographs I took. As someone who has delegated the task of my memory to computers and mobile phone reminders, this is not an ideal situation. I can't remember the last time I had to use my memory like this.

Hitting the Wall

2009-07-05T07:06:00.000+01:00

Well we were in Beijing, and it was only a day trip from here, and it’s one of the biggest tourist attractions in the world. It’s not the only man-made object visible from space, nor the moon, which many generations of Chinese were once taught. It is visible after a bus journey north from Beijing though, so we said we’d see what all the fuss was about.

I’m not an expert on walls, nor am I an expert on defending your empire from invading northern barbarians (the reason it was built, but it didn‘t perform that task very well, more due to sentries being susceptible to bribery than with any functional fault). But seeing the wall today, roughly two thousand years after it was originally built, left me in awe of the capabilities of the Qin and subsequent Chinese dynasties that oversaw it‘s construction.

It’s not just the height and girth that are impressive, it’s the terrain that the wall runs through - it’s far from being flat. Parts of the wall we walked on were even quite tough physically, due to the steep inclines in parts. The manpower and engineering skill and logistics would make the wall a challenge to build today - 2000 years ago it was something that only a hugely powerful empire with available slave labour could even dream of building.

We were able to hike up and down the wall for a couple of hours. As I mentioned above, walking on the wall can be physically tough, which inevitably meant that John soon took off on his own blistering pace to see as much as possible, whilst Gearoid and I took a more leisurely pace. Watchtowers punctuated our walk - these were once used to look out for invading barbarian hordes, but are now used by male Chinese tourists to piss under (unfortunately this isn’t the first case of the Chinese pissing on their own cultural heritage).

And so back to Beijing we returned, glad to have gotten the must-see off the list. At times sightseeing can seem like work, but the wall is an amazing sight, so this time it certainly didn’t feel like that.

The Beijing Tea Party

2009-07-05T06:50:00.004+01:00

Beijing’s metro is excellent. Spotlessly clean, almost foolproof navigation (even for English speakers) and very regular trains made navigating to other parts of the city a breeze. Our first destination on it was also the most famous - Tianamen Square.

There’s plenty to see around the square itself, which is why we went there, but this was the day we learned that Monday in China is the day museums and other attractions are closed. Wandering about the square wondering what to do, two Chinese students, who weren’t much younger than us, started up a conversation, with the pretext of practicing their English.

Offering to show us to a temple that was open (and free), and with nothing better to do, we decided to take them up on their kind offer. The temple was quite good, something we would never had found ourselves, and I genuinely learned a lot about Beijing from the lad I was talking to. Then we suggested getting a drink somewhere, and they suggested some tea. We agreed, and followed them to a nearby teahouse.

Showing us into a small room with no windows, they suggested that we go for a pot as it works out much cheaper. All of us felt a slight sense of unease at this stage. It was Gearoid who noticed, on the barely legible price board on the wall, that a pot of tea was 300 yuan - about 30 euro! On Gearoid’s words of “Lads, this is exactly what I read about”, we all promptly leapt out of our seats, grabbed our bags, and scrammed. They even had the cheek to yell “well won’t you buy us lunch at least” as we paced down the street. This incident was a shame as all it did was destroy our trust in Chinese approaching us on the street - I’m sure some of them genuinely just want to talk.

We had read about this particular scam in Lonely Planet - we would have to foot the bill for all the expensive tea. The tea-house was in cahoots with the scammers, who I assume would have got a cut.

Still reeling after almost being duped out of a lot of cash, we calmed down with some cheap noodle soup and wandered about for a while - stumbling entirely by accident across Qianmen Dajie. A historical market street about a kilometre long, the entire street had been knocked and was being entirely rebuilt - keeping the traditional architectural style of the original. It reminded me of Main St. USA in Disneyland - everything so clean and perfect that it doesn’t look real. This surreal sight of brand new old buildings epitomizes modern China for me, something I don’t think I could have witnessed anywhere else on the planet.

Taking the Capital

2009-07-05T06:46:00.000+01:00

Beijing is a city that’s been invaded numerous times in it’s history, and now it was the turn of three inquisitive Irishmen. Emerging from the train station, our first impressions were that it looked very similar to Xian and Chengdu. I had heard that after a while big Chinese cities begin to look the same - we had encountered this on our third stop in China. Still, the long taxi journey showed up the difference in size - Beijing is enormous.

The hostel proved more difficult to find than size 10 shoes in Nepal (we had more trouble finding it than any other hostel in China in fact). Hidden deep within a clutch of hutong (traditional residential Chinese streets), we eventually located it with the help of a hastily drawn map from a local.

The first day was spent visiting sights in close proximity to the hostel - the Lama Temple, the Confucius temple and the old imperial college. All three were excellent, the outstanding highlight being the 18m tall Buddha statue in the Lama temple.

Thankfully only a ten minute walk from the hostel (which served awful food) was a street packed with restaurants. With such a huge selection, we had some of our best meals in China here, and really started to perfect our chopstick skills.

Yes, I Am Still Alive

2009-07-05T06:44:00.000+01:00

It’s been nigh on three months since my last blog post. Three months! I’ve been getting a few inquiries/threats as to when I’d recommence the account of my travels. That time is now. But first, let me explain the resaons for the yawning time chasm between this post and my last (I already feel like I’m explaining to my teacher why my homework wasn’t in on time).

The primary reason is simple: I’ve been enjoying travelling so much and having so much fun that I’ve found it hard to get time to sit down and write. I’m sure some of you have been following the photographs, but they only show little snapshots of my adventures in Asia.

There’s also another, more idiotic reason - basically, alcohol and netbooks don’t mix. So I was without my blogging tool for a significant portion of the latter part of my time in China. But I realized that this blog has really become a pet project of mine, and I decided that it was worth the damage to the budget that a new netbook would inflict (even one in Chinese).

So right now, I’m in Vientiane, the sleepy capital of Laos, and it’s raining outside. Perfect blogging weather. Since my last blog post three months ago (I still can’t believe it’s been that long) I’ve had some amazing experiences. I’ve made some new best friends in Shanghai, I’ve gazed in wonder at the Hong Kong skyline, I’ve changed travel partners, I’ve sat in the clouds near the Vietnam border, I’ve traveled by myself, I’ve explored Vietcong tunnels, I’ve even floated down a river lined with bars on a tractor-tyre tube. In short, I’ve given myself a lot to write about, with plenty more new experiences to come (I‘m thinking of extending my stay in Asia beyond the originally planned six months). In time I hope to share them all. I just hope you’re still interested.

You and Whose Army?

2009-04-06T13:03:00.000+01:00

The star attraction of Xi'an, the Terracotta Army are located in the mausoleum of Qin Shi Hungdi, and were carved out of terracotta to protect him in the afterlife. One man's afterlife army is now China's tourist cash cow, but if you're in Xi'an a visit is almost obligatory.

We went on an arranged tour from our hostel, and stopped off at a factory beforehand where they made replicas of terracotta soldiers as well as all kinds of other trinkets related to Chinese history. The best thing about this was being to get right up close to the soldiers themselves, something not possible, understandably, with the original terracotta army.

After following our sprightly guide Zhizhi through pit two and pit three, the tour culminated with pit one, the biggest and most impressive. As is probably the case with other sights, looking at my photographs I don't think they do the scene justice. It really is a mightily impressive sight, especially considering how long they've been buried there (since 210 BC).

The crowds are the one bum note of the exhibition, but they're generally unavoidable at an attraction that's as big a draw as this. If you're in China, go see it.

We foolishly agreed to include a Tang dynasty culture show as part of the package with the Terracotta tour. It was an enjoyable show, but very short, and not worth the time spent on the minibus getting to the venue and back. Then again, the Terracotta Army was always going to be a tough act to follow.

Night Kite Flight

2009-04-06T12:38:00.000+01:00

Having had a great start to our China adventure in Chengdu, I knew Xi'an (pronounced she-anne), our next stop, would be a different experience. Whereas Chengdu is a modern and increasingly wealthy city with a modest role in Chinese history, Xian has more history than arguably anywhere else in the country. Serving as the capital of the country under several dynasties, this was a place I was looking forward to for entirely different reasons, having read a book on and taken a mild interest in Chinese history before I left Ireland.

Towering above the front of our hostel, the ancient city wall, built during the Ming dynasty in the 14th century, forms a rectangular barrier around the heart of Xi'an. Still in excellent condition, we were able to cycle it's 14km, getting a nice first view of many part of the city in 90 minutes.

Looking quite traditional yet modern during the day, at night the centre of Xi'an was transformed. Along it's main streets neon was abundant (as it was in parts of Chengdu), but the city monuments, like the Bell Tower, Drum Tower and the gates of the city wall, were superbly illuminated in a tasteful gold-tinged yellow, providing a nice contrast to the garishness of the neon.

The centre of activity seemed to be located by the Drum Tower, with kite flyers in abundance – all trying to sell you a kite whilst also skillfully flying them – making it look easy which, looking at the size of them, it definitely was not. Seeing ten kites mingle high in the air illuminated by the glow of the buildings below was one of the sights of China so far for me.

Craic Agus Ceol

2009-04-06T11:55:00.000+01:00

Our first night out in Chengdu had also been a form of research for our St. Patrick's Day venue, and the Shamrock Irish Bar fit the bill perfectly. We had no idea how may actual Irish would be there, but we did know from the numerous posters that the bar would be throwing a big 'aul shindig, appropriate for my first St. Patrick's Day outside of Ierland.

On the morning of the day itself I <>, and bumped into a young Irish couple (Conor (Kildare) and Hilary(Dublin)) who were holidaying in China. They were also planning on celebrating the day that it was in the Shamrock. So at least I knew there'd me more than the three of us celebrating.

Conor and Hilary

The festivities (drinking) commenced around six. By eight a Dubliner (Eoin) and an Antrim man (Adrian) had joined the ranks, along with Adrian's Welsh girlfriend Hannah, who was an honourary Irishwoman for the day.

Our numbers having swelled to eight, our festivites (drinking) really began to gather pace. Irish flag shots were being banded about, and the owner of the place generously gifted us with a free round of shots himself. I even sampled the Guinness, and to my surprise it wasn't that bad. I only had the one though – at 50 RMB (a little over €5!) it was outside my budget range.

The average band put on had an American lead who didn't know a single Irish song – a crime that we made him pay for by singing ourselves in between the songs of his set. To be far he did make an attempt at Dirty Old Town, singing the words off a sheet, but it was no match for our version (in our collective opinion anyway).

With more and more festivities (drin – ah you get it by now), the singing naturally progressed to the other way to show our Irishness – dancing. Once the band finished playing we took over the stage area, with Eoin whipping out a tin whistle seemingly from nowhere and laying down some excellent tunes he probably still remembered from 6th class. Next to his stage area on the cosy dance floor the scene was chaotic, with random acts of Irish dancing and arm-locked jigs bewildering the Chinese crowd that didn't realise what they had let themselves in for that night. After eventually figuring out we weren't going to hurt them some of them even bravely joined in, as up for the craic as we were.

With no closing hours in China, it's up to the individual pubs to decide how late they should stay open. The staff eventually got fed up with us at 5.30am, but not after John had managed to procure a stylish staff waistcoat after pestering a poor bar man for half the night. Having added a couple of Danes, the gang left the Shamrock and made our way into the crisp pre-dawn Chengdu air. We decided to get food, and made our way in two taxis to a restaurant that someone thought might be open. We did find somewhere, and the poor staff there had to deal with a gang of cheery Irish at an ungodly hour of the morning. The food was good, I think.

I had heard from others tha spending St. Patrick's Day abroad really brings out the Irishness in you – you feel it's your duty to show the locals what being Irish is all about. In that regard, the night was definitely a success, and the best Paddy's Day I've had in years.

Pandamonium

2009-04-06T11:53:00.000+01:00

Read any guide to Chengdu and you'll undoubtedly hear about the Panda Breeding Research Centre. The Panda, being China's national animal, is one of the main reasons to visit Chengdu. In the research centre they attempt to breed pandas in captivity, whilst in the wilds of north Sichuan (and in neighbouring provinces) the very few number of pandas that still live in the wild can be found.

Tourists, of course, can visit the research centre to see this symbol of China. While I hate being labelled with the term 'tourist' (I'm a traveller, or adventurer if you will), this was still something I couldn't miss.

Touring the centre on the morning of St. Patrick's Day (no they didn't paint the pandas green), this was the first time I had seen pandas in the flesh. My first impression was that they look like a man in a suit trying to eat bamboo and convince tourists that this was actually a type of animal. Slouched down, Al Bundy style, munching away, they truly appear as the lazy slouch of the animal kingdom.
Eating nothing but bamboo, the tree has so little nutritional value that they have to eat it for sixteen hours a day to get enough energy to survive (they sleep for the rest of the day).

The highlight and provider of the most comedy value in the complex are the baby pandas. Standing by the pen, we watched as the staff attempted to feed the cubs with what was essentially an oversized baby bottle. Not one of them was interested in having a bottle stuffed in their mouths, meaning hilarious games of cat and mouse between the cubs and the feeders ensued.

Satisfied that I had seen something you don't see everyday, it was time to celebrate St. Patrick's Day.

Chengdu: Cycling, Ear Cleaning, Clubbing

2009-04-06T11:51:00.001+01:00

Once I felt well enough after the hotpot incident, we hired some bikes from the hostel and saw a bit of Chengdu by bicycle. City cycling here is completely different to back home, with every street (all of which were flat) having it's own spacious bike lane, and cyclists also have their own traffic lights – the way it should be.

The city tour culminated with me getting my ears cleaned in the traditional Chinese style in a Chinese tea house by the lake of the People's Park. This involved a man with a thin needle and and tuning-fork style instrument operating on my ear whilst around me people drank tea and chatted. This is a normal scene in a Chinese tea house, I assure you. For hundreds of years, the Chinese tea house, essentially the Chinese version of the local pub, is where they go for tea, chat, and ear cleaning. Supposedly having clean ears makes it easier to eavesdrop on the local gossip that gets passed around here, although with my almost non-existent Mandarin this benefit was lost on me.

Tinafu square was the highlight of what we witnessed that day, marking the centre of Chengdu with a large paved open area, with a statue of Chairman Mao ominously watching over it. You could tell that the square was built with the intention of displaying the might of communism, and mightily impressive it was.

Having seen the communist-build heart of Chengdu, that night we ended up in a place where we couldn't feel further from it's pseudo-Puritan idealogy. I had gained a contact in Chengdu through my old boss at DSI, Brendan Lawlor. He happened to have a Dutch software industry colleague working in Chengdu. So that night we met up with Erik Wiersma, who worked for IJO Technologies, the Chengdu software house who cater exclusively to the Dutch market. Being in the same industry ourselves, it was a natural link-up.

Meeting in the bright and glitzy club and restaurant district, he took us to quite possibly the largest and most spectacular restaurant I had ever eaten in. An enormous statue of an ancient Chinese warrior stood by the door, and the interior I saw was decorated with tasteful and intricately carved wooden wall trimmings and furniture. We sat outside in the garden, and had our first truly delicious Chinese meal whilst chatting about life in Chengdu (it's pretty good by the sounds of it).

From there Erik took us to Soho night club a short walk away. Stepping inside, my preconceptions of China as a developing and old fashioned country were blown away. As modern a night club as I've seen, the neon frenzy inside had numerous stages where male singers and scantily clad female dancers performed their stuff, with cheesy Chinese pop blaring through the soundsystem. With far less dancefloor space than a typical Western club, most club-goers were standing around tables, a large proportion of them playing the dice game we were introduced to that night. I won't bore you with the details of the rules, but essentially if you guess wrong you have to down your ice-tea and whiskey (it's what everyone was drinking – not the nicest combination I've had, but not the worst).

Oh and from what we saw Sichuan girls most definitely do not dress conservatively – more of that please.

The Hotpot Incident

2009-04-02T07:49:00.000+01:00

Having wasted most of our second day in China due to the antics of the night before, we decided to head out that night to try our first taste of authentic Chinese cuisine. Wandering aimlessly around the vicinity of the hostel, we ended up in the first place we saw that didn't look too expensive, but didn't look too dodgy hygiene wise either.

As soon as we entered the door heads turned, but we were used to that from India. What we weren't used to was the massive language barrier we now faced. No one in the restaurant had a word of English, and likewise none of us have a word of Mandarin, a fact that triggered incredulous laughter from the staff when they realised.

A paper menu with just Mandarin and checkboxes was placed in front of us. We were preparing to just pick things at random, when the waitress grabbed my Mandarin phrasebook (god bless it) off me. She then showed extremely commendable patience in going through the menu reader section, pointing out things to us which were on the menu, at which point we'd nod and smile or shake our heads. It was a slow ordering system, but it worked.

Sichuan province is famous throughout China (and the world they claim) for it's fiery cuisine, and the most famous Sichuan cuisine of all is huguo, or hotpot. This dining experience involves a big gas-heated cooking pot in the middle of the table, which is filled with a cooking oil of your choice (and plenty of hot chillies) and then into which you place your food to cook it. We had unwittingly walked into a hotpot restaurant, which I slowly realised as I watched our waitress pour in the oil and turn on the gas.

Relieved that we had overcome the initial ordering challenge, we now got ready for the next one: chopsticks. John and I had never used them before, ever, and Gearóid's experience was limited at best. After our first batch of food had stewed over in the pot long enough, we tried to retrieve it, with huge difficulty. Still hungover from the night before, my brain was wondering what the hell was going on. It felt so alien, eating with them. Still, we all just about managed, though there was some mess on the table towards the end of the meal.

Feeling proud of myself that I had almost survived my first restaurant experience in China, and hotpot at that, I gleefully picked away at what was left over in the pot. Accidentally eating one of the red hot chillies, I instinctively grabbed some of the lettuce that was still sitting on the tray of ordered food by our table to cool my mouth down.

After a bad night's sleep due to an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach, the next morning I had to pull out of the trip to the Panda Breeding Centre – I was bound to the toilet for the second time on this trip. The moral of the story is: when having hotpot, absolutely everything must be cooked in the pot – even the fucking lettuce.

There's No Way They'll Stay Open That Late

2009-04-02T07:39:00.000+01:00

Sim's Cozy Guesthouse was recommended to me by someone who had toured China last year, so it became our first Chinese base. Straight away the atmosphere within it's big gates seemed different to the empty shells we had been occupying in India and Nepal. Finally, a proper hostel, with dorms and communal areas and even other guests!

There was no time to enjoy that yet though, it was our first night in China, and more important matters were at hand. Manchester United were playing Liverpool, and there was an Irish pub in town that I was certain would be showing it. I know some of you are probably gasping in frustration at why I'd want to watch a soccer match when I've just arrived in a great new country, but I also know those of you who know me well won't be one bit surprised.

We arrived at the Shamrock, and they were showing it, and I watched it, and United got thumped 4-1, and then I wished I hadn't watched it. Such is soccer. There was also a crucial Ireland versus Scotland rugby game on, but that wasn't starting until 1.30am local time, leading to John to utter the now infamous phrase “there's no way they'll stay open that late for the game”.

Jump forward to 4am, and you have the sight of a small gang of Irish goading the Scottish owner of the bar after an Irish victory, the beer still flowing. Back home, no drink is served after 2am, and things tend to shut down around 10pm in India and Nepal, so we weren't used to being served alcohol this late at all!

John and myself ended up drinking whiskey back at the extremely plush apartment of a Dubliner (who was working in Chengdu) named Eoghan. The next morning (afternoon) we woke in an empty living room, left the apartment quietly and wondered out into the suburbia, in a new country, in a new city, massively hungover and with no idea where we were. After showing a poor taxi driver with no English our hostel in the book, he took us to where the book indicated. It turns out Sim's Cozy Guesthouse had moved to a new location a couple of months ago, and my 2007 Lonely Planet showed the old location. Luckily, on the gate there was a piece of paper with Mandarin characters, which we chanced showing to the cab driver. He seemed to understand, and ten minutes later I was in my hostel bed for the first time, wondering if every night in China would be like this.

And Now For Something Completely Different

2009-04-02T07:37:00.000+01:00

When I was a student, specifically in the first year of my third-level education, I used to live in a house that was – without mincing my words here – an absolute dive. Seven (sometimes eight or nine) lads living in a dilapidated old house, with not one of us bothered about cleaning, meant at times the house became so disgusting I think back and shudder at the thought of living there again. At the weekends I used to go back home to a spotless pristine house and I really noticed and appreciated the cleanliness much more than I used to. Going from India/Nepal to China is a similar experience.

Like Lhasa, the first thing we noticed about Chengdu airport was the cleanliness. Not a spec of dirt was in sight. And once again it was all so well organised. But this time it was far from empty, which was to be expected in a country with over a billion people.

To minimize our arrival pains in a brand new country, we had arranged for our hostel to pick us up from the airport. On the car journey into the city centre, my eyes never left the window. The freshness of the surroundings was invigorating – everything here was different to where we had just come from – the buildings, the signs, the roads – everything was bigger and bolder. Immediately this country seemed more confident and sure of itself (and with far more civilized driving).

Via Lhasa

2009-03-29T18:17:00.002+01:00

Tibet was one area I really wanted to visit as part of this trip. It's not somewhere you get the opportunity to visit every day, so while we were in the area I wanted to investigate, to see what all the fuss was about. Getting into the region can be difficult for foreigners, with entry requirements changing as often as the Irish weather. In a case of bad timing on our part, our planned visit to Tibet happened to coincide with the 50th anniversary of Chinese rule in the region, and for this reason the it was completely closed off to foreigners for the month of March. So no Tibet, but on the brightside this did give us more time to play with in China itself.

And we did get to visit Tibet in the end, sort of. We were flying from Kathmandu to Chengdu, in Sichuan Province, central China, and the flight has a stopover at Lhasa airport. The stopover was an experience in itself. The airport at Lhasa is ultra modern and big, totally different to the cow-shed I was expecting.

Stepping into the terminal, I immediately realised I was now in a different world. The contrast with Kathmandu's hurried mess of an airport was startling – the cleanliness, the organisation, the politeness of the staff – it felt like we had jumped one hundred years into the future. I wish I had the pictures to show you, but taking into account the current political climate, and where we were, we decided against taking any pictures.

Adding to the surrealism of the place was the lack of people – probably due to the fact that Lhasa was closed to non-Chinese the airport was a ghost town. Our plane landed, we went through customs and security, then re-boarded the same plane en route to Chengdu – and in that whole time no other aircraft could be seen. All shops and restaurants were closed. The huge waiting hall of our departure gate was under-utilised and desolate. Even the airport itself was surrounded by barren lifeless landscape, being located well outside Lhasa itself.

This would be the last time we'd have so much space to ourselves for a good while.

A Country of Contrasts

2009-03-29T18:13:00.002+01:00

So what of Nepal? It's not fair for me to give an opinion on the country as a whole, seeing as I only visited three places – Pokhara, Kathmandu and the Everest Base Camp trail. But I feel I saw enough to get a decent taster of this idiosyncratic nation.

Two worlds coexist in Nepal. One world, that of the Lakeside area of Pokhara and the Thamel area of Kathmandu, exists solely to cater to Western tourists. I'm sure a lot of visitors to Nepal only see this world. It's filled with steakhouses, pizzerias, internet cafés, hotels, bars, supermarkets selling Western goods...all the luxuries of back home, at inflated tourist prices.

But step outside this charade and the real, untidy, poverty stricken Nepal can be found. With a turbulent, unstable recent history (Nepal is the world's youngest republic, having been a monarchy for a long time previous to that), the country's infrastructure is painfully underdeveloped. Even after throwing off the chains of monarchy, huge problems still exist. In a country with huge potential for hydro-electricity generation, having rolling power cuts is unjustifiable (electricity was cut for 20 hours a day when we left – though most tourist spots have their own generators). This is even more unjust when you consider that Nepal actually exports electricity to it's neighbour India.

The word on the street is that corruption at all government levels is choking the country's development, an opinion that is hard to disagree with, having seen the way the country operates. Tourism seems to be the best developed industry in the country by far, but every other aspect of the country has a long way to go.

Despite all these obstacles, the people of Nepal are, for the most part, genuine, helpful and extremely hospitable, and always with a smile on their faces. These Nepalese qualities were never more apparent than in Shiva, who we hired to bring us up to Everest Base Camp but who had no problem helping us out finding accommodation after we returned, who guided us through our first Holi festival experience and who even brought us to the airport when we were leaving the country. All this and he asked for nothing in return.

The people of Nepal deserve a better quality of life. I hope they get it some day. And I hope the people of China can match up to their Nepalese neighbours in hospitality terms.

Happy Holi!

2009-03-25T16:49:00.002Z

After two weeks of basic accommodation and food on the Everest Base Camp trek, a week of relative luxury and relaxation in Kathmandu before tackling China was just what the doctor ordered. The highlight of this week was undoubtedly the Holi festival.

The Hindu festival of colours is an event that I could not see taking place back home in Ireland, where a whole city is turned into a coloured waterfight battleground. Throughout Kathmandu (and the rest of Nepal too we understand), shops and businesses close, and the streets become a dangerous place to stroll for those with aquaphobia and chromatophobia (a fear of colours – and yes I did have to look it up).

We were lucky in that we had pre-warning of these events thanks to our Everest Base Camp guide, Shiva, who very kindly had no problems guiding us through the festival as well. Dressed in our worst, Shiva took us from our hostel to the trekking office, where unlike most Westerners we were able to become hunters rather than targets by basing ourselves on the balcony of the office, overlooking innocent passers-by below.

A healthy supply of water balloons and food dye made many of these (in particular female) passers-by suffer. It was all part of the festival fun, well for us anyway!

Shiva had also very generously offered to cook us dinner at his home, which was a twenty minute walk away from Thamel. Leaving the twin comforts of a strategic balcony position and Westerner-friendly Thamel, the hunters most definitely became the hunted. Walking through what seemed like an endless stretch of residential areas, where we were the only Westerners, we became the preferred bounty of every rooftop and street-based festival participant, getting pelted from every angle with coloured water. Toward the end of this journey we started to wallow in self-pity, with gangs of schoolkids (who had the day off – for a waterfight!) picking on us, and the locals on the rooftops taking great pleasure to bombard the Westerners who were foolish enough to stray this far from the safety of Thamel.

Our dignity barely surviving, we made it to Shiva's house. Shiva lives in a single room, with a toilet that's shared between the whole neighbourhood. Thinking that Shiva made good money from his work, it was humbling to see where this man lived, in comparison to the complete luxury (relatively speaking) we inhabit. Everyone in his neighbourhood were in similar dwellings, and the sense of community, the kind of which is fast disappearing in Ireland, was in every sense apparent.

Our basic but filling meal was eaten graciously, after which we had a few beers in the communal yard outside Shiva's room, along with Shiva, Gopal (our porter on the base camp trek), and most of the neighbourhood.

Thamel isn't the real Nepal, this was.

What Goes Up... (39)

2009-03-20T13:51:00.003Z

A hike down an impossibly wide valley brought us to Pheriche (4243m), where we enjoyed the increasing levels of oxygen in the air. The next day, we descended further to Phortse (3750m), a hike on which I suffered from belated altitude sickness with a dodgy stomach (although my stomach may have been rejecting the food it had received for the past week).

This alternative return path provided us with some of the best scenery of the whole trek. From Pheriche, we continued on to Phortse (3750m), and after a night here made our way back to Namche Bazar, overcoming a descent down some very steep steps along the way.

On the way to Namche we stopped off at the amazing Khumjung (3790m), one of the biggest towns we visited on the trail, which also had it's own Buddhist monastery (which allegedly has a Yeti skull), as well as the Edmund Hillary school.

Once we reached Namche, we knew we were at a low enough altitude to celebrate a little, and celebrate a little we did, with beers and cigars.

This, unsurprisingly, was one of the most enjoyable moments of the thirteen days.

Day twelve, and our routine hike back to Phakding was made more interesting by the fact that Friday evening and Saturday morning are market day in Namche, meaning that the trail was jam packed with market goers, and many yaks, heading in the opposite direction to us.

Yak Attack 2
This state of affairs led to our second yak attack. This time I was at the rear. Coming over the brow of a hill, I could hear some commotion up ahead. Then John, who was in front of me, informatively shouted “Oh shit!”, and dived into the ditch next to us. Looking up, I was faced with a yak charging straight towards me. I just about managed to dodge it, otherwise I don't think I'd be capable of writing this blog entry.

After a boring night in Phakding we arrived back in Lukla the day before our early morning flight to Kathmandu. With no flights in or out of Lukla that day due to inclement weather, there was a healthy population of trekkers eager to celebrate, not least of all us.

“The Irish Pub”

Believe it or not, Lukla has an Irish bar, with the imaginative title “The Irish Pub”. As is usual around these parts however, it's an Irish pub only in name, more resembling the basement of a rich American with Irish roots. The celebrations continued on for the rest of the night, culminating in traditional (or maybe not) Nepalese dancing from all involved. Only John was caught on video though.

The airport departure room (calling it a lounge would be a stretch) the next morning was like a big reunion of all the fellow trekkers we had met in the past fourteen days. I reckoned this is what a school reunion must feel like.

Our collective attention was drawn by some commotion on the runway before the first plane of the morning had landed – a local child had somehow escaped it's house and made it's way on to the landing strip! Cue army officers rushing to remove the toddler from danger – a sight I don't think I'll see at any other airport. A downhill takeoff was also a sight to behold (and cause fear).

So the highpoint, literally, of our whole trip ended up a complete success, and is something that I'd recommend to anyone. If you're prepared to rough it a little for a couple of weeks, the rewards make it all worthwhile. An incredible expereince.

Kala Patthar Peak (5550m, 18,208ft)

2009-03-20T13:50:00.000Z

Because It's There

2009-03-20T13:42:00.002Z

So what's involved? Fourteen days hiking, eight and a half of which were spent climbing and the rest getting back down, that was what faced us. The itinerary was outlined to us a couple of days before we set off, when we also briefly met our guide, Shiva. On paper, it looked difficult. Not being the most naturally athletic person in the world, at times I was more anxious than excited. But I was anxious about this whole trip too, doing things that scare me is a recurring theme in my life at the moment, and there was no way that I was pulling out now.

Day 1 to 3
Our early morning taxi ride to the airport was beset with problems. First, our porter, the superhuman Gopal, who would be carrying most of our gear the whole way up and back, had trouble getting out of bed, and was late getting to his pick-up point (this was the only blemish on his flawless performance during the rest of the trip). Then it turned out that this particular day there was a big festival on (marijuana was legal in Nepal for one day!), so a main bridge on the route to the airport was closed, causing traffic chaos. We ended up missing our 7am flight to Lukla (2886m), but no harm done, we just caught the 8am.

The view out of the cabin windows gave us a nice taster of what was to come, and the landing, despite the hilarious runway at Lukla, was fine. The first thing that I noticed about the area was the lack of roads or automated land vehicles of any sort. To get anywhere around here there was only one way of doing it: walk. So that's what we did, for just over two hours, to our guesthouse for the first night at Phakding (2640m). Accommodation was basic, which we expected, and very cold, which we didn't expect, not at this relatively low altitude anyway. Having been spoiled by the constant sunshine we'd had so far, the bitterly cold nights took some getting used to, as did arriving somewhere at lunchtime and having nothing to do but rest for the remainder of the day.

Day two's longer four hour hike (including a stop for an early lunch) was easy even by my standards, and made enjoyable by the surroundings, which were very similar to the British Columbia nature trails, all rocky valleys and lush forest. We also caught our first tantalising glimpse of Everest, which of course wouldn't be our last.

Namche

A one hour climb, which wasn't difficult at all due to the very easy pace set by our guide Shiva, directly preceded our arrival at a windy and cold but scenic Namche Bazar (3440m), where we spent the next two nights acclimatising. So far so easy!

Day 4
The quality of the scenery on our path really stepped up a gear on our fourth day, the green forests slowly transforming into more barren yet more spectacular views of snowy peaks. As a rule on the trek the more spectacular the scenery got the more the temperature dropped, so more and more layers were needed.

After passing through a few Sherpa villages and past plenty of yaks, and another steep (but not too taxing) climb we arrived in Tengboche (3867m), a village quite exposed to the elements and hence quite windy. Inside Tengboche Buddhist monastery however, the largest in the region, the turbulent weather conditions outside are comprehensively concealed, with opulence and spirituality oozing out of every corner of the place, a peaceful oasis on a stormy hilltop. It was amazing to see a place of worship like this.

Yak Attack
Our fifth day is remembered for one event in particular. We were trekking uphill through a typically small Sherpa village, when a herder just up ahead lost control of his Yaks. They started charging straight at us. Shiva, our guide, sprinted across the street and leapt up onto a wall. I instinctively followed him, as I had been walking just behind him. With no time to do the same, Gearóid and John had to balance on a narrow wall on the other side of the street, with a four metre drop into a yard on the other side of the wall. A belt from a yak and they wouldn't have been able to continue, that was certain. The yaks managed to maintain their direction though, and charged past us at serious speed.

These animals, though not intentionally violent towards humans, could really cause some damage if collided with. In fact Shiva told us there had been four deaths and plenty of injuries caused by yaks in the last ten years or so.

After that bit of excitement we arrived in gusty Dingboche (4260m). With the oxygen levels in the air depleting, altitude sickness started to kick in. John was the first to suffer, losing his appetite completely (a serious symptom for a man that normally eats inhuman amounts of food). We all experienced mild headaches too, but for now Gearóid and myself were not too bad.

We also spent the sixth day in Dingboche as planned to once again get our bodies used to the altitude we were inhabiting, during which we stopped at the spectacular view above.

Dingboche was also very cold, with sub zero temperatures at night meaning we spent our time huddled around the fire until it petered out, at which point everybody hurried back to their room and into their sleeping bags. John was very sick at this stage, showing more of the symptoms of altitude sickness, which are quite similar to a bad hangover (some justice at last I thought, as he normally doesn't get hangovers). Only two days until base camp, we told ourselves.

Day 7

For me the seventh day started with some hearty Tibetan bread with jam, providing fuel for the tough day that was to follow. With the air getting thinner, and our breaths becoming ever more shallow, every uphill section became more and more difficult. The land at this altitude is extremely barren, unwelcoming to life requiring oxygen.

Arriving exhausted at Lobuche (4930m), I collapsed onto the seating bench and immediately realised I was very sick. No appetite, bad headache, unsettled stomach – it wasn't nice at all. Also not the time to meet three very friendly and chatty German trekkers, who happened to be from Stuttgart, where John and I had lived for six months a few years ago. One of them even lived about a five minute walk from where me and John resided. Luckily John had recovered somewhat from his illness, and was able to lead the conversations, while I was slumped into my seat behind him.

Base Camp Day
Thankfully I had recovered enough to continue on the morning of day eight, as this was the day we were to make it to base camp. With the landscape, temperature, oxygen levels and uphill sections ever more forboding, the incentive of the achievement that awaited us was badly needed to keep motivation levels up. A tough four hour initial hike brought us to Gorak Shep (5180m), where we were to spend the night. But after a quick stop there to deposit gear and order some some barely touched food, we wearily set off for base camp.

By now the spectacular had become the norm, or perhaps we were too tired to appreciate the scenery, but whatever, this hike was tough for all of us. Very rocky, with many ups and downs (both personally and terrain wise), every little ascent felt like a little Everest. But finally, after a climb past rocky paths with ice up the side of the Khumbu glacier, we saw the marker.

The sense of elation and relief from all of us was palpable.

It's Not Over Yet
After struggling back to Gorak Shep, we rested, still glowing with the sense of achievement. My body had successfully adapted to being above 5000m, but John and now Gearóid's condition took a real turn for the worse. Tomorrow we began our descent, but first there was the extra challenge of Kala Patthar, a Himilayan peak of 5550m (18,208ft). It was looking like I was the only one who would be able to tackle it, which I didn't want.

The next morning I dragged myself out of bed and reported for trekking duty. The only other trekker up was Ann from Oxford, whom we had met on day three, and also happened to meet at base camp itself. At least I had someone to share the experience with, I thought. But then, like Lazarus, John appeared, declaring himself healthy enough to go for it. So off we went.

In the whole thirteen day trek, this one hour forty five minute climb was the toughest part by a distance. It started out tough, then got progressively steeper. Towards the end Shiva stated that we were almost there, only for us to turn a corner and be faced with an even steeper section made up of small boulders. Almost at the peak, it got to a stage where it was three steps, break, three steps, break, for both John and I. There was simply no oxygen to keep us going. But at the top...

Gearing Up

2009-03-09T07:06:00.001Z

We booked our Everest Base Camp trek early in our second day in Kathmandu, with a trekking crowd we found ourselves. Though they weren't the cheapest, they seemed the most professional, and you want confidence with the company who are responsible for your wellbeing on an undertaking like this.

Having packed for the hot Indian climate, I was hopelessly under-equipped for a hike up to 5400m, as were John and Gearóid. So the two days before departure were spent gearing up.

Even more common than trekking companies and bars and restaurants in Thamel are shops selling trekking gear. Almost everything sold here is a cheap knock off of well known trekking brands such as The North Face. Seeing as I'd only really be using the gear for the 14 day base camp trek, I was only concerned with it lasting that long.

After a lot of haggling in numerous shops I ended up buying a warm hat, a sunhat, gloves, a long sleeved top, hiking sticks, a small backpack, a water bottle and lots of chocolate. All that for roughly €20. With the cost of the trek itself blasting our Nepal budget out of the water, I needed to go cheap. I just hope cheap lasts the 14 days.

Trekking for Treks

2009-03-09T07:03:00.003Z

Our first priority in Kathmandu was to get the Everest Base Camp trek organised. It's not hard finding someone to book a trek with in Kathmandu. Every third building seems to house some trekking company or other. Finding a trekking organisation we wanted to go with was the hard part.

Unsurprisingly our hostel host knew someone who organised treks – his sister as it turned out. She was the first person we talked to. Her package sounded good and the price was around what we expected. However we weren't going to jump into bed with the first offer (unless that was what she actually wanted). We decided to follow a tout to another trekking company this time, and it was a lot cheaper with this crowd.

I had spotted a Céad Míle Fáilte sign while we were looking for accommodation, so we ventured to the Irish pub next in the hope that someone Irish there could be a valuable source of trekking information. Just before we reached it, another trekking tout approached us. We explained to him that we were going upstairs to the pub first, and that we'd talk to him afterwards. So up we went, to be greeted by a horrible imitation with a Nepalese barman and no-one else inside. To our disbelief, the tout followed us up and sat at the table next to ours. We hadn't come here to be hassled by a bloody tout. So we left.

Thirsty for a drink after that annoyance, around the corner was a Lonely Planet recommended watering hole named Tom & Jerry's. One drink led to more, and the end to any trek searching for that day. We ended up having a great night, properly on the lash for the first time since we had left home.

Backpacker Central

2009-03-09T06:58:00.000Z

As the capital of Nepal, and the base for our planned trek to Everest Base Camp, Kathmandu was the obvious choice for our second stop in Nepal. After the nightmare that was our bus journey to Pokhara, we paid a bit more for a proper tourist bus this time round.

Some of the scenery on the journey was stunning. Nepal really is a country brimming with scenic beauty, and thrillingly most of the road had nothing but a huge drop at it's edge, making the five hour journey seem like five minutes.

Motoring through the outskirts, Kathmandu seemed similar to the big Indian cities, except far more hilly, and a bit cleaner. There was definitely a lot more advertising present, and our route to the bus stand was lined with numerous motorbike garages, most of which had Duckhams or Castrol livery. The air was also similar to Indian cities, with a pollutant haze clearly present, a far cry from Pokhara's clear horizons.

Departing the bus, the same routine as Pokhara was used: get a taxi straight to the backpacker area, lie to the driver that we have a hostel booked, and then once there search for the cheapest place on foot. Thewal really is a haven for backpackers. Western food is available everywhere, and the narrow streets are lined with bars, including an awful Irish pub.

Standing out with our backpacks still on us, we became a target for touts offering accommodation. Funnily enough this worked to our advantage, because it was though a tout that we found a cheap place in a fine location. Your wallet stays healthier if you don't mind dingy accommodation.

Once the backpacks were off though, we were still a target for touts, along with the huge number of other Westerners there. Thewal is trekking central, with far more trekking companies than willing trekkers, so the trekking touts were the worst, in your face every thirty seconds pushing this trek and that. Luckily my time spent in India meant I knew exactly how to handle them: pretend they aren't there.

Mountain Biking From Hell

2009-03-09T06:49:00.001Z

As an avid cyclist back home (by avid I mean I really used to enjoy cycling to work), I was disappointed to miss the mountain biking with the work crowd last year. Pokhara has an abundance of outdoor activities, downhill mountain biking included. With John being a big fan of the sport, this was automatically added to our list of things to do in Pokhara.

My first encounter with stomach illness however put my participation in doubt. It was only late the night before that I was no longer bound to the toilet. Having not had much food the last few days, I contemplated pulling out. But I wanted to try it at least once, so I soldiered on. Gearóid, in the same boat as me, did the same.

I'll say this first – if I knew what was involved beforehand, there's not a hope in hell I would have gotten out of bed at six that morning. It all started casually enough, meeting our group, consisting of us, an Iranian and and Englishman, as well as the Frenchman who owned the biking company and his Nepalese biking student. I really enjoyed the slow paced cycle to the foot of the mountain we were going to use. I didn't expect to have to cycle up the mountain though. I was sure there would be a jeep, even a tractor involved, but no such luck.

And so the suffering began. 10 minutes into the 45 minute uphill climb and I started to feel very very sick. Doing a steep climb in 25 degree heat with little nourishment in the past couple of days pushed my body over the edge. I was close to throwing up. After struggling for another 10 minutes I took a break in some shade and waited for Gearóid to catch up. 10 minutes later he emerged with the French instructor, looking very pale in the baking sun. He had left his breakfast further down the trail. It wasn't going well.

Gearóid and myself decided on the advice of our instructor and our stomachs to walk the bikes up the mountain, which only took 10 minutes longer than cycling anyway (that's how steep it was). In our sick states, even the walk was tough.

After we finally reached the top, the group took a break for some much needed liquids. My stomach still wasn't right, although Gearóid felt a bit better after emptying his.

On the long slog up, I assumed that we'd be coming down the same rocky road. How wrong I was. Once everyone at the top was ready to go, the French instructor led the way. Just not the way I was thinking. He sped down a narrow path at roughly a 45 degree inclination at a serious speed, dodging rocks along the way. The rest followed, bar Gearóid and myself. My thoughts were along the lines of “That's what this is?”. Gearóid in a moment of bravery/stupidity just went for it. About 5 metres down he tumbled, lucky not to injure himself.

I crashed myself on a rocky stretch of the road soon after, except I cut up my knee badly and gained a nasty gash on my back. With no rear suspension (unlike all the others), I found it impossible to keep balance when speeding over rough terrain. Sick, battered and bruised, Gearóid and I decided to play it safe and take our time down the main dirt road. I was dreaming of getting back to my bed at this stage.

Communication Breakdown
The journey back to Lakeside wasn't without incident however. The proper downhill tracks intersected with the less steep dirt road Gearóid and I were following. John, not holding back as usual, managed to halt the show three times, bursting both tyres on his bike and damaging the gears, which had to be fixed on the spot. And on the way home my ailing body could take no more, my legs seizing up twice on the hour long journey back to the bike place.

As it turned out, there was miscommunication between the French instructor and John, who had booked it the day before whilst we were suffering in bed. The instructor was shocked when Gearóid and I said we had never done downhill biking before. He normally only takes proper enthusiasts out, and even the route he chose wasn't appropriate for beginners. John had a great time though.

The Sincerest Form of Flattery

2009-03-09T06:43:00.002Z

I'd previously mentioned that Lakeside in Pokhara is very Westernised. Western food is promised all along the strip. There are even a couple of Italian restaurants, and a few steakhouses. A lot of effort has been put in to making Westerners feel more comfortable. Some of the food is really good, tasting as good as you'll get back home. One night I had a proper thin crust Italian pizza, which was made by Nepalese hands but was the best pizza I had eaten in a good while. There are hundreds of Nepalese employed here in the art of imitating Western cuisine.

And it's not just food, music is replicated too. On a walk down the main street our first night we heard bloody U2 being blared out from Club Amsterdam café by an all Nepalese cover band. There are a handful of coverbands here, who rotate between a few different venues, playing Pink Floyd, Leonard Cohen, Jimi Hendirx, U2 and plenty other covers. And as cover bands go, they're not bad. Seeing a pony tailed Nepalese rocker pull off a Hendrix guitar solo is definitely one sight I didn't expect in Nepal. Maybe they should put that image on the Lonely Planet cover.

On probably our best night in Pokhara we even discovered a Jazz bar. We had a fun few drinks with a Canadian and two Israeli girls we met inside who were volunteering at a local orphanage. They were the only other people inside the place. But despite this lack of an audience, and to my complete surprise, four Nepalese guys took to the stage and started banging out some decent sounding jazz.

The drummer in particular was exceptional. Encourage by our enthusiastic applause, they played on past last call, and had to be asked to stop playing, at which stage we were thrown out. At this stage I'd forgotten where I was (and it wasn't just because of the beers).

It Had to Happen Some Time

2009-03-09T06:38:00.001Z

I was delighted to get through India without once suffering the dreaded Delhi belly. I was under the impression that once I got past there then the food would be cleaner and safer. I'm not sure where I got this impression from, because it was completely wrong. Nepal is even worse than India for food hygiene.

I'm sorry to say I have first hand experience. My time in Pokhara was ruined by illness. This really grated me, because when you have such a fantastic place outside your room door, it's incredibly frustrating to be stuck behind it. I spent a lot of time pointlessly pondering what had caused my uncomfortable state, but it really could have been anything. Poor Gearóid had a bad case of it too.

I hadn't felt well ever since the bus journey to Pokhara. The first night I just felt under the weather, the second day I felt the same. I even felt a little better after a relaxing kayaking session out on the lake. But the third day it was full on keep close to the bathroom sickness. By that stage I was sick of being sick. I had picked up some Indian strength prescription only pills over the counter (!) in Delhi (I had heard that Ireland doesn't have anything strong enough). They worked. Be careful what you eat in Nepal.

Is food hygiene as dodgy in China?.

Rice Break

2009-03-09T06:37:00.002Z

Arriving in Pokhara a few kilometres outside Lakeside, the backpacker hub, on the advice of Lonely Planet we lied to our taxi driver and told him we had a place booked already. This worked, he took us straight to where we wanted to go, and left without a fuss and without trying to bring us to somewhere where he'd make commission.

The area around the bus stop was in old Pokhara, which looked quite similar to a lot of other Nepalese towns we'd passed through. Lakeside however was very Westernised, the long main street lined with eateries offering steak and pizza, with numerous small roads off the main street containing a cluster of hostels. It was also amazingly quiet and clean. After three weeks of India, seeing a street almost clear of people and rubbish was a refreshing sight.

Lakeside gets it's name, amazingly enough, from being located along the southern bank of Phera Lake, giving the place an idyllic atmosphere. Pokhara was once a big stop on the hippie trail, and I could see why. The place still had a chilled out vibe, left over since those hedonistic days. I liked it immediately.

I know I mentioned how much I loved the food in India in a previous post (John and Gearóid loved it too), but I really really needed a break from bloody rice. And Pokhara was the place for it. After finding ourselves a place to stay, our empty stomachs were filled with pizza (me) and steak (the other two). The pizza wasn't great, but with not a rice grain in sight, I was satisfied (as were the other two). One Western splurge is acceptable, we told ourselves.

Best Seat in the House

2009-03-09T06:21:00.002Z

According to the Lonely Planet Guide to Nepal:

“Bus travel in Nepal poses a significant risk of accident. It's uncommon to drive for more than an hour on any stretch of road without passing the burnt-out shell of a public bus crushed like tin foil into the canyon below. Travelling on an overnight bus trip is probably the most dangerous thing you can do in Nepal, and is certainly a bigger risk than that currently posed by the Maoists and even more dangerous than the bungee jump (only kidding on that one). You are more than 30 times more likely to die in a road accident in Nepal than in most developed countries.
During the course of researching this guide we passed ten fatal bus crashes in one ten-day period, which between them killed over 200 people. Tourist buses are generally safer than public buses but still the message is clear; keep bus travel to a minimum.”

They sounded great! With no trains in Nepal, the only alternative was to fly into Kathmandu, but that would mean gaining 1000m in altitude in a couple of hours, and besides that we wanted to go to Pokhara first. So we took our chances with the buses of death.

Having been promised a tourist bus by the agent in our hotel we booked with, we boarded the bus early the next morning to be greeted by nothing but Nepalese on board. We were directed to the tourist section, which basically meant sitting in the driver's cab area, which was separated from the passengers in the back with a plywood wall and a small door. I got to sit right up front, so I had an unobstructed view of the roads ahead.

The journey had barely begun when a traffic policeman halted it. The main road was closed. After much shouting and gesticulating, the bus driver reluctantly tried to find a detour. Down one unpaved street, we came screeching to a halt. There was a chasm in the road, which was hard to spot in the pre-dawn darkness. The driver's helper got out and inspected it. Too wide. No shit, it was about a metre gap! The batteries in my camera were dead so I was unable to get any photos unfortunately.

A detour from the detour meant we ended up driving through what seemed like one huge quarry for about 10km. I've never gone quadbiking, but I'd imagine a course is similar to what we drove through.

Like the local buses in India, we stopped to pick up and drop off passengers all along the way. The closer we got to Pokhara the busier the bus got. For the last four hours of the journey I was sitting at the windshield, along with a Nepalese lady, her son (neither of whom spoke a word of English), the gearstick (who didn't speak at all) and the driver (who shouted a lot), all cosily squeezed together. This was the best seat in the house to witness the no holding back overtaking around blind corners with a 500 foot unbarriered drop beside the road lunacy of our heroic driver. We got there in the end.

Next Country Please

2009-03-09T06:21:00.001Z

India to Nepal was my first overland (non-EU) border crossing, and I wasn't sure what to expect. As it turned out, Nepal proved easier to get into than the Bróg on a Saturday night.

With no bag or security check to speak of, we actually entered the country with no visa, and had to ask at the tourist office for the location of the visa office. Backtracking to the visa office, we paid our US$40 and had our passports stamped within 15 minutes. American border patrol it ain't.

Our first task in our new country was to swap our Indian rupees for Nepalese. We were delighted to learn that one Nepalese rupee is equivalent to one (Euro) cent, making converting prices to Euro a sinch. 100 Nepalese rupees equals €1. We weren't as pleased with the actual Nepalese notes. It's very difficult to differentiate between any note smaller than 1000 rupees, with many notes of the same value having their own variations. To make matters worse, the Nepalese government has introduced new plastic notes with references to the royal family removed, due to the removal of the monarchy from power in Nepal a couple of years ago.

Compared to India, the country seemed more geared for tourism from the start. Having a very helpful tourist office close by when we entered the country was the first sign of this (tourist offices were thin on the ground in India). While we were queuing for our currency exchange, a begging child was chased away by an employee with a pair of pliers! I'm not condoning this treatment of the child, just pointing out that it would never happen in India.

Making our way to a town called Bhairawa 4km from the border where we were to stay overnight, another main thing we noticed was: bars! Alcohol adverts were strewn across many buildings, which, coming from a country where we were often asked to hide our beer bottles under the table, was a comforting sight.

We no longer had to feel guilty about asking for a beer, and it showed.

Goodbye India

2009-03-08T16:57:00.000Z

Having haggled down to an acceptable price before the journey, the rickshaw driver that took us to the train station for the night train out of Varanasi played the “I have no change” trick. The change involved was only 10 rupees, but this, along with all the other hassle we had, meant we left the city with a bad taste in our mouths.

Don't be afraid to visit there just because my account however. The city itself has a nice relaxed atmosphere and is beautiful in parts, and our experiences were as much down to bad luck as anything else. It was just a shame that, in our three weeks in India, the only place where we really felt targeted as Westerners was our last stop.

Our final journey in India was also one of the most comfortable, switching to a hired car at the last train stop, Gorakhpur, to bring us to the edge of this country and the gateway to our next, Nepal.

Out of all the countries on our itinerary, India was the one I held the most apprehension for. Looking back now, I can't even remember why this was the case. India surprised me. I really enjoyed it, the food, the rickshaw journeys, the scenery, the history...it all adds up to a superb three weeks. Three weeks! We experienced and saw so much, it felt like so much longer. Not a bad start at all.

Billu Barber

2009-03-08T16:55:00.001Z

No, I didn't give in and decide to get a haircut. Billu Barber is the title of the “outstanding film the world is talking about”, according to the posters, and also the film we went to see to sample some bollywood.

The (Varanasi) cinema we were in was as clean as any back home, and hence the cleanest place we saw in our three weeks in India. In many ways it was better than Irish cinemas, with adjustable backrests and the option to order food/drinks from a porter, brought straight to your seat. Seating was also categorised, with the more central seats costing more, and with typical Indian fussiness the seats were numbered. For a film that wasn't necessarily a guy movie, it was strange in that the audience was almost exclusively male, with maybe one or two females in the whole cinema.

As for the film itself, well let's just say it lived up to my Bollywood expectations. With the film being entirely in Hindi, bar the odd song chorus, guessing the plot was where we had the most fun. Our attempted synopsis is: Billu Barber is a barber in a small town. Sahir Kahn is a movie megastar, and hugely admired throughout the world (India). Sahir Kahn just so happens to be shooting a movie in the small town Billu Barber lives in. And it turns out that Billu Barber is Sahir Kahn's long lost brother. We're honestly convinced that was the storyline.

Throw in random singing and dancing scenes and that was what we watched. At times it was so cheesy (“Sahir Kahn, he's the man!”) that I had to work overtime to contain my laughter, for fear of offending the two young Indians sitting next to me who were really enjoying it. I think us Westerners can be content with Hollywood for now.

Scam City

2009-03-08T16:51:00.000Z

Strolling down the Varanasi ghats in the sun, John and I came across Gearóid, who had wandered ahead earlier, face down getting a traditional Indian massage. Spotting me observing my friend, I was targeted instantly by another massager with an adjacent table.

Before I could even say no he was massaging my head and hands. I said no to a full body massage, even at 250 rupees, but he insisted that it would be much cheaper. What followed was 30 minutes or so of discomfort, sometimes pain. Then at the end he insisted on 500 rupees. I said no way, and as I argued with him he tried to keep massaging me, with a few of his onlooking mates in my field of vision. I had to fight him off. Another bloody scam. I paid 400 in the end. Gearóid and John were happy with their massages, but I was incensed. Between our farcical arrival and now this, Varanasi was not leaving a good impression on me.

Hello, Boat?

2009-03-08T16:41:00.000Z

After the trouble we had on arrival, wandering about was all we were motivated for on our first night in Varanasi, the holiest of Indian cities with the revered river Ganges flowing through it's side.

The Ganges holds huge importance in both Hindu and Muslim faiths, with huge numbers of pilgrims from both visiting Varanasi every year. For many Hindus it's their final pilgrimage. Hindus believe that if you die here you achieve automatic enlightenment, the ultimate goal for any Hindu. Hence you have the odd phenomenon of many elderly or very ill Hindus coming to the city as a place to see out their final days. Seeing bodies openly cremated on the banks of the ganges is a sight that I won't forget in a hurry.

But Varanasi has some life too. The maze of narrow pedestrianised streets are great fun to explore, packed with people, cows and flying motorbikes. Along the ghats on the banks of the Ganges, we saw everything from cows and people bathing to clothes being washed as well as the aforementioned cremations, all along the same two kilometre stretch of river.

No visit to Varanasi is complete without a boat trip on the Ganges, preferably at sunrise, so says the Rough Guide to India. And you can't walk 30 seconds down the ghats without hearing the words “Hello, boat?”. So on our last morning we struggled out of bed at 6.15 and hit the water.

In a way it was surreal. On the river banks you have pilgrims and locals giving worship and going about their business, and on the river itself you have dozens of boats full of tourists watching and photographing them. Add to that the fact that our hired rower was about 12 years old and incapable of rowing three giant Irishmen around, and you get an idea of the scene. John even attempted to row himself.

After he spun the boat around in a circle for a little while we decided it'd be best to give the 12 year old a little rest and leave it in his little hands.

Welcome to Varanasi

2009-03-08T16:40:00.000Z

After a reasonably comfortable overnight train journey (I got some sleep this time), we arrived at Varanasi station looking forward to relaxing for a day or three. Our schedule had been close to hectic for the past few days, and this was our last stop in India, so we needed a bit of down time before tackling Nepal. As it turned out however our search for a hostel was anything but relaxing.

A seemingly nice Nepalese fellow gave us a good price (50 rupees) for the rickshaw journey. He wasn't the driver as it turned out, he rode in front alongside, but no harm, the price was good. The Nepalese fellow, or gobshite as I'm going to term him henceforth, suggested a hotel he knew well, promising everything we were looking for and inour price range. It sounded good. When we were pulling up outside the entrance, gobshite said that actually it's a bit more expensive, but very nice.

Price is our priority, and we reluctantly called in to the place. Too expensive. Cue John justifiably getting very angry with gobshite, throwing the 50 rupees his way and storming off, with Gearóid and myself in tow. Gobshite proceeded to stalk us, asking why were we walking the wrong way, the hostels were in the other direction apparently. After five minutes, we realised we had no idea where we were. Gobshite was still around. Realising our lack of options, we demanded to be taken to Yogi's. He agreed, at no extra cost. I thought this was nice of him, but John was still suspicous.

We pulled up to the hostel. The sign matched the name on the book, but looked very temporary. We had a look at a room. Not great, the price was too high, and the hostel manager didn't make a good impression. Not to mention gobshite was pushing the hostel the whole time we were there. We'd had enough of him.

Finding a nearby main street, we tried to get our bearings, gobshite still in tow! We asked a shop owner to show where we were on the map. Nowhere near Yogi's! The hostel was a replica! And gobshite even had the cheek to point to the real Yogi's when we asked him to show us where we were on our map. At that point I wanted to turn to gobshite and say things I wouldn't publish here, but he had conveniently vanished.

After a 2km walk with our backpacks in the sun (we weren't chancing another rickshaw), we found the real Yogi's. Close to it was another recommended place, which we had a look at first. It wasn't great. We told the owner that we were going to check out Yogi's around the corner, and he told us that someone died there today. Great, more lies we thought. But around the corner we went to be faced with a group of police officers and some onlookers outside Yogi's. One of the staff had committed suicide there that morning.

After an exhaustive and exhausting couple of hours we finally found a suitable place for a suitable price. We've had better arrivals.

Assimilating Agra

2009-03-08T16:34:00.000Z

The number one reason any traveller visits Agra is the Taj Mahal, that's beyond doubt. But read the Rough Guide to India's description of the city itself, and it's hard not to develop a sort of Agra-phobia before you even arrive there. Corrupt rickshaw drivers, over zealous touts and begging await you at every corner, at least that's the impression that I got. Maybe it's because we expected the worst that it wasn't so bad when we arrived. Or maybe we've been here long enough and gained enough confidence to handle these nuisances.

We arrived at our cheap dump of a hostel in the Taj Ganj (the backpacker area adjacent to the Taj Mahal itself) too late in the evening to do any sightseeing. From the hostel roof, we could just about make out the Taj through the dark haze at night, it's silhouetted features instantly recognisable. Even this set off a small tingle of excitement in me.

Agra Fort

I do like to save the best till last, so with three days planned in Agra the Taj could wait. The next day we visited Agra Fort, getting an excellent insight into the huge amount of history at Agra from our guide. This was were the Mughal empire was centred, before the British slowly drained their power and seized it for themselves.

Battersea Power Station

We also visited Akbar's Tomb, Akbar being the Mughal emperor I hold the most respect for, because he managed to create a peaceful unity between the main religions of India (Hinduism and Islam) during his reign (it was the British that destroyed this unity, which still hasn't been recovered to this day, the recent Mumbai attacks being an example of this). Despite over-pushy guides inside, the tomb complex itself was mightily impressive too, it's superb symmetrical design whetting my appetite for the supreme example of Mughal (and perhaps all) architecture – the Taj Mahal.

Like everyone else, I'd seen pictures of it a million times before. And like everyone else that's actually visited it, I'll tell you that it's even more impressive with your own eyes. The sheer size of it alone surprised me, and it has a presence that I've never seen from any other building. If you can bite your tongue and get over the extortionate entrance fee (750 rupees – most sights cost 100 to 200 – and until 2001 it was just 20 rupees!), it's a must see while you're in the country.

Agra is similar to Delhi in that it's overcrowded, over-polluted and sprawling, so after the Taj it was time to move on. Before we boarded the night train to Varanasi however there was one last unexpected highlight, a Hindu wedding procession, complete with unhappy looking groom (arranged marriage), running right past our hostel just as we arrived back after dinner. Gearóid in particular got carried away with the joy of it all, joining the dancing in the streets. You can see him try to escape the procession in the video below.

Training

2009-03-08T16:27:00.001Z

We had yet to experience Indian trains, something we were keen to do, and it turned out this was the best way to get to our next stop, Agra.

Booking a seat on an Indian train is an inefficient and frustrating process. First, you have to go to the train station the day before your departure, and fill out a paper form. You have to know your train number and name, not to mention which one of the bewildering array of classes you want. Then, the station employee types the information on your form into a computer, and tells you whether there are seats (or sleepers/beds) available or not. If there are, then he prints out your ticket.

But this ticket doesn't have any seat numbers on it. So you have to go back to the train station on the same day as the train, and go to the reservation office. Here, you present your ticket to one of the staff, they go into the back and come out a couple of minutes later with your seat numbers written in biro on the ticket. If this reservation office closes at 5pm, say, and your train is at 10pm, then that's three trips to the railway station just to make one train journey. I'll never complain about Iarnród Éireann's website again.

The day before the tiger safari, we went to Sawai Madhopur train station to book our ticket to Agra. Our rickshaw driver came to the ticket desk with us to help (and for a good tip). For some unknown reason though, the ticket desk was closed for the rest of the day. In just about decipherable English, the rickshaw driver explained that he could get us a seat on a train to Agra tomorrow. He would bring us to the station, and take care of things there. This sounded good to us.

After the safari the following day, the driver brought us to the train station. That was about the only part of his plan that he managed to pull off successfully. He led me to the counter, where he ordered three tickets and I paid. Then we were led to the platform, where we were handed over to a station porter of some sort. When our train arrived, he started looking for the conductor. He never found him, and the train was about to pull off, so he just shunted us into the nearest door, and still demanded a tip for the service.

We ended up in a coach with exclusively reserved seats and no standing. Cue awkwardness and stern stares as the three standing tourists and their rucksacks blocked up the passageway. To make things worse the conductor eventually showed his face to inspect tickets, and charged us a fortune (in Indian terms) to upgrade our useless tickets. He also ordered an elderly Indian couple to compress their sitting space to allow me to sit my arse down. I kept a low profile for the rest of the journey.

Slouching Tiger, Pissed-Off Adam

2009-03-08T16:24:00.001Z

After a brief one day stopover in Bundi, which was a nice break from the touristy places, we got a hired car to Sawai Madhopur, the village from which tiger safaris into Ranthambore National Park are launched. The safari here is up there with the Taj Mahal in terms of popularity with tourists. With no cheap backpacker accommodation to be found, we had to make do with a swish hotel, which, even though it was the cheapest listed, was still a step or two up from what we were used to (in price and quality). I even got to watch the Man United v West Ham game in our room.

There's a huge slump in tourism in India right now, which is mainly down to Westerners fearing to come here after the Mumbai attacks. In one way this isn't a good thing for us, as there's less fellow backpackers about to mingle and share stories/info with. In another way it's made things very convenient for us though, as we've never had to book ahead for accommodation, and we can dictate the price. Our luck in this way was no more so apparent than with the tiger safari itself. There are two modes of safari transport – canter, which is essentially an open top bus, and gypsy, a jeep. Gypsies are far more popular, because your chances of spotting a tiger are far greater in them. We were told that to get a spot in one you normally had to book about 26 weeks in advance. We bagged seats in one the day before our safari.

We set off for the park in our gypsy just before sunrise the next morning, along with our guide, driver, and two quiet Finns with oversized cameras. The cool pre-dawn breeze shook me out of slumber mode, and once we passed the park gates there was a genuine air of excitement. This grew as our guide heard the alarm call of some nearby antelopes, and then spotted fresh tiger tracks in the dirt road.

We followed the tracks for a couple of miles, all with cameras at the ready. But then the trail disappeared off the road and into long grass. With the gypsy's engine switched off, we scanned the long grass in silence with the utmost concentration, hoping to get our money's worth. But the tiger remained incognito.

Later, deeper into the park, the pattern repeated itself, again with no tiger sighting. The tiger hunts in the morning and the afternoon, and sleeps in the mid-day heat, an interval we were fast approaching. We had only booked a morning safari, so no tigers for us. Still, the hunt was half the fun.

Radio Silence

2009-02-22T14:52:00.003Z

As is probably apparent from my photographs on picasa the blog is not a good indicator of where I am right now. In fact since my last published entry we've been to Bundi, went on a tiger safari in Ranthambore National Park, seen the Taj Mahal in Agra, been on a boat trip on the Ganges in Varanasi and left India for Nepal. Right now we're in Kathmandu.

It's been difficult finding time to write blog entries, but I am taking notes so that when I do write an entry I don't forget anything of note.

This will be the last time I'll be online for 14 days however, as tomorrow John, Gearóid, our guide, our sherpa porter and myself will be trekking up to Everest Base Camp. So see you in a couple of weeks (if I survive the altitude sickness that is), and cheers for reading up to now...

A Rolling Start

2009-02-22T12:57:00.002Z

Having bought our bus ticket out of Udaipur earlier, we made our way to the travel company's office that night, as directed. Multiple buses drove past, none of which were ours, we were waiting for the agent to let us know.

After waiting around for 30 minutes or so, said agent abruptly told us to “follow him”, pointing at his friend.. So we did. We walked through roundabouts and across busy roads, with all our possessions on our backs. We walked expectantly past a couple of parked buses. From a bend in the road in front of us emerged yet another bus, moving at a fair old speed. “This yours”, said the stranger we were following like lost sheep. He waved frantically and the bus slowed down. It had just about stopped when we were hurried on to the bus. No time to put our rucksacks in the luggage compartment. Two more people got on behind us, one of whom had to run to keep pace with the door as the bus started to move and as we slowly made our way through the crowded bus stairwell.

This time I had a single sleeper capsule to myself, though the pleasure of having my own space was slightly ruined by the streaks of shit that ran down one side of the compartment.

We got there in the end. I didn't get much sleep though.

Losing my Naivety

2009-02-14T12:50:00.002Z

Smaller than Jaipur, but bigger than Pushkar, Jodhpur is viewed simply as a stopping point on the way to other destinations by a lot of travellers. That may be true, but it's a nice city in it's own right, and our brief stay there was an enjoyable one. After all the relaxing we did in Pushkar, we needed a place to chill out, and Jodhpur met our needs.

Cleaner than other places we'd been to so far, Jodhpur also had an excellent and varied market five minutes from our hostel, selling everything from clothes washing brushes (I got one for two rupees) to saffron tea (which we all chipped in to buy a packet of). Saffron tea, and spices in general, are a Jodhpuri speciality. The saffron tea purchase came about after a spice smelling and tea tasting session in the market with a local seller, which was excellent. They have some great tea over here (nothing to beat Barry's though).

Mehrangarh Fort
“Great, another description of a bloody fort”. I can hear the moans already. Yes, it was another bloody fort, but this one was the best yet. The audio tour was excellent (with a route that was easy to follow), and the view from the battlements at the top was the first justification I had received of Jodhpur's nickname of “The Blue City”.

If I had written this blog entry a couple of days earlier, right now I'd regale you with a lovely story of a lovely old man who invited us into his home on the way down from the fort and chatted with us about his life and ours. I'd then tell you how he showed us his collection of money from around the world, and how he didn't have any euro in it, and of how John very kindly gave him five euro to complete his collection, and everyone was happy with the joy of it all. Except that the following week our hostel host in Agra pulled out his own collection of money, and he too didn't have any euro (or dollars). Feckers.

Bussing It Up

2009-02-14T12:46:00.001Z

With Pushkar unreachable by train, another bus was our only way of moving on. This time we ended up on the cheap public bus with the locals. It also happened to be the school bus for every village for 90km. If you remember what happened in Delhi, you'll remember that our height and white skin gives us celebrity status when Indian children are involved. So there was a lot of long stares, and plenty of wary but friendly shouts of “hallo!” At one stage the bus was so packed there was people on the roof too! We could only make out their shadows, but they were definitely there. Another must-see off the list.

Our (late) arrival in Jodhpur was as chaotic as the bus journey. The bus stopped on a big bridge. A lot of shouting in Hindi ensued. Random people stormed on to the bus, shouting at us (in English) directly. They were saying get off, the driver's helper said stay on. One of these randomers showed a card for our hostel (we had arranged hostel pick-up from the bus station – we didn't think it'd be at a bloody flyover). Follow him then.

A Functioning Anarchy

2009-02-10T15:03:00.001Z

I've had a couple of requests, and I'm sure some of you are curious, as to the state of the roads and the standard of driving in India. So many words come to mind, but a quote from former US ambassador to India Bertrand Russell describing the country is foremost: “a functioning anarchy”.

One of the better roads

The roads themselves range from the sublime to the ridiculous, with the latter being very much in the majority. We've gotten buses almost everywhere so far, and we've hired a couple of cars too (our first train journey will be two hours from when I'm writing this), so I've seen a fair bit of asphalt and dirt. Potholes aplenty mean drastic avoidance manoeuvres, and in parts the roads are more like an off-road trail than a route between destinations. But the state of the roads is a minor story compared to the chaos that occurs on them.

Here's a brief synopsis of how it works: cows have right of way, ahead of everything else. Then it works by size. A truck has right of way over a car, and so on, all the way down to the stray dogs and pigs that wonder about. Indicating is rarely done, in cities not at all. Mirrors are usually folded in, to allow vehicles to squeeze through tighter gaps. You know if a vehicle is behind you if you hear their horn. Likewise, if you're approaching a vehicle from behind, or near a vehicle in general, beep your horn. In cities, this averages a horn use about once every 1.5 seconds.

It is recommended that you drive on the left, but if this doesn't suit the other side of the road is fine.

As for pedestrians, walk slowly, don't run or change direction quickly, and you'll be fine. The traffic will avoid you. Somehow.

Experiencing this in full motion for the first time was an exhilarating experience (it's in my Hynes genes). In Delhi and Jaipur especially, it's complete chaos. Approaching roundabouts I had a big smile on my face, that's where the most fun is had. No one stops at roundabouts, it's in perpetual motion, with no defined lanes to speak of. Road lanes are marked on the big roads but not used in the slightest. Overtaking is done in whichever manner and side is quickest. Quick reaction speeds and good spatial awareness is what keeps it all ticking over.

It's not just the way of driving over here, it's what's on the roads too that makes it so entertaining. Cows, camels, cars, trucks, buses, tractors, motor bikes, bicycles, auto-rickshaws, manual rickshaws, horses, pedestrians, people with carts, dogs, pigs, chickens – all finding the most direct route to their destination at the same time.

Incredibly, bafflingly, it all works. The only collisions we were involved in were due to the aging senses of Nana, our Japurian rickshaw driver, but they were minor, because there's so much traffic on the roads that no-one can go that fast. Amazingly, with all the traffic, there's never any gridlock. The traffic is always moving. No space is wasted. Traffic lights do exist, and they are obeyed at major junctions, but only when to ignore them would mean two flows of traffic bringing each other to a halt. No road rage either (no point). I love it all. Every rickshaw journey is pure entertainment.

On our bus journey to Pushkar, the Indian attitude to the rules of the road (yes they do actually exist) was summed up perfectly. It was the halfway stage of a long trip, and the bus driver wanted to pull over for an intermediate stop. Knowing the (fairly remote) terrain well, he knew there was food available up ahead in a little place on the opposite side of the (3-lane) motorway, with a central barrier (blocking our access to the rest stop). So at a right-turn junction well ahead of the stop, he crossed the gap in the barrier, and proceeded to drive up the wrong side of the 3-lane motorway for half a mile, evading oncoming buses and trucks along the way. None of the Indians on the bus batted an eyelid. This was the fastest way to the rest stop, so what was the problem?

(I think John has a video or photo of this, I'll put it up here if he has)

One Hump or Two?

2009-02-10T14:59:00.001Z

Over beers the night before (where all good ideas come from – including this whole trip), we arranged to go camel trekking on our second day in Pushkar. The plan was thus: hop on a camel, ride it three hours into the desert, and eat and drink around a campfire for the night, camel-riding back the next morning. Worse ideas have been thought up.

Omi, our hostel host, even tagged along himself, along with our camel guides/cooks/company for the night. Camels are surprisingly easy to mount, conveniently crouching down for you to hop on board. They're not as uncomfortable to ride as I expected, having been forewarned to expect sore legs. An hour in, and I decided I really liked this mode of transport. They're fast buggers too, I never knew a camel could gallop, especially Lashkmi, who wanted to show that he was faster than all the others, with me desperately trying to drink a bottle of Kingfisher on top.

Kingfisher is the popular beer around these parts incidentally – a cold beer on a camel in the sun being my favourite moment of this trip so far.

We found our spot in the desert and a few mats were laid out and a few more beers were had and a fire was lit. Not by us though, by our Indian guides, who refused to let us do any of the work (we asked a few times – honest). They cooked the food right in front of our beer-swilling faces, proper Rajasthani fare, different to the more general Indian food we'd had up to now, and just as delicious.

Once the food disappeared and the drink really started to flow (whiskey and rum were involved too) the songs started to come out. Each of our guides sang a traditional Rajasthani song in turn, until the baton passed to us. We were reluctant at first, but eventually found our steam. Rattlin' Bog in particular went down a storm (kudos to Gearóid for knowing all the verses). The efforts from the Aussie/Kiwi combo who tagged along proved less successful but all the funnier for it.

The gang

A mix-up in the blanket distribution meant I was bloody freezing after the last embers had cooled, but I was allowed to “drive” the camel all the way back to Pushkar the next morning, which more than made up for it. Oh, and in reference to the title, all camels in India have one hump, the dual-humped variety appear in Africa only.

Serve Chilled

2009-02-10T14:49:00.002Z

The best thing about our plan is that there is no plan – we decided on our next stop over a couple of beers the second night in Jaipur. In my pocket guide to India was a picture of this great looking little town surrounding a lake. Pushkar was it's name, so we made the arrangements and sorted a bus.

Surrounded by desert, though more the rocky hilly kind rather than sand dunes, seeing it for the first time was disappointing – like when you see a picture of a succulent looking chicken breast in a fast food eatery and are served a plate of awful looking rubber – I felt betrayed. The pristine blue lake in the picture had been replaced by a half-full brown dirt pit. The empty part of the lake was a construction site – they were deepening the lake before the monsoon season, as there had been bad floods here not too long ago (it's hard to imagine any sort of rain falling here right now mind).

It still looked great from the full part

We picked our hostel using the recommendation of an Aussie/Kiwi couple we had met at the monkey temple in Jaipur. They arrived one night before us, and most of our Pushkar experience was shared with them. Having a common drinking culture is a great bonder when in a country with none.

We had been on the go since our arrival in Delhi, and Pushkar immediately felt like a more relaxed place. This was no more evident than in our hostel host, Omi, who offered us a beer before we had even seen our room. He knew we liked to drink, because he had dated an Irish girl for a good while, before his family intervened and set him up with his now current (Indian) wife. I got the impression that he wasn't totally pleased with this, but who am I to comment on how other cultures work?

We were so relaxed upstairs in the hostel that we didn't leave the rooftop at all on our arrival day – beers and chat with Omi the host, Carl the Kiwi and Gemma the Aussie were a nice break from forts, temples and palaces. I also met an English guy who's wife is from Dromina. For those of you that aren't familiar with north Cork geography Dromina is a village not too far from my home town of Buttevant – even on the other side of it, it's a small world.

Five Days In

2009-02-10T14:47:00.001Z

Five days in, on a bus to Pushkar, and a joke made about completing our first Monday to Friday puts me in a reflective mood, for the first time since arrival. When I try to compare what we've experienced in those five days to a typical week of work back home, I struggle. In fact, I can't compare it to any previous five days of my life.

All my anxiety about India has been washed (or should I say eaten) away. The food is great, the weather is perfect (hot but not too hot), the scenery is fantastic and the people are genuine and honest and open and friendly. There's no such thing as going out to the pub and going on the lash until the wee hours here, but I needed a break from that anyway. And it's all so...different. “No shit Adam”, I can hear you say, but it really is. And I'm loving it.

A Stitch in Time

2009-02-10T14:44:00.001Z

One of the great contradictions I've noticed about the Indian people so far is how in some cases rules are followed to a hilt but in other cases they're they're thrown out the window. I experienced a great example of this when trying to post a parcel from Jaipur post office.

After filling out a quick form at the front of the building, I entered the main area, where only one counter was open, with a queue of about 10 people. Naturally, I joined the back of the queue, but Nana (who guided me through the whole process) dragged me straight up to the counter, and told me to get the attention of the clerk, who was busy dealing with someone else. I hate queue skippers, and I just looked at Nana as if to say “really?” He shouted something in Rajasthani at the clerk, who took my parcel. I glanced anxiously back at the queue behind me, expecting many an icy stare, but not an eyelid was batted.

Then, to my disbelief, the clerk decided the stitching of the parcel was not good enough for them to accept (I was sending a quilt wrapped in some linen material stitched together around it). And there was 10 minutes until the last post! I was lost, but Nana dragged me back to the front desk, where, after a lot of Rajasthani shouting, the man there re-stitched my parcel furiously. Sprinting back to the clerk, re-stitched parcel in hand, more shouting and he re-examined it. Good enough this time. Phew!

The parcel got there in the end.

Textiles, Palaces and Nana?

2009-02-08T14:00:00.002Z

The second port of call on our whistle stop tour of northern India, Jaipur is the capital of the state of Rajasthan, the state where a large proportion of our travels in India will be based. Our bus actually stopped 9km short of the city, dropping us off at Amber Fort instead. Our annoyance at this fact was tempered by the spectacle in our sights.

Amber Fort

Nana (No, Not That One)
It was here also that we met the old Indian gentleman who was to become our guide to Jaipur. 70 years old, honest to a fault and forever evoking tales of local folklore, Nana was an instantly memorable character. All this from a rickshaw driver who was at the right place at the right time (though the years of experience he has suggest that was no coincidence).

His rickshaw driving alone was memorable. To drive on Indian roads you need top notch reflexes and spacial awareness. Nana's had faded with time. Not just his spacial awareness but his awareness in general. We've only witnessed three collisions in rickshaws here so far, all with him as our driver. Not serious collisions, more amusing than anything else, which somehow added to his charm. As well as ferry us everywhere, we ate some of his delicious home-made parantha (though not as delicious as my own nana's baking) and shared a couple of chai teas with him while he regaled us with stories about his family and his month spent working as a cook in Paris back in the seventies.

He was one of many highlights in Jaipur, which also included the view of the city on our approach.

The floating palace was especially astounding. This first impression, of a quiet and serene city by a lake, proved to be a bit too good to be true once we left the lakeside. Jaipur's heart has far more in common with Delhi, all hustle and bustle once more, though slightly less crowded than the capital. However, with cows, camels, cars, elephants, bikes, rickshaws and people all jostling for position on the streets, chaos was still the norm.

On to the tourist activities, first up being the Hindu monkey temple (not it's official name) that looks over the city from a hill to the south. Spectacular views and monkeys were on offer here. It was great to see monkeys roaming freely, and they lived up to their cheeky reputation by almost making off with my water bottle at one stage, snatching it right out of my hand when I wasn't watching. I got it back mind.

After the ctiy palace, which gave an excellent account of Jaipurian history, and the observatory (also very interesting), I suffered my first bout of temple fatigue. It was at a tomb of which I didn't know anything about. It looked very nice, but not knowing the history of it and having no information at hand meant it was just another tomb. I hope this doesn't occur too often, because, to be honest, it was boring.

Our last day in Jaipur was spent exploring the Amber Fort which had so impressed us the day before. In any kind of fort or castle I've visited back in the west, your tour route follows a very linear path, usually guided by velvet rope or something similar. Not here. The fort was completely open. We could go anywhere. Not only that, but the audio tour signs were often pointing completely the wrong way, due to restoration work that was in progress. The fort is massive, and we got lost a couple of times, with only a dodgy tour map to guide us. It was like a treasure hunt trying to find the next tour point listed on the map. Great fun though.

Without Nana, I think our visit would have been half as good as it was. Because it's not just about temples, forts and other sights to see. It's about people too. From that point of view, Jaipur was great.

It's still amazing to think that the city, which seems tiny in comparison to Delhi, still has a population greater than that of Ireland (5 million). After India (and China), Ireland will seem smaller than ever.

Jaipurian Journey

2009-02-05T04:35:00.002Z

Our journey to Jaipur began with the surreal. The walk from our hostel to the bus, at 6.30am, was an unexpected treat. Before now we had only seen Delhi in full power mode, with people and vehicles and sales pitches everywhere you turn. But at 6.30am the contrast was startling, an ethereal experience, the city was just coming to life. What we saw was darkened backstreets, lit up only by the rare barber operating and one or two food vendors serving breakfast to those unfortunate enough to be up at this hour, a different Delhi.

This journey was led by the guy who called to our hostel at 6.30am to lead us to our bus (we had never met him before). We followed him for 10 minutes through the backstreets, then he took a right and a guy on our left started beckoning us to follow him. My first instinct was to stick to our leader, but he proceeded to ignore us. So what could we do except follow this other guy? It was the right bus in the end. And it was a good lesson in how things are done in India. You just have to roll with it.

Our first Indian bus journey and we sat at the back, like all Irish cool kids do. The journey was a rollercoaster of emotion and kinetic energy. Have a taste for yourself with the video below.

Five hours later we arrived in Jaipur, shaken but not stirred.

Food for Thought

2009-02-03T12:01:00.001Z

Those of you that know me well will know that when it comes to food I tend not to be the most adventurous. Italian, Mexican, some Chinese and of course traditional Irish – that's been my palette, no more, no less, for the past six years or so (before that the range was even smaller). People had been telling me how jealous they were that I'd get to eat real Indian food, but Indian food never agreed with my taste buds. Pizza was my staple diet. I still ate like a student before I left.

All that had to change with this trip. I would have to try new foods, or else starve. For a while I considered starving, then decided that this had too many drawbacks. Strange foreign food it was.

A week in, and I'm very proud of myself. You can get pizzas and such in a lot of places, but I've stuck to Indian. I've tried everything on the menu, and liked a lot of it. A lot. It's delicious, healthy, cheap and filling. Even the (spoiler alert) campfire-cooked meal in the desert was outstanding. Perfect backpacking food. And not a Delhi belly in sight.

I might venture to the Indian restaurants a little more often once this jaunt is over. More gastronomic musings when we hit Nepal.

Delhi

2009-02-03T11:55:00.002Z

As mentioned in a previous post, we arrived on Republic Day, which had the knock-on inconvenience of alcohol ceasing to be served in restaurants and available in shops. Trust three Irishmen, on our first day in a country where drinking alcohol is not wholly acceptable, and on the one day of the year where it's not available, to ask the poor hostel clerk for a beer minutes after checking in. We got it in the end, but for an extortionate (we learned later) price. Rooftop terrace, 22 degrees, beer. Not bad so far.

Adjacent to our room was a travel agent/slimeball, We ended up hiring a driver to tour Delhi the next day through him, but mainly because we were too tired to look elsewhere, and it was very cheap. Our first night finished with a leisurely stroll, aided by the odd motorized rickshaw (three-wheeled micro-taxies). The highlight of this stroll (and of our time in Delhi), was India Gate (a Champs D'Elysee rivalling monument to Indian soldiers lost defending her), and the walk from the gate to the Royal Palace, beautifully illuminated with thousands of lights to celebrate Republic Day.

Our driver the next day didn't say to much, but unlike the agent we booked him through he was a genuine and amicable fellow, driving us to the big attractions of the city with little fuss. The huge Red Fort, and as imposing as it is impressive, was an instant highlight. The Jama Masjid, the largest mosque in India, was equally impressive, with a superb panoramic view of the city from one of it's towers. Last but not least was the Baha'i Temple, this one rivalling Sydney Opera House for aesthetic quality. I won't go into the history of these monuments, I'll leave that further investigation up to you.

Lotus Temple

We also had the first special moment of the trip in the park by the Raj Ghat (Ghandi's final resting place). John was working on an excellent sketch he did of the Jama Masjid, and it was luchtime for some nearby schoolkids. The picture tells the rest.

After a busy day's sightseeing we deserved a drink (we felt so anyway), so off we went in search of a watering hole. There are no bars here, just restaurants that serve alcohol. The Rough Guide to India was useful here, eventually we found a cheap backpacker joint near our hostel. On arrival we were led to our table as usual, when suddenly three waiters from upstairs (all the same restaurant) launched themselves from above and started shouting and arguing that upstairs was better. We stood there bemused, amused and thirsty. Upstairs promised us cheaper beer, so they won. The place was full of Westerners, with plenty of Western options on the menu. From what I can tell the Indian subcontinent seems to think that to the West they eat lots of banana pancakes. We stuck with the Indian options (they're too nice to ignore).

Back at our hostel after a few and not only did we have our first encounter with a fellow backpacker we also might have bagged a place to stay in Shanghai. Not a bad days work.

So Delhi: huge, filthy, overcrowded, chaotic, but very entertaining all the same. Onwards we go.

Cultureshock? No, I'm Fine Thanks

2009-01-31T06:31:00.006Z

On the flight over (with Virgin Atlantic – excellent) I re-read a piece about dealing with culture shock. India supposedly has a high level of this for Westerners, so I was prepared for the worst. This mindset helped a lot, because it didn't hit me hard at all. I knew what to expect.

Our hostel was just off the main bazar in New Delhi. For those of you reading from Buttevant, it's like Cahirmee Fair times a hundred (and no horses), a long narrow street, mostly pedestrianized (because rubble and mounds of earth are strewn across it – rubble is left everywhere in Indian cities), with shops and merchants on both sides selling anything and everything (except swimming trunks – though I know now that shorts in general aren't worn around here).

From Dehli

“No, I'm fine, thanks” comes out of my mouth more often than carbon dioxide when wandering the bazar (and most other streets in Delhi too). We'll see how long I can keep up that level of politeness.

The hostel itself was adequate. A room with three beds and a toilet/shower – that's all we need. Dorm rooms aren't the norm over here. In fact the word hostel doesn't seem to exist at all, technically we'll be staying in hotels, but the cheapest ones.

Ready, Steady, Delhi!

2009-01-31T06:31:00.003Z

Where do I begin? Well, for those of you who were wondering whether we made it to India at all, I can assure you we're very much here. We're here, and we've already made good progress into northern India, with two cities down already. The first, our arrival port, and by far the biggest city we'll visit in India, was Delhi.

Circumstances meant I had a large amount of euro on me (€220) that I was unable to lodge before I flighted from Ireland, so I thought it'd be a good idea to get that changed into Indian rupees at the airport. I asked the cashier for “a few” small notes. I ended up getting a stack of notes thicker than the bible. Feeling like a millionaire (and a pickpocket's dream), I re-joined my fellow backpackers (John and Gearóid – you'll be hearing those names quite a bit) and we made for the city centre.

We arrived in India on Republic Day – one of two secular national holidays here – which was a big mistake. Not because everything was closed (enough was open to get by), but because we missed out on the huge parade through Delhi in the morning that has everything from elephants to nuclear missiles on show. It also meant our airport pick-up driver from the hostel was not in a good mood (no festivities for him either). He got us there in one piece though, and gave us our first thrilling impression of Indian driving. More on that in a later post..

2009-01-31T06:24:00.000Z

I've repeated this information about a thousand times during the 50 or so going away parties/drinks I barely survived before the big day. But here it is again, for the few that I didn't get to say goodbye to in person.

Travel Itinerary
India (3 weeks)
Nepal (4 weeks)
China (5 weeks)
Vietnam (3 weeks)
Cambodia (3 weeks)
Laos (3 weeks)
Thailand (3 weeks)
Australia (a lot longer)

We're flying into India (well, we've flown actually), and we're flying from Nepal to China, and of course we're flying to Australia, but other than that it's all on the ground. This is an important aspect of our plan, avoiding flights wherever possible. Flying effectively removes you from whatever country you're in, if you see photos inside an aircraft can you tell in which country, nay, which continent, the picture was taken?

Flexibility is another important aspect – we need to be in Kathmandu on a certain date for our flight to China, and we need to be done with Vietnam before our visa there expires (if we stay longer than the five weeks in China it'll eat into our 'nam time). Other than that, we can go where we want, when we want. Our time in Asia isn't capped as of yet either – we haven't even booked our flights to Australia yet!

The most specific version of our planned route can be found here. I'm hoping to record our actual route too, I doubt our planned route will be anywhere near it.

When This Milk Goes Off, I'll Be In India

2009-01-31T06:23:00.000Z

I meant to write my second entry well before I departed. Alas, leaving Ireland turned out to be much more work than I thought it would be, I simply didn't have time. So you'll have to make do with this retrospective version.

The title of this entry relates to the first time in my mind when this fantasy that I was abandoning my cozy Cork life to travel started to become a reality. When I was young, I used to feel a tinge of excitement when the fresh milk carton had the letters “Dec 25th” printed on it. Seeing the date on a milk carton meant it was time to get really excited. So you could say that some of my feelings in the final couple of weeks before departure were akin to my feelings at Christmas as a child.

Coupled with this huge excitement were feelings that can best be described as mild terror. “What the hell am I doing? Six months of dirty hostels, filthy clothes, poor personal hygiene and impenetrable languages? Who's idea was this?”. For months the trip had been abstract, the thought of it made me smile. But now I was actually doing it, introducing apprehension and anxiety I hadn't felt since I left my home town of 19 years to move to Cork. But that change turned out very well in the end. I think this one will too.

Procrastination Liberation

2009-01-13T16:52:00.002Z

I can put it off no longer. I decided to write this blog months ago, around the same time I decided not to buy shorts for the summer ahead (a wise decision). Yet here I am, 12 days to departure, taking my first baby steps into the blogosphere (this is my very first blog). And what is it that has made me belatedly join the blogging bandwagon? Well, to be honest, I don't think I had anything worth writing about. Until now...