Tripipedia

Day 38 - Kathmandu, Nepal

2009-12-20T09:29:00.001-08:00

There was supposed to be a strike on my first day in Kathmandu all those days ago, but it was cancelled at the last minute. I had hopes that the same would happen today, but as soon as I walked out of the hostel this morning it was 100% certain that this was not the case. The gates of the hostel were closed and there was high security watching people go in and out, all of the hustle and bustle of the shops outside the door was replaced with closed shutters, and more strikingly the honking of taxis, rickshaws, motorbikes and buses was completely absent. With no cars, everything closed, and people wandering around aimlessly, it was like something out of Dawn of the Dead. The above picture shows one of the busiest interchanges in Kathmandu, normally this would be chaos, with thousands of vehicles passing through every hour and a policeman standing in the centre attempting to keep some kind of order, but today you could actually walk down the middle of the road with impunity – in fact, I have only seen three cars in the whole day, and two of those were ambulances.

There are armed guards everywhere and you can't even get food or drinks; the only commerce that is taking place at all is by the odd enterprising individual who will approach you with his goods in his coat or suchlike, another beckoned me into his shop that seemed closed but still had a small opening in the shutters. And it's not surprising they're so secretive: feelings are running high in Nepal and a bus that experienced mechanical problems last night and so was rushing home in the early hours of this morning was set alight by people angry that they were breaking the strike – in fairness the demonstrators made sure everyone was out of the bus first!

So it's all a bit strange. Not dangerous or scary in any way – there may be protests, but if there are, they're nowhere near the tourist areas – it's just very eerie. Add to that the fact that at the usual 6pm time, the electricity has just gone off, and it has been a really rather anticlimactic end to the trip. If things change then I will try to get something done tomorrow before I leave and blog again, but if not then thanks very much for reading over the last 40 days or so, and I hope you've enjoyed reading about my travels – here's to Ireland, Iceland, Ivory Coast, Italy, India, Indonesia, and, err, Iran & Iraq, next year.

Jx

Day 37 - Pokhara, Nepal

2009-12-20T01:34:00.000-08:00

As I was on my way out of the hotel last night I was collared by the manager. On my arrival I had asked him to book a bus back to Kathmandu for Sunday as I fly back to the UK on Monday night; this would be impossible, he explained, the Maoist strikes are to begin on Sunday morning and will last a minimum of three days: my only choices are to get to Kathmandu on Saturday morning or change my flights which could mean me getting back to the UK after Christmas. I think I would be disowned by my family if I had chosen option b, so I reluctantly agreed that I would be up for the 7am journey. I must've been visibly disappointed, as the manager offered me an olive branch; the sun rises over the Himalayas at around 6am every morning – did I want to be taken to the look-out point on top of a local mountain to see the view? I had struggled to get much in the way of Himalayan footage over the last few weeks and so this morning I found myself sat on the back of a motorbike at 5am riding through the deserted streets of Pokhara.

I have always thought motor- biking to be a particularly moronic form of transport: now I can add suicidal to my list of adjectives. As we sped past small fires set on the side of the road and zombie-like people trudging to god knows where, I thought to myself how well I'd done to avoid any serious injury on this trip – thus far. Things didn't get much better when we went off the highway and onto the winding road up the side of the mountain. By the time we nearly ran over an old man (later on when I spoke to the biker about it he laughed heartily and admitted that it was all his fault, I don't think the old man was laughing too much) my hands were fairly glued to the grip-points that I had chosen on the bike.

Anyway, somehow we got there, and the view was stunning. To begin with you can just about see the black outline of the Annapurna range against the slightly-less black sky, but slowly and surely it reveals itself in all its majesty. Firstly a white outline, then a golden shine as the sun finally hits the mountains followed by the familiar silver peaks. The only disappointments were the dozens upon dozens of japanese tourists who were stood behind me, snapping away, and that I couldn't stay until the really spectacular colour changes had fully taken place. We stood on the peak as late as we dared – knowing that I had to be at the bus park by 7.30 – and then flew back down the mountain – this time even more recklessly as my companion looked to ensure that I made the last bus home.

I dis- embarked back at the hotel and my wobbly legs somehow carried me back to the room to pick up my already-packed bag. The bag is getting heavier and heavier as I discard clothes in favour of books and souvenirs, and the “short-cut” from the hotel to the bus park took us over more bumps and potholes then my body could really take – how my back wasn't put out by the rucksack's reaction to the many jolts I have no idea, but somehow we arrived in one piece and with no more than a minute to spare.

I was jostled to the final seat on the bus. There was no annoying French child this time, thank goodness, all I had to put up with was the smell of lager and body odour from the homeless-looking man on my left, the smell of rotten fruit being eaten by a ludicrously-dressed hippy to my right, an indian girl yelling into her mobile phone to my front, and a man repeatedly singing “are you going to Scarborough Fair” to my rear. (Not actually singing it “to my rear” you understand – I think he was just singing to himself).

The journey was long but uneventful and I arrived at the hostel in the late afternoon. It had already been a long day and everything was beginning to close, so I decided to retire to my hotel room. Dinner and premiership football, and it was time for bed. I don't know that I'll be able to do anything tomorrow; some say that the whole country stops for the strikes, but it's my final full day so will blog nonetheless.

Day 36 - Pokhara, Nepal

2009-12-18T08:43:00.000-08:00

Last night I had my first full night's sleep since Hawaii – it's fairly unimportant as far as the trip in concerned, but I just felt that I had to share it. It has been a good 10 days since I crossed any timezones, so maybe I'm finally getting over the jetlag (a couple of days before the 22 hour flight back).

Anyway, after my meeting with the Tibetan lady yesterday, it was a trip to the World Peace Stupa this morning to see if my visit might somehow cause all wars to cease. I ambled down to the lake's edge where the Stupa looms impressively - at the top of a huge hill on the opposite side. The first problem is how to cross the lake, but before I could get to the boats lined up on the shore I was stopped by Michelle, an Irish molecular biologist who quit Ireland to volunteer around India when the economy began to nose-dive. She was also heading up to the site. Did I want to share a boat over? Perfect. And so we paid our 300 Rupees and were paddled over to the opposite jetty.

It was great to have a bit of company on the arduous trek up the mountain (actually it was little more than a hill, but it was a steep hill, ok!?) and after around 45 minutes we reached the top where the impressive white building adorned with a large gold buddha surveys a 360 degree view over the Pokhara Valley and then over to the Himalayas. I don't know what I've done to upset the cloud gods on this journey but they have stubbornly covered the mountains every time I've come to take a shot. Again they were all over the peaks and there was very little footage to be had. Still, I walked around the Stupa a few times, made my wish for world peace and we set off back down the mountain in the opposite direction this time, to find the nearby Devis Falls and the living proof that we're a long way from world peace: the Tibetan Refugee Camp.

The Tibetan Camp (above) was actually a bit more plush than you might imagine; they have been there for quite some time – fleeing their country 50 years ago; after the Chinese invasion – and now many of the people survive by making handicrafts and selling them to tourists. There is also a school there and a temple, which again, I walked around, turning the prayer wheels as I went. Unfortunately you had to walk under a ladder to get to and from the temple; so perhaps all my good luck was cancelled out! The Devis Falls, which are named after a woman called Mrs Davies who was washed away by them a couple of decades ago while she sat in a nearby pool bathing, were a little disappointing – the adverts showed an incredible gush of water, but these were clearly taken in the monsoon season as today there was little more than a trickle.

We were now a good few miles from the hotel area, and under normal circumstances I would have walked; but I had a travelling companion for the day and so before I could say anything , Michelle had jumped on one of the local buses and so I had little choice but to follow. And I'm so glad I did. The tiny vehicle, not much larger than a minibus, bumped and bounced through the streets picking up twice as many people as you'd think it could physically hold with all the tumult you'd expect from subcontinental public transport. Absolutely brilliant experience. So much fun that it was only once I'd disembarked that I noticed my pants were wet through – my bottle of water had sprung a leak in my bag. Drat. And while I was adjusting my trousers I was accosted by the Tibetan Lady who had given me such good stupa advice 24 hours earlier. With little choice but to buy some handicrafts from her, I purchased a Tibetan bracelet made from Yak Bones and headed back to my hotel.

After heading out to watch the cricket following the daily 6pm power cut (some bars have their own generators) I returned back to find the hotel owners enjoying a late-night nepalese whiskey. They asked me to join them; when you get a chance to hang out with cool people like I have today it makes you realise what travelling is all about. Tomorrow I'll have to do much more travelling than I'd hoped, but more of that in the next installment....

Jx

Day 35 - Pokhara, Nepal

2009-12-17T09:13:00.000-08:00

It was me who was annoying the neighbours this morning as my alarm went of at 6am for my bus to Pokhara. Pokhara is the third largest city in Nepal, but is certainly in the top two as far as tourism is concerned – it is the beginning of most Himalayan treks and is situated on the banks of a rather large and beautiful lake.

The bus journey was long and hot and all passengers were united in their annoyance with a French family on the front seats with a trés annoying child. It wasn't so much that the child was hyperactive and loud, but that he was being encouraged to scream by his mother and aunt. Still, such trifles can bring a group together and through the odd rolled-eyeball and raised-eyebrow I got talking to a few fellow-passengers, most notably an Alaskan who spends 3 months every year travelling and has just been mugged in Phnom Penh and an impressively bearded Canadian who has seen no fewer than two UFOs. 'Interesting' folk.

Anyway, it was an eight hour journey so was relatively late when I arrived in Pokhara. As we drove into the city it was just as crazy as Kathmandu had been, in fact it was even more so as the city's stadium was packed with people – a later google showed that this was likely the Maoists again, this time declaring another new autonomous state – and basically provoking the government more and more. There are nationwide strikes due on Monday when I fly out, but they don't really want to affect tourists, so hopefully it will be no problem. Anyway, by the time we arrived in the touristy area by the lake, there was an altogether better vibe: I'm not sure whether its because there is only one main street, as opposed to Kathmandu's maze, or maybe fewer taxis, but everyone seemed much less desperate to get wherever they were going.

One of the main attractions of Pokhara is its proximity to the Himalayas – I'm hoping to get some good shots – so I decided that I would head to the World Peace Stupa, a Buddhist monument on the top of one of the nearby hills, which is supposedly a great look-out point. The trip involves rowing across the lake then trekking up the hill, but when I got to the lake I was accosted by a tibetan lady who wanted me to buy some handicrafts. We got talking, and she advised me against the walk; apparently there was no way I would make it to the top before sundown and I should instead come back in the morning. I thanked her, bought a fairly tatty necklace and instead went for a walk along the lake shore. I will tackle the lake and the hill in the morning.

Day 34 - Kathmandu, Nepal

2009-12-17T07:35:00.000-08:00

I remember my time in Hawaii with great fondness, especially being woken up at 4am by crowing cockerels – at least I did when I was woken at 6am this morning by half an hour of somebody clearing their throat in the adjoining room. It was a display to put most Premiership footballers to shame and when I finally left the room I half expected to find his vocal chords on the floor outside his door. With such a rude awakening I wasn't really in the mood for breakfast, but knew that I should eat so ordered a breakfast burrito. What came was an odd infusion of British, Mexican and Indian cuisine with curried beans and scrambled eggs in a tortilla – it shouldn't really work, and quite frankly it didn't, but I forced it down and headed out into the madness of Kathmandu again.

It was cold. Not uk snow cold (it has only snowed once in Kathmandu in the last 62 years), but cold enough that I decided a brisk walk to the museums was in order. First up was the former royal palace, it's an impressive building beside one of the busiest interchanges in Kathmandu and has only been open for a few months. When it first opened to the public it wasn't quite ready – lots of the rooms were not cordened off - which apparently led to many of the locals entering the former king's bedroom and bouncing on his bed.

From there I went back to Durbar Square where I had spent my first full day in Kathmandu, indeed the guy who showed me around all those days ago collared me almost before I realised where I was. He told me with great zeal that the message I had written in his book last week (complete with a little QI logo) had been a hit with a number of British tourists who knew the show and had subsequently agreed to mini tours with him. I thought he was extremely knowledgeable, so hopefully his other customers felt the same. In Durbar Square is another former palace; it is decked out with many of King Tribhuwan's personal items – for instance his dictionary and his favourite bird-cage complete with his favourite bird, stuffed. The building also has a nine-storied tower which you can climb to get a great view of the city (above).

Next was the National Museum which is a couple of miles south-west of the Square. Feeling confident, I worked out my bearings and set off in that general direction only to be confronted by a huge number of protestors and almost as many riot police. “If you meet riot police on your journey – get the hell out of there, before it gets hairy” - if that's not a travellers' maxim then it should be. The protestors are Maoists who are currently claiming territories in the North of the Country as their own independent states – some of their supporters were attacked and killed last week, so they have organised a number of rallies and strikes. I rallied myself and struck out in the exact opposite direction.

So after something of a diversion, and with the temperature on the rise, I finally arrived at the museum absolutely exhausted. Outside the front of the building was a small shack selling drinks and snacks, so I ordered a coke while a bunch of teenagers used me as sport as well as, I guess, to test out their english. “We like your hair” they shouted without a trace of irony (though I'm sure it was there somewhere), and when I realised I couldn't take the bottle away from the shack and downed it there and then I received a huge ovation – only bettered when the inevitable belch followed. Nothing like bodily functions to span a culture barrier.

The National Museum was fairly interesting, with many many buddhist artifacts, a collection of dolls from around the world and more stamps than you could shake an enormous envelope at. More interesting though was the Nepalese Army Museum over the road that had the country's first rolls royce and a huge amount of information about the Gurkhas. And so, speaking of non-Englishmen who represented Britain, on the way back I managed to find somewhere that was showing the England cricket match – bonus. Can't let the fact I'm in a bar get to me too much though; early start in the morning as I get a bus to Nepal's second city - the resort of Pokhara.

Day 33 - Kathmandu, Nepal

2009-12-16T01:43:00.000-08:00

Leaving Bhutan today. What a shame. As we exit the hotel, Samgay my tour guide and new friend implores me to stay for a while longer. At a minimum of £200 a day it's not really an option, but I promise to return one day. We just about have enough time before my 11am flight to check out the National Museum of Bhutan.

Samgay and Namgay looked a little worse for wear this morning; usually they are waiting for me to get myself together before we set out on a trip, but today it is me who has a little time in the hotel lobby - when they left me at around 10pm last night they were heading back into town, so I wasn't exactly surprised.

We were at the museum just after 9am - the only people there and the curators hadn't even bothered to open up yet. After a couple of minutes stood outside the circular building that overlooks the town of Paro we were finally allowed in, only to be greeted by four screaming monks running up the stairs - apparently they had found a mouse in one of the display rooms.

The museum has a set path that one must take - as most of the items are Buddhist artefacts it's in a strictly clockwise fashion. There are hundreds of Thankas (Buddhist Paintings), statues and urns at every turn (and about half way round a caged mouse) - but sadly time was very tight, towards the end we were fairly running round. Once I'd got back to the car we flew through the Bhutenese roads for me to arrive at the airport just in time for my flight.

The DrukAir 'plane takes off from Paro airport and banks sharply to the left to avoid crashing into a mountain, it then banks sharply to the right to avoid a second, and within 15 minutes anyone sat in a right hand side seat has a fantastic view of the Himalayas. (see above) I arrived back in Kathmandu Airport, and by the time I'd experienced an odd reception of a dancing yak and yeti (and been hasseled by taxi drivers) the serenity of Bhutan seemed a million miles away. Nothing for it but to immerse myself back into the Kathmandu life and so I decided to walk the mile or so through the crazy streets to buy some bus tickets to the city of Pokhara which I intend to visit later in the week. I got to the bus station which is really one of the most tumltuous places I've ever known: but no offices. I asked around and was given a tourist map - turns out the offices are about a mile away from the station, and about a hundred yards from my hotel! Still, good to wander around lost, nothing gives you a better impression of a city.

Tonight I attended a quiz run by the Umbrella Foundation. http://www.umbrellanepal.org/ They do these every week and it pays for their many volunteers to look after orphaned and displaced kids in the country. A good cause and a good quiz (thanks to the fact that me and the Kiwi couple that I joined won it!). Tomorrow I will visit the National Museum of Nepal as well as the Natural History Museum - I wonder if they'll have any mice...

Day 32 - Paro, Bhutan

2009-12-14T10:07:00.000-08:00

The Tigers Nest is, without doubt, one of the highlights of the trip, if not my life.

It begins with pain – the trek is two hours of very very steep paths. I began to feel tight-chested which at first I thought could have been down to the altitude. But then I realised that the highest we were getting was around 11,000 feet – not only that, I was barely a third of the way up. Much more likely that it was down to my lack of fitness. Head down: left foot, right foot, etc etc...

At half way you get a fantastic view of the temple – if you've ever heard of Bhutan you'll have seen it – it's the national symbol, a buiding that balances precariously on the side of a sheer cliff. Tradition says it is held aloft by the hairs of angels. But to be honest, at this stage you're much more impressed by the conveniently (for trekkers, though I'm not sure if it is for the owner's bank balance) positioned café. After a bitter coffee and some dry biscuits, we walked on, finally reaching the temple - my head was light and my legs were heavy - maybe the altitude was having a little effect after all.

There are a number of religious sites at the Tiger's Nest, but the first one we entered was the most special. It was the Tiger's Nest itself – named thanks to the “divine ruler* who arrived into Bhutan from Tibet on the back of a tiger; he left the animal here to live as he entered the country. Today it is a grotto deep in the cliffs where monks go to meditate. The temple opens as normal, but in the corner of the room there is a tiny door: ducking through there takes you to a rickety ladder that then leads to the cave. It's not a simple climb, you have to lodge your body tightly against two walls before clambering down, making sure you don't fall down a fatal-looking chasm. There's then another piece of improvised rock-climbing before you reach the tiger's nest. It's not surprising that Buddhists 1200 years ago found this place sacred – just surprising that they found it at all!

But this is not the end of the adventure – by squeezing through a tiny passage you find yourself looking out into daylight again. A quick hop over a heart-stopping gap and you're finally on a ledge, on a sheer rock face, over 10,000 feet above the forested floor. My guide beckoned me to join him sitting with his legs dangling over the edge and whie my head said that it was fine, my body seemed to be telling me that this was the worst idea I'd ever come up with. I crouched down behind a large, somewhat precarious, rock and enjoyed the view without being an itchy-bum away from a 3000 meter drop. My cowardice was eased by the assurance from Samgay that anyone who makes it this far has all his sins forgiven - considering you normally need to walk all the way around a stupa for a single sin to be quashed; this heart-thumping adventure was probaby worth the effort.

After seeing another three temples which were great in their own right, but somewhat overshadowed by the Tiger's Nest, we began our descent. As well as the steep, steep paths, there are 800 steps on the route and so when I reached the bottom my legs were like jelly. - though my head was like a 5-year-old full of jelly and ice cream. It was the one morning of this whole trip that I'll never forget.

A quick lunch before we drove out to a fortress razed by the Tibetans 400 years ago. They're impressive ruins, but the main reason for this walk was to see the country's highest peak which is visible from here – like a white-finned shark rising over the ocean of the Bhutanese Himalayas. By the time I got back to the hotel at 4pm, I had done an awful lot of walking, and needed a lie down.

I leave Bhutan tomorrow, but hopefully not before seeing the National Museum. I will be very very sad to leave the country – maybe I'll be back one day soon. Apart from anything else, the Yeti has proved elusive.

Day 31 - Paro, Bhutan

2009-12-14T09:38:00.001-08:00

Buddhist temples in Bhutan are, without exception, buildings of great beauty, colour and significance. The only problem is that there are so many – the line goes that there are more temples than houses and more gods than people – that you can become a little bit desensitized. This morning it was a 30 minute trek to the Khamsum Yulley Namgyal which is notable for its incredible view of the Pokhara valley (above) as well as being built by Her Majesty the Queen Mother really rather recently. The hike took me over the rushing river and through the fallow rice fields to a four-story temple that, although modern, would not look out of place in a 17th century fortress. In fact, I sometimes wonder if this is one real problem with the religion – all of the religious iconography is identical, and Buddhist symbols are pretty much all you see, from temples to restaurants. I wonder if, because great artists are appropriated by the religious leaders, this has stifled centuries of art in the region.

Anyway. After a long walk it was time for a long drive. We headed on the 100 mile drive to Paro which, when your average speed is usually around 30 km/hr, is something of a journey. Two sights were notable: a royal cavalcade including one of the the fourth king's wives (he married four sisters – Bhutanese men are allowed to marry multiple women, so long as they can afford them – they can have up to 3 marriage licenses, but each license can carry as many female names as you like) and a leopard cub that bounced across the road and up a siding before I could even find my camera in my bag, let alone get it out.

When we arrived in Paro, it was late afternoon. Samgay, apologising that the museum was closed, took me to see an archery competition. As I mentioned a few days ago, archery is the national sport of Bhutan: it has failed to dominate Olympic medals thanks only to the country's small population and the fact that Bhutanese archery takes place over distances three times longer than international competition. Like the darts, the game takes place between two teams, each player having two arrows. The teams take it in turns to fire all of their arrows at the opposing team's target (which is surprisingly small, considering the distance) while their opponents yell insults. The arrows fly with awesome speed, but thankfully my vantage point – while very close to the target – was behind a wooden wall.

And so it was back to my hotel. It had been a busy few days so I took my dinner (incidentally, Bhutanese food, with the exception of their chili cheese, is pretty awful) in my room and prepared for tomorrow – a visit to the world famous Bhutanese Tiger's Nest.

Day 31 - Punakha, Bhutan

2009-12-14T08:36:00.000-08:00

One of Bhutan's national dishes – probably the favourite of most of the male population at least – is chili cheese. It's basically whole cooked chilis in a cheesy sauce, and boy is it hot. The Bhutanese feel that any dish without a huge splash of chili is virtually tasteless, regardless of other ingredients, but I'm sorry to say my stomach does not agree with their policy. I had something of an uncomfortable night and so was pretty tired as we set off this morning.

I had spent almost all of my local currency yesterday on the golf course and there are no ATMs in Bhutan that accept international cards, but thanks to my tour operators in the UK, I was able to wire some cash over. It was a bit of a crisis at one stage, but after a quick trip to the company's local offices, I finally had some cash... though in actual fact, by the time I'd visited a couple of book stores and the country's most famous paper-making factory I was already looking with concern into my wallet!!

So after a little souvenir hunting, we set off on the drive to the town of Punakha (pronounced poo-knacker) which was the former capital of Bhutan and is home to many important buildings. On the way we stopped at a high mountain pass, where one can see a view of the Bhutanese Himalayas – at least that's what I was told, when we arrived all we could see was mist. Still, we will be back tomorrow, so fingers crossed for a view.

All Bhutanese states have their own fortress where the monks live and where local government is run. The Punakha fortress is the oldest and is generally regarded as the most beautiful in the counrty. The story goes that its architect dreamt the design of the building when his body was transported to heaven. There is something heavenly about the fortress for sure – it is at the meeting of two of the bluest rivers you have ever seen, and, considering it was built in the 17th century, it is an awesome feat of architecture.

From the fortress, we then trekked to a temple dedicated to Lama Kunley, the divine madman. He is a God of fertility amongst Buddhists., so most houses in the area have their outer walls adorned with enormous phallic decorations – very odd to western eyes!! I was approached by a young monk with a 12 inch long clay phallus which thankfully he just wanted to bless me with. Being in a foreign country, it is difficult to deal with their religious customs – on one hand, the locals often want to include you in their various blessings, but on the other you want to be respectful and not merely pay lip-service to their customs. Anyway, I accepted the phallus (so to speak) and the holy water blessings before we set off to another fortress – this one on top of a huge cliff which is supposed to look like a sleeping elephant, though I couldn't really see it. It was then back to my hotel: Samgay and Namgay, my guides, are huge fans of English football, so are really looking forward to tonight's matches – I've promised Samgay that I will send him some Chelsea memorabilia when I get back; he wasn't impressed by my offer of a Tranmere Rovers shirt.

Lots more driving tomorrow, as we try to fit as much of Bhutan in as possible in my 6 days in the Himalayan kingdom.

Jx

Day 30 - Thimphu, Bhutan.

2009-12-11T08:58:00.000-08:00

Today I played golf and snooker and watched the darts and a movie. But first I was taken to the hills around Thimphu for a view of the city.

Sadly it was fairly hazy this morning - apparently thanks to the sub-zero temperatures at night and the fairly warm daytime - it meant that there wasn't really much photography to be had, so instead I went for a walk in the hill, talking to my guide. He told me about the traditional courtship of night-hunting where a perspective couple would agree to meet up at the dead of night under the lame excuse of taking the girl's livestock for a walk in the woods. We also managed to photograph the Takin - it's an odd creature - the story goes that Drukpa Kunley, Bhutan's "Divine Madman" was once forced to perform a miracle. He asked to be brought a cooked cow and goat, ate them, and then began to reassemble the bones, putting the goat's head on the cow's skeleton. Then he sent it running on its way and it became the takin. There are many more (altogether less savoury) stories about Kunley - maybe I'll save them for another day - or I guess you could google them.

Anyway, the day before, I'd pointed out the golf course beside Thimphu's fortress, and so my guides organised a game. As a keen golfer it was a moment to remember, hacking around in the stunning Thimphu Valley> Though actually, once I'd got used to the odd bounces and fast "greens" (actually mostly covered in sand) I shot a decent score, so was happy.

From the golf course, we headed via the national library (home to the world's largest book - a tour guide to Bhutan) to the national stadium. Bhutan has three main sports: soccer, archery and (what was happening today) darts. This is no British darts though - the arrows are much more hefty, the tagets are a good 50 feet away, and it's a team game. In fact, the opposing team dances around the target trying to put you off as you throw. I am told that in inter-village matches, the girls from your opposing faction will yell at you as you throw: shouting that you have a big nose, or big ears, or will never find a wife. Anything to put you off. This is serious work, but very enjoyable for the spectator.

My driver, Namgay, had disappeared, so my guide Sangay and I walked a little while to a car-park style area to wait for him. It turned out that they were filming a Bhutanese movie there. There were a group of around half a dozen girls & half a dozen boys dancing in a bhangra style to some local music while many of the townsfolk gathered round in interest. We watched for a while while waiting for our lift, but it was nowhere to be seen. Thankfully Sangay knew one of the movie actors who gave us a lift back to where we'd last seen Namgay, and sure enough, there he was.

While I was burning up the golf course Sangay was bragging about his snooker skills. Well, I couldn't let this pass, so we agreed to head over to one of Bhutan's snooker halls for a match before they left for the day. I have to say that I think they let me win, but win I did, and so I finished the day not only entranced by the beauty of Bhutan, but also feeling like I was unbeatable at any sport. ^_^

Day 29 - Thimphu, Bhutan.

2009-12-10T04:19:00.000-08:00

It's almost impossible to enter the Kingdom of Bhutan unless you're on an official tour, and when on the tour you need to spend a minimum amount of money per day. So it's expensive. That said, it's somewhere that I've wanted to visit for a long time and how often am I going to be in the area? The country is also in the H-for-Himalayas and eschews Gross National Product in favour of it's own measurement of "Gross National Happiness" so I felt it was perfect for H-research and made the booking; my last act before leaving on my trip. I'm so glad that I did.

I printed out my visa and flight ticket this morning at my Kathmandu hostel. The flight was to leave at 1:50pm so I had plenty of time for a leisurely breakfast and to buy some currency. In the end, I took a little too long and was rushing to get to the airport, arriving at around midday only to see a very empty Druk-Air desk (Druk Air is the national airline of Bhutan, it gets it's name from the Bhutanese for "dragon"). Erm. I looked at the printout again - the flight leaves at 12:45?? What?? They'd changed the time of the flight and not told me. And now the check-in had closed. "Flipping Heck," I didn't say, as I searched desperately for someone to help. In the end the staff were remarkably helpful, two workers from another airline ran off somewhere to find a Druk Air official, who rushed me through to the departure gate. I was there just in the nick of time.

The departure gate was busier than I had thought, but I joined the queue. Only to notice that after a few seconds, my fellow passengers were being ushered away from the gate. The 'plane wasn't ready was the mutter of the line, so I sat back down. Thinking that things were getting a bit tight I spoke to a member of staff who looked at me horrified; the plane had already boarded and the other passengers were for the next flight to Mumbai. Again, I didn't say "flipping heck" and again I was helped by some brilliant staff members who rushed me to my seat. I was finally on the 'plane. Phew.

The 'plane sat on the tarmac for a good 25 minutes before taking off. The pilot blamed poor visibility, but I fancied that it was likely down to my useless timekeeping, but it was well worth the wait. The flight skirted the Himalayan range so that we could see Everest and many other famous mountains - truly breathtaking. The flight then began its descent after only half an hour, swooping down to the right into a valley to Paro. It was an enormously memorable flight. And so I was in Bhutan.

The first thing that I did once I'd cleared passport control was to smack my head into the extremely low door of the toilet in the airport. I was later told that in Bhutanese Buddhist temples the doors are often low to stop skeletons or other undead creatures from entering (apparently they can't bend down) - I'm not sure that the same logic applies to the restrooms though.

I collected my rucksack and met my guides for the next few days, Sangay and Nangay who drove me the 40 miles or so from Paro airport to the Bhutan capital of Thimphu. The roads were good, the drive was brilliantly calm (after the madness of Kathmandu) and the entire country just felt conducive to pure relaxation. Thimphu itself is something like Andorra la Vella, or perhaps a Swiss Village: it is in a valley with the houses build up the mountains and with a beautifully clear river running through the centre.

I checked into my hotel (the second-poshest of the entire trip so far) and was then taken to one of the main temples of the capital. It is in part the office of the King of Bhutan and in part the home of Thimphu's buddhist monks. The complex is enormous and enormously impressive. Sangay talked me through the various tenets of Bhutan society and the intricacies of Buddhist life - I learned a lot - and this was only the first couple of hours in the country.

I have included three pictures: firstly one of the temples inside the Thimphu fortress, secondly from the aeroplane window (Everest is there somewhere but really it is the range as a whole that is particularly impressive) and finally the site of the meeting of the Paro & Thimphu rivers. Now it seems I may be going to a karaoke bar. Very random indeed.

Jx

Day 28 - Kathmandu, Nepal

2009-12-09T10:16:00.001-08:00

Feeling a little better, and a more than a little braver, I went for the Nepali breakfast this morning. A bowl of fruit followed by a spicy pea and potato curry along with a couple of pocket-style pancakes to dip into the sauce. You might think that curry for breakfast isn't ideal, but actually it really hit the spot, so I was full of beans by mid morning when I decided to approach the hotel's tourism dask to see what they could offer me for the day. They suggested that I take one of the taxis that were sitting outside the hostel and hire him for the day. At 2000 rupees (around £16), it seemed like a decent idea, but I was warned that they were not allowed to act as guides. It seems that they refuse to do so in case they might take work away from the guides themselves, but what I didn't realise was that this meant my driver would be almost completely silent. Maybe he was just the quiet type.

Anyway, the first drop-off was the monkey temple at Swayambhunath. I paid my entry fee and wandered into the area where there are dozens of temples, all in current use by local Buddhist. And hundreds of monkeys. And dozens of dogs. And thousands of pigeons. I had a wander around, taking some photos and decided to take some videos of the monkeys using the temples as a playground. Damn. I hadn't charged the video camera, and only had 7 minutes of batttery left. I kept shooting, a minute at a time, but they just wouldn't give me the shot I needed, until the very last minute of juice. It was almost as if they knew it was my last chance. A couple of minutes later I heard a scream from behind me; turning quickly, I just about caught sight of a monkey stealing a bag from a couple of female tourists. It took a couple of stewards with long sticks and a rather agile man climbing a good 10 feet up the temple to retrieve (most of) their possessions.

I found a quiet spot and decided to do a little reading. While I'm traveling around, I am reading plenty of books, this one was perhaps more mainstream than usual, being Michael Palin's book on the Himalayas. I'm a pretty quick reader (as QI elves have to be) and was concentrating hard when I sensed the presence of somebody beside me. Looking up, the old man to my left smiled and bowed. I smiled back. It turned out he was called Isu, and he was very interested in my book. He asked me to read to him. Err, Ok, no harm in that, I guess, so I began to read aloud. All was going fine until I uttered the sentence “gray marble statue” which Isu seemed to take delight in. He began to shout each syllable in a gruff, almost angry voice. This was strange. Nonetheless, I continued to read, and got a couple of paragraphs down the page before Isu put his head on my shoulder. I was now totally freaked out. I smiled, said goodbye, and left. Sharpish.

Next stop was Patan, the next city to Kathmandu, and known as the city of fine arts. I was shown around the temples by a guide who pointed out the temple of 9,999 buddhas and the temple where huge bull sacrifices take place – the door is adorned with the animals' intestines. Lovely.

Next was another monkey temple at Pashupatinath. This one was much quieter than the last. While there, I saw the cremation of many of the area's dead which was something of a sight – pyres set up at the side of the river – and also the rather surprising sport of local teenagers who taunted the holy monkeys by chasing them with sticks and stoning them with large rocks. With time running out, I got to one final site: Boudhanath. The story behind this temple is that an old lady asked the Nepali King for land to worship Buddha; he agreed saying that she could have as much land as she could cover with a buffalo skin – but being a wily old lady, she cut it into really thin strips and created a circle with a huge circumference. Today the circle is filled with a great big temple decorated with a huge pair of eyes. The idea at this, and other Buddhist “stupa” sites, is that you walk all the way around the monument spinning the prayer wheels as you go. By doing this, you can have one sin expunged. As such, the temple is home to the odd sight of many hundred people walking around in a huge circle – think about a giant roller-disco without the rolling or the disco and you're not far off.

So I'd seen the most important sights of Kathmandu, and all in one day. Quite exhausting really, but there was not a second to lose, what with me leaving to Bhutan in the morning. I'm unsure how much connectivity I will have for the next week, so please bear with me on the blog front.

Jx

Day 27 - Kathmandu, Nepal

2009-12-09T05:59:00.000-08:00

How different Kathmandu looks in the cold light of day. Don't get me wrong, it's still claustrophobic and a little bit intimidating, but the city is now alive with honking cars, cows in the road and stall after stall selling any Buddhist or Hindu items you could ever possibly need.

The breakfast choice was English-style fayre – sausage, eggs and toast - or a "nepali breakfast.” After my recent mild illness I decided to save the Nepali meal for another day and chomped down on some familiar grub.

Unsure of my bearings, I checked with the hotel how much it would cost to get to the National Museum of Nepal. 150 Rupees. £1.50. Perfect. So I waited for the first taxi driver to accost me and asked for the museum. Driving in Kathmandu is a law unto itself; it's even more crazy than in Santo Domingo. I would say that the general standard of driving is about the same, but the fact that Nepalis share the (much thinner) roads with rickshaws, (many many) motorbikes, pedestrians and livestock makes the journey one not for the light-hearted. What was worse about this journey was that once I had been dropped off, and the taxi sped away, I realised that he had dropped me at the wrong museum, and worse still, this museum was closed on Tuedays. *fume*

Ah well. The weather was bright, and I had a tourist map, so I decided to join the throng of pedestrians and walk to the main Durbar Square - it was quite a trek, but it gave me chance to enjoy the atmosphere of the city a little more. The Square is home to the palaces of the former kings of Nepal, as well as a number of temples and, of course, the museum. As I was catching my breath, I was accosted by a “guide” - who persuaded me to part with some of my cash for a tour of the area. As it happens he was great, explaining the significance of the temples, the history of the square and showing me where the hippies used to hang out as well as a glimpse of the living goddess and the huge gurning mask of Swet Bhairadya which once a year spits out a steady stream of rice wine enthusiastically fought-over by the locals.

Having had my fill of information, I decided to head back to my hostel – saving the museum for another day. I began to walk in the general direction of home, but soon realised that I had absolutely no clue where I was going. It took a good 30 minutes of aimless wandering before I decided to swallow my pride and agreed to allow one of the many rickshaws to take me home. The rickshaws are powered by young lads on bicycles, but it turned out that the hostel was up a fairly long (if not too steep) hill. The youngster was clearly beginning to struggle, and I felt like offering to have a go on the pedals when he got out and started to push. How embarrassing. I just felt like hiding my head in shame as this poor guy huffed and puffed to get me up to the top of the hill. I gave him a hefty tip anyway, and headed back to my room to sort out a bit of admin.

After sorting my receipts and a late lunch, I decided to investigate the hostel's immediate vicinity. The sun was getting low in the sky, and it seemed that this was the signal for the city's drug pushers to come out. These are not your typical inner-city drug dealers, you understand, just people who were trying to sell maps and jewelery a few hours earlier, but now saw more of a market for marijuana. They are brazen as well, quite happy to ask you within a couple of yards of a police officer with a rather large gun. Apparently the state turn a blind eye to personal smoking – which was one of the reasons for the influx of hippies in the 60s and 70s – but if you're reading this and don't know me, then you wont know that it's not really my scene: I politely declined, as I did to the guy who approached seconds later trying to sell a rather large knife.

As I was walking back to the hostel, I noticed that one of the bars was holding a charity pub quiz. What a treat – this is much more my scene! A chance to pit my wits against the brains of Nepal. In fact, I didn't even have to wait for the quiz to start: as I walked along the road a teenager walked alongside me asking where I was from. “England” I replied. “England, capital London” was the fairly standard response, but as we continued to talk, he gave the audacious claim that he knew every single capital city in the world. Well. So do I. So we had a capital-city-off in the middle of the street with honking cars passing perilously close on either side. “Belgium” I asked, not wishing to embarrass the lad: “Brussels. Guatemala” he retorted: “Guatemala City. Canada:” “Ottawa. Cambodia”- Damn, he definitely knew the easy ones. I tried him with Laos and Swaziland which he answered correctly while gesturing to a couple of young beggar children to join him. I was impressed, but could see that I was about to be tapped for money. It sounds harsh, but I made my excuses and left; sadly you just cannot give cash to kids on the street, it encourages them to beg and keeps them out of school. Moreover, they don't keep the money, it invariably goes straight to an adult nearby who runs a gang of street-kids. It's a shame, because I reckon he'd earned a couple of rupees.

I made it to the quiz and joined a team of volunteers from a local children's charity and we came second. Hmmmm. My team-mates claimed that the team who had won “wrote the questions” but it was still a disappointment. I also got a question about the number of hearts that an octopus has incorrect, which is embarrassing as I'm pretty sure it has been on QI. Anyway, we won 2000 rupees which we donated back to the charity and a good night was had by all.

Tomorrow, all being well, I will see more of the town, but for the time being it's goodnight from Kathmandu.

Jx

Day 26 - Kathmandu, Nepal

2009-12-08T11:10:00.000-08:00

My greatest shame on this trip has been my frequenting of numerous Starbucks, McDonald's-es and Burger Kings. It's not that I particularly like this kind of food (except for the coffee at Starbucks) but sometimes when you're looking for somewhere to get food or drink in an unfamiliar town - especially when you're on your own and so not looking for a full restaurant meal - the familiar brands tend to catch your eye. Perhaps more important is the fact that these places generally have free wi-fi. Anyway, enough attempts to justify myself, what I'm trying to say is that there was little surprise this morning when I headed straight for a coffee at Seattle's finest before my visit to the History Museum of Hong Kong.

The weather in Hong Kong had been glorious for the last few days, but had turned by this morning. It was very overcast, and perhaps not t-shirt weather, but I'm from the north so there was no turning back for a coat - a stubborn decision regretted 15 minutes later as the heavens opened! Maybe it was my damp, slightly bedraggled, look, but the museum was not nearly as helpful as it had been a few days earlier: my supposed meeting with the curators turned out to be a case of being left in the resource library along with an administrator who had little idea about anything. However, before he kicked me out so he could go for his lunch, I did get to meet one of the managers who gave me a few pointers on their intranet and showed me their image library, so maybe it wasn't such a waste of time after all.

I left the museum and took the bus to the airport to check-in for my 6 hour flight to Kathmandu (for the final leg of my trip – H-for-Himalayas). The plane, for some reason, stopped in Bangladesh on the way. As far as I was concerned we weren't supposed to be in Dhaka, but actually I felt it was a bit of a shame that I didn't have time to get out and look around as within a couple of hours we were back in the air and on the way to Nepal.

I arrived in the airport and took a taxi to my hostel. The arrival lounge was a little bit crazy again with many many taxi-drivers, tour guides and hotel owners looking to capture a tourist, but it was an officially sanctioned cab that took me through the streets to my hostel. Kathmandu gives the impression of a very poor city: you can see many kids living on the streets and untreated piles of rubbish, but it is also a vibrant capital with many people driving, cycling or walking with a purpose – even at midnight, which was the time that I arrived.

I dumped my rucksack and decided to go for a quick walk around the hotel: it was rather intimidating (as it often is, no matter which city you arrive in) with the tight roads, the hawkers on the street and the lack of streetlights (it was the early hours of the morning after all). There's one thing for sure: there won't be many Starbucks, McDonalds or Burger King escapes for the next couple of weeks!

Jx

Day 25 - Hong Kong, China

2009-12-06T08:34:00.000-08:00

Today I decided to take a day off from work. I've been a little under the weather recently, so thought I needed a bit of a break. Still, I'm in Hong Kong, so I had to do something; so my plan was to try to catch some of the East Asian Games that are currently taking part in the city.

I attempted to have a lie-in but sadly I don't think 5am counts as such, so I was out of the hostel nice and early. Yesterday I was stopped on no fewer than five occasions by well-dressed men clearly trying to sell me something - I'm fairly well versed in dealing with hawkers now, so just walked on - but my curiosity was piqued, and so, determined to find out what it was they were trying to sell (I was guessing a haircut) I traced my footsteps from the previous day. It turns out they were all tailors trying to sell me a suit. Either they thought I was someone who regulary wears suits, or they thought I drastically needed a change of clothes (I kinda hope it was the latter). I politely declined anyway, and it was still nice and early when I arrived at the Kowloon Park to attempt to watch the swimming and diving.

The volunteer who greeted me barely spoke better English than I spoke Cantonese, but I soon realised that there were no tickets available for the day. I asked if there were any other events nearby and he sent me in the direction of the cricket. A nice bit of Twenty/20 sounded good, so I made my way to the stadium only to find that he'd mistaken the English word "Cricket" for "Hockey" - and even the hockey was sold out. Ho hum. Back to the drawing board.

After talking to a much more useful volunteer at the hockey venue, I found out that it was a music store that dealt with the event's tickets, and so, with headphones in ears, I lolloped over to the shop. I sometimes wonder if people notice the change in my gait when the theme to Garden Force comes up on my ipod.

There were tickets to the evening's football match between South Korea and China available and so I snapped them up; the game was great. 3-0 to the Koreans. While it may sound quite one-sided, it was far from it, and the atmosphere was great with thousands of Chinese fans outnumbering the Koreans by, I would guess, 200/1. Still, at the final whistle it was the few dozen fans from the peninsula who were making all the noise.

So it's my final day in Hong Kong tomorrow - over all too soon - though I don't really feel that I've missed out on too much. Fly to Kathmandu in the evening for the final leg of my tour - H for Himalayas.

Jx

Day 24 - Hong Kong, China

2009-12-05T17:30:00.000-08:00

Hong Kong is an incredible contrast to Hawaii. Gone is the laid back atmosphere, the clean air and the empty beaches, and in their place are throngs of people, traffic everywhere and consumerism at every corner.

I am staying in Mong Kok. I didn't just choose the area because of it's funny sounding name; it was mostly thanks to the Guinness Book of Records claim that it is the most densely populated place in the world. And boy, is it busy - there are blocks of flats everywhere and where there aren't flats there are honking cars and neon signs aplenty.

With only three days in Hong Kong, I was determined to make the most of today, so decided to aim for the central and museum districts. But most important things first, I grabbed a coffee and headed for the nearest park. The park was extremely busy for so early in the morning, and it soon became clear why. The East Asian Games (a kind of mini Olympics) are taking place in Hong Kong from today for the next week - and so the park (which is home to the city's largest swimming pool) was all decked out for the event. Tomorrow I think I will try to catch some of the action.

Next it was to the History Museum of Hong Kong. It's great. If you're ever in town, you must go. Full of interesting facts and very very visual; they've clearly decided to make the place as spectacular to the eye as possible. The story of Hong Kong goes right from the formation of the area's rocks to consumerism of the 1980s and 90s, and doesn't miss a trick. You end up leaving believing that there could be nothing else to know about the city. Before I left I spoke to one of the managers, and will hopefully return on Monday to speak with some of the curators.

I then walked down to Hong Kong harbour to take some footage (it was very Hazy thanks to the pollution and lack of wind) and then took the ferry over to the central district to take the funicuar railway to Victoria's peak to see the supposedly incredible views over the city. After the walk up Diamond Head in Honolulu, I must say this was a little bit of a disappointment. Not due to the views, which were stunning, but because when you reach the top it is basically just a huge shopping mall. The locals have seen the popularity of the peak and so have exploited it to its full extent. Maybe I should have expected it - this is Hong Kong after all.

A trip to the small horse-racing museum at Happy Valley followed before I got back to the hostel. Tonight I am meeting a friend of a friend who has lived in the city for years; hopefully to gain some idea of how to spend my final two days.

Jx

Day 23 - Travelling

2009-12-04T06:33:00.000-08:00

Very little to report today, it was basically just an 18 hour journey. The only event of note was first thing this morning when I somehow missed the turning for the airport and found myself on the road to the Pearl Harbour naval base. Not the museum, the actual base. With no way out, I had to come clean to security that I was lost, and was given an armoured guard back onto the motorway.

I have arrived in Hong Kong now; will get some sleep and report on the city in the morning.

Jx

Day 22 - Oahu, USA

2009-12-04T06:29:00.001-08:00

Today was museum day for me, on the island of Oahu. So I was up early and drove to the North of the Island for my first stop: the Dole Pineapple Plantation. The plantation was a bit of a disappointment to be honest, it was basically a garden that didn't come close to yesterday's botanical trip and field after field of pineapples (spot the pineapple, above). I took a couple of pictures and then went to the main attraction – the world's largest maze (as confirmed by the Guinness Book of Records, apparently). 20 minutes and 33 seconds later and I'd completed the course; very hot and quite a few holes in walls that frustrated maze-ors had clearly made; but really good fun.

The next place to visit was the largest museum on the Island, The Bishop Museum, which serves as the state of Hawaii's national museum. I managed to blag my way into the archives and met a fascinating guy – typical museum curator – who talked at length about some of the treasures of the museum. They included writings of early Hawaiian kings, original drawings from Captain Cook's voyages, and beautiful pa'u cloaks made from up to a million birds' feathers. The feathers were extremely rare - from a bird that has now died out – but it wasn't hunted to extinction, the Hawaiians would carefully catch the bird, pluck a couple of feathers and then let it go. It sadly succumbed a number of years ago due to loss of habitat.

I left Bishop Museum to find the third of my triumvirate, the Lucoral Museum in Waikiki, a small establishment that specialises in gemstones of all kinds. They have the world's largest sculpted piece of ruby quartz as well as many fossils. One family earlier in the year were walking through the museum and said: “we have loads of these in our back yard in Oklahoma” - sure enough, within a few weeks a box had arrived at the museum full of excellent fossil examples. It now has pride of place in its own cabinet.

So with much learned, I headed back to my hotel to write some postcards, and then an early night. It's a long long journey to Hong Kong in the morning – must get some beauty sleep.

Jx

Day 21 - Kaua'i, USA

2009-12-04T05:58:00.000-08:00

My final day in Kaua'i, and I was lucky enough again to have Barbara and David as my personal guides for one last time.

Today it was to the Botanical Gardens (on what is known as the Garden Island) one of only five in the USA. Hawaii is known as the world centre for endangered species; this is in some part down to human invasions of habitat, but in the main thanks to the introduction of non-native species that tend to be much more hardy than their delicate Island counterparts, and out-compete them to extinction. The first thing I encountered in the gardens when I arrived was the head gardener removing two very rare specimens that had succumbed to disease. Very sad.

I was shown the tasteless mint and the brambleless raspberries, as mentioned the other day, as well as stinging nettles who no longer need their stings. There was also a project sponsored by Bette Midler (which helps in some way to finance the much under-budgeted Botanical Garden) a Hibiscus Clayii which was sent to Kew Gardens 100 years ago, went extinct on the island and whose descendent was subsequently sent back from England, and the vinblastine plant that is used to treat childhood leukemia.

Following the tour of the nursery, there was enough time for a walk around the private gardens, (above), all the way to the beach, and for a look at the o'o'pu fish that have suckers on their bellies that they use to climb up waterfalls, before we were back for lunch – with some delicious coffee as grown at David's coffee plantation. It was then, with much sadness, that I had to say goodbye to my guides and head back towards the airport.

I had an hour or so to kill before the flight, and so looked into the Museum of Kaua'i, which was an unexpected treat, containing at some real nuggets of information that may well be useful for the show. It's a bit unsavoury, but I never knew about the Ni'aupi'o system of ancient Hawaii where family members committed incest to preserve their royal genes. The result of these nuptials obviously were often very sick or stillborn, but if a child was healthy it became incredibly holy, so much so that everyone had to bow down in their presence. This became such a problem that they would only travel during the night, when no-one could see them. How bizarre.

Anyway, from there it was back to the airport for the 30 minute flight back to Oahu, and for my final day in Hawaii, back in Waikiki.

Day 20 - Kaua'i, USA

2009-12-01T00:00:00.001-08:00

There are thousands and thousands of feral chickens on Kaua'i. They have no natural predators. The story goes that the only crate of mongooses to land on the island was dropped into the ocean after the unloading sailor was bitten on the finger. (as an aside, if mongooses actually *did* get on the island they could be an ecological nightmare; once someone thought they spotted one and the government paid an expert for three years to capture it - three years later the position was stopped, no mongoose had been found). The chickens though, they certainly are conspicuous; they are loud, especially, it seems, at six in the morning...

The island has only one main road, it skirts the coast of the island but only gets as far as the giant cliffs on the north side, so one cannot drive all the way round. Yesterday I drove clockwise to the end of the road, and today it was my plan to drive anti-clockwise to the other dead-end, taking in the sights as I drove.

The first stop was the Kilauea lighthouse, the most northerly part of the Hawaiian island chain. It is famous for having the largest lens of its kind in the world (with the brightness of 2.5 million candles), for its many nesting birds (frigates and boobies especially) and for its position alongside a refuge for humpback whales. It is the very start of whale season at the moment, they're just beginning to arrive. Whales don't feed in Hawaiian waters, instead relying on blubber stored in the North Pacific: they are here to breed and calf. Did I see one? Well, I saw a dark shadow and a large splash, and the group beside me certainly thought it was a whale - if I'm honest, I think it may have been a large wave.

So I continued the drive and stopped at a number of beaches; these northern areas are where the TV series "Lost" is filmed. Having not seen it much, I couldn't recognise specific places from the show, but I certainly could see how the north of Kauai could be used to portray a desert island. I continued to the very end of the highway, at which there is a trailhead leading to the Island's most inaccessible areas, and got a good mile or so up the steep steep trail before I decided it was time to turn back. I certainly got some decent pictures, despite the trade winds battering the cliffs.

So all in all it was a fairly successful day, certainly as far as photography was concerned. Tomorrow I'll hopefully be learning again, as I will be shown around the Botanical Gardens by one of the Island's experts. It's around 11pm here and thankfully there are no crowing chickens; they have evidently been scared away by the inexplicable late-night roadworks.

Jx

Day 19 - Kaua'i, USA

2009-11-30T00:24:00.000-08:00

My flight was at 9am this morning, from the Island of Oahu to the nearby Kaua'i.

Kaua'i is known as the "Garden Island" and as the 'plane landed, it was clear why. As you swoop towards the airport you get a great view of Wai'ale'ale, the mountain that is the wettest place on Earth. (Even wetter than Manchester).

By lunchtime I had arrived at the home of David and Barbara, who were my contacts on the Island - they were the most interesting people, the most knowledgable guides and the most congenial hosts that I could possibly hope for. They took me up to the top of Kaua'i's canyon region to take some incredible shots, told me the history of Koolau the Leper who ran away to a valley with his family and was shot-at with cannons by the authorities, and told me dozens of amazing QI facts about the Island - for instance, did you know Kaua'i mint doesn't taste of mint because it' never had to defend itself from bugs with its taste? for the same reason, Kaua'i raspberries do not have thorns. Fascinating.

As we drove back down the mountain, we all spotted a rainbow in the "Pacific Grand Canyon" (above). It was a wonderful sight to which the photo does no justice. David then took me to a great beach for a pacific sunset shot, and Barbara kindly made me some delicious mahi-mahi fish, and it was one of the best days of the trip so far.

Jx

Day 18 - Oahu, USA

2009-11-29T23:28:00.000-08:00

Iwas expecting to wake up at 4am this morning feeling wide awake due to the jetlag. As it turned out, I was awoken by my alarm at 9 and felt terrible. But there was no time for a snooze-button marathon, as I only have two full days on Oahu, and today was going to be a photo day.

I was straight out of the hotel and up to the nearby Diamond Head; it's a volcanic crater close to Waikiki called the "most photographed crater in the world" by the travel leaflets that I picked up from the airports. Its local name is Laeahi, meaning "brow of the tuna," but if this was down to its resemblence to the fish, as the leaflets claimed, then I couldn't see it. The walk is
only 0.7 miles but is straight up - a feat of American engineering at the time that includes switchbacks, tunnels and stairs to a perfect view of Honolulu. The only downside is the number of tourists; at times you're walking in single-file with no view but the behind of the person ahead of you. I created a game where the winner was the one who overtook most other tourists on the way to the top. I was the unmitigated winner (though no-one else knew that they were playing).

The sun was hot and the climb steep, so a quick change of clothing and a shower was required before I was in the car and off to my next lookout point on the Pali Highway. I detoured past the hospital where Barack Obama was born, and drove up to Pali meaning "the cliffs" in Hawaiian. The route used to be the only one from Honolulu to the North of the Island: before the highway was built it was a precarious pass over the mountains used by local tradesmen but feared by foreigners. Today, it's an easy-to-reach lookout point that is so windy that on one occasion, when a man attempted to commit suicide from the cliff he was blown back against the cliff again and again. He was alive (though pretty battered) by the time he reached the bottom.

If the first two treks were thanks to feats of engineering; my final trek (top) was through mud, rivers and generally rough terrain, past incredible rainforest views, to a picture-perfect waterfall. The walk was hard and time was getting on; after a good half-hour of walking I was passed by a group coming back - their guide warned me that it would soon be getting dark. I didn't exactly fancy being stuck in the rainforest after dark; but pushed on.

The trail was indistinct at times, but thankfully someone had kindly tied pink ribbons to the odd tree where the trail split. I assumed they were from a kind soul - I guess I could've been walking into an ambush from a gay Hawaiian guerilla group - but no, eventually I found the waterfall. I took the shot, and had a little dip in the pool below the falls (you couldn't call it a 'swim' - I was not dressed for it - and unlike Hungary there were no trunks for hire (!)) before setting off on my return trek. Again I was in a competition: three lads were running back down to the bottom of the trail, but after overtaking me, they rested at a river crossing and I took back the lead. They overtook me twice more, before, at one of the final mud patches, they again were catching their breath. My steady striding had beaten their stop-start running, and though the sprinters had no idea they were in a race, this tortoise was still the victor for the second time in the day.

Such is the way one's mind wanders in the heat of the rainforest. :)

Off to the neighbouring island of Kaua'i in the morning...

Jx

Day 18 - Oahu, USA

2009-11-28T22:36:00.000-08:00

When you're sleeping in a dorm of six beds, your roomies come and go, and last night it turned out I was sharing with four girls from Sao Paolo. Not as glamorous as it sounds, when they arrive back from the party at 2am chattering like a flock of macaws. Still, I was never really going to get much sleep with a Thanksgiving party going in the same building and with a five am start.

I woke on time though and crept out of the room to finally check out of my Miami party hostel – it's been fun, but three days was probably about enough – and onto the flight I went.

It was five PM by the time we touched down in Hawaii. It's a truly beautiful place. As we circled the south of the island of Oah'u we flew over a couple of perfectly green golf courses with their yellow bunkers and blue water hazards that could've been coloured by felt-tip pen; I wondered if it would be bad form to leave the research for a week and just work on my swing! But no, I had to get to the Hotel and get a good night's sleep in order to make the most of my time on the Islands.

On the advice of Barbara, my Hawai'ian correspondent. I had rented a car while on the islands; apparently many of the best places are in difficult to reach, and the buses are rather temperamental. But I was in no mood to drive. With little sleep for three days, culminating in less than four hours last night, and coming off the back of a 12 hour flight (I can't sleep on 'planes) I was exhausted. Add to that the fact that a brief storm had just blown in, I didn't know where I was going *and* they'd given me an automatic car (I HATE driving automatics) it's a miracle that I got to the hotel at all. However, get there I did, and once I'd dumped my bag there was just enough time to get to Waikiki Beach, just around the corner from my hotel, to see the sun go down; if you look carefully, the black spot in the middle of the ocean is a Stand-up Paddle Surfer a newish version of the sport that is becoming more and more popular.

Such a nice way to end an exhausting day's travelling.

Day 17 - Miami, USA

2009-11-28T00:06:00.000-08:00

Last night I shied away from clubbing; two nights in a row is a bit much (especially as this is supposed to be a work trip!) but in the end, the alternative: playing pool til 2am with some Aussies meant that most of the morning was spent with a bit of a fuzzy head.

It was a beautiful sunny day in Miami for thanksgiving; perfect weather to head out to the “Seaquarium” - a rather grand aquarium to the south of the city. With confidence from yesterday's bus ride, I decided to take public transport and, surprisingly, it all went off without so much of a hitch. The first bus: I took my seat on the one dedicated to Rosa Parks (all buses in Miami have such a seat), the second bus I bypassed in favour of a walk through downtown Miami, and on the third I met an English couple who had won their trip to Florida through an internet competition. Lucky them!

So I arrived at the Seaquarium at around midday. I imagine it's a good day out, especially with kids, but it was a little disappointing for my needs; though having said that it was fairly quiet due to the holidays and I picked up a few possible general ignorance facts about manatees and killer whales that may be useful one way or another.

I set off back to South Beach, stopped at the Wolfsonian Museum which was so inconsiderately closed yesterday – it's mostly turn of the century items, furniture, ceramics, etc and then returned to the hostel. There's a huge Thanksgiving party in the hostel tonight, and I have an 8am flight to catch. Oh dear oh dear. :)

Jx

Day 16 - Miami, USA

2009-11-26T16:25:00.001-08:00

I've generally been staying in hostels on this trip – it's a good way to meet people and stay in touch with the area – but I usually book a private room as I need some space to work, this is the first time I'm in a communal room, and it's not conducive to a good night's sleep.

Not that I was guaranteed a decent kip after last night anyway. The entire hostel walked up the road for a private party at a Miami Beach club, and, of course, it was only polite to join in. As it was, it was a great opportunity to meet fellow travellers: I made lots of Aussie, Swiss, French, American and Cayman friends as well as a large group of Germans who were convinced that they were going to win the world cup next year! Fools!

So it was with heavy eyelids that I awoke this morning, with the aim to visit some of Miami's museums, but as I walked towards the entrance of the hostel a huge clap of thunder stopped me in my tracks; the heavens had opened and there was no way – even with my rainforest waterproofs – that I was going to face this deluge!

By late morning the rain finally looked like stopping so I decided to set out - my goal was the Haitian Heritage Museum in downtown Miami, which was the main reason I came to the city (as well as that it was a convenient stop-off between Hispaniola and Hawaii). It was a 10 minute walk to the bus stop from the hostel, and it was after only 6 minutes that the skies began to dump their load again. Running to the uncovered bus-stop, I looked at the timetable – it made the London underground map look like mere childsplay – and I was getting wetter. A taxi drove past and I took the simple option. It turned out to cost me twenty dollars, compared to a two dollar bus ride home, but at the time I thought it was worth every penny.

The taxi took me to where I asked - to where my iphone told me the museum was – but it turned out this was nowhere near the museum itself, and worse still, when I finally found the building, it was “under renovation” - argh – the only real reason I was in Miami and I couldn't get there. Still, the lady curator allowed me a little peek of the exhibits and gave me a whole bunch of literature on Haitian culture.

The return bus took me back to Miami Beach, on the corner of Washington and 41^st; the next museum was on Washington and 14^th, so I presumed we were close. Wrong! Turns out 27 blocks is quite a long way in the US, still, I took most of the walk along the beach and, although it still threatened massive storms, it was a fabulous walk with little company. (pic).

I visited the Bass Museum of Art and then attempted to see the Wolfsonian – which, it turns out, is closed on Wednesdays – so overall, with only one out of three museums visited, it was a bit of a disappointing day, but it gave me a great look at Miami in general, and I'm hopeful for a more successful day tomorrow – it's thanksgiving, and I'm off to the horrendously named “Seaquarium”.

Day 15 - Miami, USA

2009-11-24T20:05:00.000-08:00

Santo Domingo's museums are clustered around what is now known as the "cultural plaza." It was built as a palace for the dictator Rafael Trujillo and was "donated" to the state after he left office (or rather was forced from office thanks to the unfortunate incident of his assassination) and is a leafy piece of tranquility in the middle of the tumult of Santo Domingo.

I was there a little early for the museums to open, and so had a little walk around the park, finding the obligatory statue of Don Quixote (pictured) - I really should collect these from every Spanish-speaking city that I visit - and grabbing an ice-lolly for breakfast (apparantly my entire RDA of vitimin C).

The museums were great; I visited the modern art gallery, the museum of the Dominican man (which looks at the history of the first peoples on the island) and the Natural History museum (which looks at all the endemic species in the Caribbean) but again, sadly, all exhibits were in Spanish only. Still, if nothing else, this trip is improving my language skills!

And so it was on to the plane for my mid-afternoon flight to Miami. Under a two hour flight, but I wasn't in the hostel until after seven, thanks in no small part to US customs which ended up taking almost as much time out of my day as the flight itself. I'm sure most people reading this had travelled to the US before so don't need telling; but it is an absolute nightmare.

Anyway, so there's a party on in the hostel now, which I'm about to join, and then tomorrow I'm going to try to sniff out some of the city's best musueums. It's a pretty enormous place compared to the rest of my trip so far!! Wish me luck.

Jx

Day 14 - Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic

2009-11-24T19:50:00.000-08:00

The carnival was fun. It was basically a great big street party with live Merengue music (the national music of Hispainola – it appears to be named after the dessert but nobody knows why) and lots of enthusiastic dancing. Not quite having the Caribbean rhythm myself I was more of an enthusiastic bystander; but it's hard not to get into the spirit of things... One thing that seemed more noticeable last night was the number of oldish white men with young Dominican girls; prostitution is legal on this island, and it is clearly rife in the northern resorts; this area is very seedy in places.

I woke up a little late this morning (thanks in no small part to the carnival) and got my kit together for the five hour journey back to Santo Domingo. With rucksack and my trusty knapsack (in which I keep anything I can't afford to lose) packed I set off for the bus station. Actually, perhaps I should be careful carrying the old knapsack around Hispaniola: “uncle knapsack” is a traditional Haitian character used to scare children – he comes in the night and takes away naughty girls and boys in his eponymous bag. You may recognise his creole name - “Tonton Macoute” - it was appropriated by the militia of Papa Doc Duvalier during his dictatorship a group that were much feared by young and old alike across the country.

Anyway, to the unmistakeable strains of Charles & Eddie, the bus set on its way across country, and by the time I arrived at Santo Domingo it was already 4pm – only a couple of hours before sundown. There was a little cloud cover, so I decided to walk to the hotel – I'm more or less used to the heat now, especially when the sun is not glaring. I dumped my bags and headed for the town, but it was to no avail. The cloud cover had transformed into an unheavenly downpour – there was no way I was going to do much sightseeing this afternoon. And, with the exception of a half-hour gap before darkness in which I could take a couple of snaps of the unusually choppy Caribbean Sea, the day was done: somewhat lost. I don't think the above picture shows what the weather was like; you can just about make out the lighthouse straining through the gloom in the background, but believe me – it was grim.

Tomorrow I fly to Miami, but not until mid-afternoon, so fingers crossed I can get to some of Santo Domingo's museums – they're all fairly close to my hotel – it's my last chance to learn about the Island until I head to pastures new.

Day 13 - Sosua, Dominican Republic

2009-11-22T16:06:00.000-08:00

When I was booking this trip, I looked at Haiti, read all the horror stories, and decided that my best bet would be to head up to the North of Hispaniola and look for a tourist trip over the border. As it is, now I'm here, I feel that if I had a couple more days then I'd just get a bus over there tomorrow. Such is the difference in mentality once you're actually on the road – I'm actually really annoyed with myself.

Anyway, waking up this morning I still had the chance to get to a Haitian village on the tour that I booked yesterday, so I packed my cameras and set off out of the hotel. But. At the last second, I decided to leave the QI video camera in the room; I supposed that my small camera would be enough if I wanted any video, the video camera is heavy and in all honesty I had no idea what I had signed up for. It turned out to be a stroke of good fortune.

I was picked up by a four-by-four and we headed off in a Westerly direction – which looked good – but after a fair old ride we turned off the road and to a bar-like area alongside a river; all I could see was my transport for the rest of the morning – a dozen or so quad-bikes. How exactly I'd signed up for a quad-bike adventure, I don't know, but sure enough once another half dozen tourists had turned up, the quads were started and I found myself in a convoy through the sugar cane fields. The bikes went through mud puddles, small ponds and rivers (it almost felt that they were *deliberately* sending us through the water! :) ); and within half an hour I was completely covered head-to-toe in mud; this was when I realised that not taking the (rather expensive) camera was a godsend.

We continued for what seemed like miles, but was actually only an hour before we arrived at our “Haitian village” - in this case “Haitian” appears to have been a synonym for “poor” and essentially although we got a little Haitian history, it was an excuse to attempt to sell some Haitian art. Just as I had feared. Still, from there we quad-biked another hour to get to a deserted beach, and then home, and in the process I got some great shots on my little camera and managed to quiz my guide about his views on Haitians: did they dislike their fellow islanders as much I'd read? Well, yes. Nick Griffin has nothing on these guys; the two countries are most certainly *not* harmonious neighbours! I also spoke Dominican politics; there are posters everywhere at the moment and it turns out that they are for the Dominican version of the local elections – the candidates are also crawling through the streets in trucks with huge microphones, adding to the general raucous. It seemed to me that a healthy moustache is a pre-requisite for election; my guide, well he was fairly sick of politics as a whole – some things are universal.

So I'll head down to the beach again at sunset shortly to take some shots, and there appears to be some kind of carnival on the main road of Sosua. Hopefully it will make a fun and pleasant end to what has been a little bit of a disappointing corner of the world. Back to Santo Domingo tomorrow for my final day on Hispaniola before I fly to the States.

Day 12 - Sosua, Dominican Republic

2009-11-21T15:02:00.001-08:00

I woke up at 4am this morning. No surprise there, I'm still kinda trying to get used to the time difference, but this was different. I was awoken by an itchy ankle. It was only a couple of hours later that I realised the problem. I'd been ravaged by mosquitoes. During the 19th century Haitian rebellion, more French soldiers were killed by mosquitoes than by the rebels; I knew that, so in truth I should've expected it, but no - I never take action until it's waaay too late and I've been itching all day.

Anyway, now covered in repellent (which is the most painful thing ever when it gets on your face) I walked into town to see if I could get to Haiti, or if not, what I could do for the weekend. To be honest I wasn't hopeful - as I mentioned yesterday, this is a party resort - but while it turns out that there *is* a day trip to Haiti that goes on Fridays (damn!) there is also an excursion that includes a visit to a Haitian Village that leaves tomorrow. It sounds like a touristy nightmare, but still, may as well give it a go.

So today I had little to do. In this tourist hotspot I thought "when in Rome" and so got an english breakfast and watched the football, before sitting by the pool all afternoon. Still, did some nice Haiti research with a book borrowed from the Hostel - did you know, for instance, that Haiti's red and blue flag is the French Tricolour with the white bit ripped out - created as a piece of anti-white sentiment by revolutionary Jean Jacques Dessalines? Or that after baseball, cockfighting is the second most popular sport on Hispaniola? No, me neither.

Anyway, the day wasn't completely lost. I managed to get to the beach at sundown and take some nice shots that I hope will be useful for a future Holiday show. One of the cheesiest was of a QI sign drawn in the sand which is washed away by the tide. You never know, it might work!! Ha ha. Early morning start tomorrow; it's my final day in Sosua - fingers crossed it'll be a useful one.

Jx

Day 11 - Sosua, Dominican Republic

2009-11-20T18:23:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I mentioned the noise in Santo Domingo. It is immense. Many of the capital's vehicles are extremely old and battered and so make the noise that old, battered cars do, but there is also the beeping. In the UK you might save a honk to avoid a serious accident, or (god forbid) to say hi to a friend that you pass, but in Dominican Republic they use the horn correctly – to let other people know they are there. It just seems that they feel the need to announce their existence rather frequently. One thing that I missed in my head-down-get-home, walk yesterday was that many of the parping horns were directly down to me. Looking like a tourist (as I do) taxis or buses would regularly slow down and beep in my direction, wondering if I wanted a lift; their slowing would cause the traffic to stop and so more and more beeping. No wonder it felt like the noise was following me around!

This epiphany came to me this morning as I walked to the bus stop to make my way to Sosua. Sosua is a resort on the north of the island of Hispaniola that I've read can be a good place from which to reach Haiti, and so at midday I hopped aboard the (thankfully air-conditioned) bus and began to cross the Island.

Hispaniola is a beautifully green island; once you leave the cities it is lush; there is nothing but trees in all directions for as far as the eye can see - though paradoxically when you see a river. they are clearly very low. I sat for the full four hours with my eyes glued to the window while my fellow passengers – to a man – closed the curtains and slept. I can't imagine they were all that happy with me allowing so much sunlight into the bus, but the views were stunning. Whatever happened to my claims to be a courteous traveller?

Anyway, the bus arrived in Sosua a good mile away from where I had expected it to, which meant a walk to the hotel. Of course I could've got a taxi, but i) I like to walk, and ii) I'm tight. Unfortunately Sosua is home to hundreds of scooter “taxis” who clearly saw me in need of a lift – the beeping was following me all over again! I was accosted over a dozen times in the 20 minute walk to the hotel, every time asking if I needed a lift. In fact, I regretted the multiple “no, gracias” when my legs got tangled in some wire in the long grass and, being unbalanced thanks to my huge rucksack, I went flying onto my face. Argh. Still, just a couple of grazes on my legs, and I was soon at my hotel room.

Sosua is a resort, and not much more. Don't get me wrong, it has some truly beautiful beaches [above] (beautiful, but it's no Silverdale!). But it's a clubbing town - bar after bar after bar, which is great for some holidaymakers, but it's not what I'm after on this trip. I have found the three tour agencies in town (all were closed by the time I arrived today) and will check them out in the morning, but I fear Haiti may not happen. No worry, I will make the most of the time here – even if I *have to* spend one day this weekend lying by the pool reading. :)

Day 10 - Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic

2009-11-19T17:28:00.000-08:00

Sometimes jet-lag can work to your advantage. It's not a massive difference between Madrid and Dominican Republic but just enough to ensure that I was up well before 7am, and out to catch the coolest part of the day. A good chance to take a couple of videos of the sea with only joggers for company.

The Dominican Republic consists of around 2/3 of the Island of Hispaniola in the Caribbean (hence the H-link, hopefully I will make it to the other third of the island - H-for-Haiti - before I leave). It was the home of the first permanent European settlement in the Americas and was explored by Columbus in his famous trip of 1492. Santo Domingo itself was founded by Christopher's younger Brother, Bartholemew, a few years later, and so is home to a number of firsts - the first cathedral in the Americas, the first University and the oldest stone building, all of which I visited this morning before 9am.

By this time it was getting hot. Very hot. And so, after visiting the amber museum (an excellent exhibition that contains many animals fossilized in the resin of prehistoric trees) I had no choice but to head for the hotel and hide away from the midday sun; maybe I'm getting old, but siestas are becoming more and more enticing.

So it was mid-afternoon when I ventured out again - this time to the main part of the city. Here is Tripipedia's seven-point guide to walking around an unknown part of the world:
i) always have a specific goal in mind or you'll end up walking around aimlessly
ii) try not to look too much like a tourist
iii) never walk too far, you'll have to go the same distance back at some stage
iv) if in unfamiliar areas, make sure you are back before dark
v) if you have to walk in the dark, watch where you're going; many cities have uneven pavements or uncovered manholes
vi) if walking in unfamiliar areas in the dark, stay away from very crowded areas such as markets where you may get jostled around
vii) even if you're completely lost and ovewhelmed, make sure you look confident and walk with authority.

So it was, ignoring every part except for number seven, that I somehow ended up back in my hostel. Santo Domingo is incredible. It's impossible to impart what caribbean cities are like through photos alone; they're dusty, colourful and loud. Very Loud! If it's not the constant parping of horns, it's a bus whose music system probably packs more horse-power than the vehicle. I can't say I ever felt in any kind of danger while walking around; despite sticking out like a sore thumb as pretty much the only white guy in the city; but it can be difficult walking through the maze of unsignposted streets, in the boiling sun, with your senses being battered from every angle. Or maybe I'm just being soft. But it's an experience I wouldn't miss for the world; I had a smile on my face almost the whole way.

Anyway, I'm back with another medicinary "Presidente" beer and tomorrow I need to somehow find a bus to the holiday resort of Sosua on the North of the Island; apparantly buses in Dominican Republic are either guaguas frias (cold buses) or guaguas calientes (hot buses) - here's hoping I get a cold one.

Jx

Day 9 - Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic

2009-11-19T16:49:00.000-08:00

I'm such a moan-y flyer. Not actual moaning, you understand, just silent tutting and rolling of eyes. Surely I can't be the only one who doesn't lean his chair fully back, unless entirely necessary, in consideration for the guy behind me? Well I was at least glad that he appreciated it, it meant he could practise playing the drums on my head-rest for most of the journey. The snoring guy to my left and the sweaty bloke to my right must've also appreciated the fact that I allowed them to use the armrests (and much of my seat-area) as well. I exaggerate of course, can't really complain when you're travelling from Madrid to Dominican Republic on a round-the-world trip; but still....

Today wasn't all travelling; I had the morning in Madrid, which I spent walking the streets, taking in the sights of the Spanish capital for the last time, also managed to nip into the Prado for an hour or so for a little culture though I fear that my constant clock watching may have lessened my enjoyment of the Goyae and Velazquezezez on show.

The flight was 8 hours, and at around 7pm local time I arrived in Santo Domingo airport. Wow. Baggage collection and passport control were as you'd expect (got a new stamp on my passport! Yay!) but as soon as I got through customs, it was like the arrivals lounge was expecting some kind of pop star - hundreds and hundreds of people lining the passage to the exit, many of them kids. I was once lucky enough to go to an awards ceremony thanks to QI and on my way out it was *flash flash flash* a load of photographers took my picture, obviously hoping I was some Z-list celebrity. I don't know who the people in the airport were waiting for, but when I walked out, I can only imagine that they were just as disappointed as those paparazzi were when they checked their films the next morning. I hope the airport kids got their pop star - maybe it was the drummer sat behind me.

Anyway, most airports have some kind of bus or train to the city centre. Not Santo Domingo. Not as far as I could see, anyway. So I walked to the taxi rank and was accosted by a number of drivers. One driver outmuscled the others, he was clearly next in line, and he told me "forty US dollars" - hmm, a bit steep I thought, but looking around I surveyed my options. There was no plan B. Ah well - I was not really in much of a position to haggle - only time will tell if I've been ripped off, I thought.

Driving to Santo Domingo was something else. Imagine the speeds of the M6 Toll Road alongside the courtesy of central Rome; we fairly flew the considerable distance to the hostel, only stopping once, when a guy with a machine gun made it clear that we should. Turns out we were passing a military base, and they wanted to stop the traffic to allow a couple of vehicles out. Nice.

So I got to the hostel. Wish so much that I'd taken some shots of the welcome party at the airport, or of the guy with the gun, but I was a bit overwhelmed to be honest. You'll have to make do with what I ended up with. A nice 'Presidente' Cerveza, Domincan Republic's finest.

Jx

Day 8 - Madrid, Spain

2009-11-17T10:52:00.000-08:00

Ernest Hemingway once said of Madrid that "I do not believe anyone likes it much when he first goes there." He clearly thought it an acquired taste; but with me leaving for Santo Domingo in the morning, I fear that I haven't really had much time to acquire it.

Having heard of so many tales of pickpocketing, I spent more of the first day looking after my wallet than looking at the architecture; and besides, it seems like the government has decided to rip up all of the streets and start again, so common are roadworks at the moment, but I left the hostel today determined to see as much as possible that the area has to offer.

So it was to the Museum of the Americas, finally, and I would definitely recommend it to anyone visiting the Spanish capital. Especially if you speak the lingo. There are thousands of artifacts on display from Chile right the way up to Alaska, and all cases are accompanied by full descriptions. In Spanish. With no English translation. I guess it's fairly anglo-centric to expect them to cater for my ignorance, but it certainly made the trip around the museum difficult. But sketchy as my Spanish might be, it is easier to read a language (especially a latin-based one) than to understand it spoken, so I think I did OK with the importance of the numerous guinea-pig shaped vases and odd-shaped sombreros. I made lots of notes for future research anyway.

From there it was lunch, and then on a train to the town of Alcalá de Henares, the home of the greatest Spanish writer: Miguel de Cervantes. Cervantes, for those who don't know, was the author of Don Quixote, often claimed to be the first modern novel and the second most translated book of all time (after the Bible). He was a fascinating character: he lost one of his hands at the Battle of Lepanto and spent 5 years as a slave in North Africa before becoming a spy: the book itself was voted the greatest novel of all time by the Nobel Institute. But although the town of Alcalá has embraced its most famous son - there are predictably plazas, hotels, restaurants, a watchmakers and a pyjama shop(!) named after him - the museum was a bit of a let down. Again almost exclusively in Spanish, but this time with no real exhibits to endear it to an ignorant Englishman, it is effectively just an example of how people lived in the 16th century. It could have been so much more.

Much better in the town was the Archaeology museum. It rather inexeplicably had a huge interactive exhibition about Otzi the Iceman who was found on the Austro-Italian border. Never has dear Otzi been anywhere near Spain as far as I know, but it was a great exhibit and welcome after the earlier disappointment. The town itself is has a beautiful centre, with a fantastic couple of plazas and some genuinely great architecture, but sadly only a few hundred meters from the centre, comes the scruffiness - high rise flats and grafitti everywhere. I returned to the train after a couple of hours feeling that I'd probably "done" Alcalá.

So it's off to Hispaniola tomorrow. Long flight, so all being well I wont have much to tell in the next post.

Adios amigos,

Jx

Day 7 - Madrid, Spain

2009-11-16T12:08:00.000-08:00

I fear this will have to be a rather short post. It has been a fairly uneventful day, and I don't think you really want to read about me laundering my smalls.

Finally left Hungary very early this morning and made the short trip to Ferihegy airport (pronounced ferry-hedge) for the 3 hour flight to Madrid. On landing, the temperature was noticably warmer - like a pleasant spring day in England, and so, glad to be away from the Hungarian autumn, I headed off to my hostel.

Spain was something of a late starter to the tourism industry (though you wouldn't know it now) - the first truly international hotel didn't open until 1864, nearly a hundred years after such establishments began in Paris, London and New York, and even then, the Fonda de Paris was owned by a French family. Before that, European travellers would usually stay at the infamous "Gran Cruz de Malta" typically described by German writer Daniel Moldenhawer as a "filthy and vile inn." Thankfully things have changed; and while my lodgings are small and in something of a dark townhouse, I have wifi - and that's the most important thing!

I walked into town; as usual bypassing the public transport in order to gain my bearings and aimed for the Museum of the Americas - thinking it may give me some ideas about Haiti and Honduras. Before I could get far though, I saw a "Museo de Jamon" - A ham museum!!!! I was only partially disappointed when I found out that it was a Spanish fast-food chain that specialised in cured meat. A plate of ham, some olives and some crusty bread later and I was on my way.

But I had forgotten one thing - in Europe, most museums are closed on Monday. Witness the picture of the American Museum looking particularly shut! So it was back to my hostel, cleaning my clothes and sorting out some admin - hopefully now organised a trip to Bhutan in a couple of weeks - hurrah!

So all in all, a fairly uneventful day - the second in a row. I will ensure some kind of quixotic adventure tomorrow if I have to saddle old Rocinante myself.

Jx

Day 6 - Budapest, Hungary

2009-11-15T15:14:00.001-08:00

So I've just got back to my hotel room after dinner. I'm staying in a Chinese-owned hotel so had chicken and noodles. In six days, I've had McDonalds, Subway, Chinese, Pizza and any number of american-style coffee lunches. Oh dear. Still, the odd hungarian meal that I've had has been an absolute treat - despite the Hungarian peasant phrase for adding spices "fertlilize with manure" I'm a paprika convert.

Not much to report today (as you can probably tell by the food-related beginning) most of the day was taken up with a rather long journey back from Eger to Budapest, of which the highlight was the guy on the train attempting to sell me a chainsaw. A swift "nem" sent him on his way, although it was a rather nice chainsaw.

On arriving in Budapest, I had just enough time to visit the Hungarian National Museum - if you're ever in town, you should check it out. One of my favourite parts was the Milliard Pengő note (above). The amusingly named Pengő was the currency just after world war two when the country was in financial ruin. The 100,000,000,000,000,000,000 banknote was a result of the worst ever inflation in history, things were so bad prices doubled every 13.5 hrs for over a month.

In fact, thanks to their alliance with Germany in the two world wars, the country that gave us the Biro, the Rubiks Cube, the hydrogen bomb, Franz Liszt and Harry Houdini has had something of a rough ride of things over the last century - after WWI it lost two-thirds of its territory and three-fifths of its population due to the Treaty of Trianon - in 1920 much of Slovakia, Ukraine, Serbia and Croatia, not to mention enormous swathes of Romania belonged to Hungary. No longer - to the eternal chagrin to the nationalistic Hungarians.

So now, like Transylvania before me, I must be dragged kicking and screaming from Magyarország - I couldn't possibly recommend the country highly enough. Over to Spain tomorrow - not H-related, but a convenient stop-off on the way to Hispaniola. I think that the Museum of the Americas could be a go-er, seeing as political events mean that I can't make Honduras for the time being. It's a 9am flight; so from my Chinese hotel, I bid you goodnight.

Jx

Day 5 - Hortobágy, Hungary

2009-11-14T12:55:00.000-08:00

Up nice and early this morning; it was bright and crisp and I managed to get out of the hostel with less than five minutes of key twiddling. The day would be spent in Hortobágy, Hungary's first and largest national park and the largest grasslands in Europe, a destination chosen by my lovely Twitter followers - reasons included "it begins with H" and "it sounds a bit like 'bogey'." In actual fact, it doesn't sound like bogey; in Hungarian "gy" is pronounced a bit like the "Du" in "during" so it's more like Hort-o-badge.

Either way, I walked down to McDonalds (I know, I know, but they have wifi!!) and got a coffee and it was then that I started with the stomach cramps - ugh - Budapest Belly. Maybe it was the water I drank last night, or perhaps the "Hungarian Hamburger" that I was fed the day before, but with a 2 hour bus journey each-way, the positive start to the day appeared to be on the wane.

Still, I had the morning to get better, as the bus wasn't until lunchtime. After a bit of shopping I made it to my ride which was delayed only slightly thanks to the fact that it reversed into another bus just before we were about to board. I could see it coming for miles, but no amount of gesturing could get the bus-driver's attention; even if I'd known "you're about to reverse into another bus" in Hungarian, then I doubt he would've heard me.

Hortobágy is in a part of Hungary known as the Puszta (pronounced something like "puss-ta") meaning "abandoned." It is huge, flat and gets its name thanks to centuries of marauding over the area by rampaging Turks. Today it is mile after mile of pasture and travelling on the bus, you could almost be in Suffolk if it wasn't for the shadoofs (pictured) and the young lady walking her pet ferret on a leash (sadly, not pictured).

95 kilometers (I know because the price of the bus tickets depends on how far you travel) and a couple of hours later I arrived at Hortobágy. To call it a "one-horse town" would be quite disingenuous, considering how many horses there were grazing on the grasslands - perhaps a one-person-town would be a better phrase. And I was that one person. No matter, I had the QI camera and so, after a wander around the area, the sun was beginning to get low in the sky and without a cloud in sight it was perfect conditions to take a sundown shot of some of the horses. I took a couple of still shots with my camera, then put it down and grabbed the video camera only to find that as soon as I pressed 'record' the horses decided to show me their "best side." Result: 10 minutes of footage of horse-backsides against a beautiful sunset.

The sun had set and it was time to go. But where was my camera? Argh, I'd put it down and moved position to get a better shot of the horse bums. Of course the sun was all but down now, and so it was with relief that I almost stood on the camera when retracing my steps. Seeing the bus on the horizon (a good couple of miles away) I ran to the bus stop with not a moment to spare. Back to Budapest tomorrow for my final day in Hungary. :(

A légpérnás hajóm tele van angolákkal

Jx

Day 4 - Eger, Hungary

2009-11-13T11:48:00.000-08:00

Sure enough, last night we celebrated Alex the Hungarian Hostelier's birthday, and in many ways it was similar to my first night in Budapest: a number of underground-style bars, followed by a 3am tour of the city. The main differences this time were the lack of driving freezing rain, and an increased number - joining the ragtag group of revellers were a Brazilian girl who had been living for 4 years in Dublin and so occasionally (especially more as the palinka took effect) lapsed into an Irish Accent, Atilla (the Hungarian) who had an unparalled knowledge of the history of Europe and budding travel writer Hero, from Japan, who along with his girlfriend (who I think was called "cuni" - but I've never been good with names) have spent the last 18 months travelling around the world - they have another 6 months left. A great time was had by all, but the whole hostel was bleary-eyed this morning as I readied to make my way to Eger.

Eger is around 75 miles North East of Budapest; it's a town that all Hungarian schoolchildren know about, thanks to the 1552 seige where 80,000 Turkish invaders were blocked from entering Eger Castle, from entering Hungary, and indeed from reaching Western Europe by a group of fewer than 2,000. No matter that the Ottomans returned less than 50 years later, took the castle and massacred all the locals for their part in the seige - this is a story of battling against the odds, women fighting with men, boiling oil thrown over ramparts, and bull's blood.

Eger is in the centre of Hungary's famous wine region; its most famous product being Egri Bikavér or "Bull's Blood." The story goes that when the attacking Turks of Suleiman the Magnificent saw the local women drinking the deep, ruby-coloured tipple, they took it as blood, a fact that added hugely to the soldiers' terror of the steadfast locals. Although the wine lost its reputation in communist times, today it is one of the most loved brands in the country.

I missed the train and the next one arrived late into Eger; it was very slow and had sat at a nearby station for over 30 minutes, which all meant that despite my best efforts, there was no chance of photos before sundown, but I felt that I may as well visit the castle to see what I could learn. Sadly November is low-season and so, with dusk upon us, a man with a torch, shouting "halloo" managed to repel me (and a dozen or so Germans who had followed me) from the castle, just a his forefathers had done to the Turks 450 years or so earlier.

If I couldn't visit the castle, then surely I could try some "bulls blood:" the best area for the wine is Szépasszony-völgy or the Valley of the Beautiful Women. Nobody knows for sure where the name comes from - my guide book claims that the wine makes all women appear beautiful - but either way, I had a quick glass in one of the many (sadly empty - due to the time of year) bars and headed back to my hotel.

The hotel is nothing compared to my amazing hostel in Budapest; very homogenous and with no common-areas in which to socialise with fellow guests. The key to the front door only works if you jiggle it the right way (35 minutes of jiggling just to get in this evening!!) and the only place I can get wireless is sitting in the shower - which is where I am now. But no matter, tomorrow I have an early morning bus to Hortobágy - as chosen by my Twitter followers. Should be good - can't wait to see all those species of grass!!!!

Jó éjszakát

Jx

PS, the picture above is of the Minorite Church in Eger; not much to say about it, but just thought you'd like to see a bit of the town...

Day 3 - Danube Bend, Hungary

2009-11-12T10:12:00.000-08:00

Part of my QI remit for this trip was to take some footage for the backgrounds on a possible H series of the show, and so, with today being my only forecasted sunny day in Hungary I headed out with the QI camera.

It was a chicken liver and pea pizza (my Hungarian landlord tells me it's traditional Hungarian pizza topping, but I think he may be pushing my "If it's Hungarian then I'll try it" ethos a little bit) and an early night yesterday - I have been told that early mornings are the best for videos - and so I was up for first light, taking videos of Hungarian flags blowing in the breeze and the sun rising above the Parliament Building. After a quick coffee I visited St Stephen's Basilica to climb the 146 steps and to shoot apparently the best view of the Buda side of the river. St Stephen was the first King of Hungary, crowned in 1000 AD. He ruled with an iron fist - on one occasion quartering the body of his elder cousin Koppány and leaving the remains around the city - but it is Stephen (István in Hungarian) whose mummified fist can now be seen at the back of the Cathedral, the most precious relic in the country.

The main shot would be in the afternoon - bus up The Danube to the small town of Viségrad which is supposed to have the best views of the famous river (the second longest in Europe and the world's most international - i.e. it goes through more countries than any other).

After a 30 minute tube ride, I arrived at the bus station: not the smallest one I've ever seen (that award goes to Ploce in Croatia a town that the locals call Antichrist due to its lack of a church and the fact that Bosnians often enter the country there) but tiny nonetheless. I asked at the first bus that arrived and was waved over to the other side of the road, a second bus driver gestured me back across the road, looking at me as if I was miles away. Hmmm. One shopkeeper and another busdriver looking at me blankly later and I was beginning to think I wouldn't make it. It was only when I saw a Jewish gentleman getting the same "over there" gesture, that I decided to follow him, and my skull-capped white rabbit took me through a tunnel to a much more bus-station-like bus station.

The Danube was worth the 2 hour trek. After half an hour or so looking for the perfect spot, the sun broke through enough to send a few rays over the river's bend and I got the shot; all being well you should see it some time during a future H-series episode of QI. An idea of the area can be seen in the photo above.

Tonight it's my Hungarian host's birthday, so some more local beverages seem to be in order. I left tomorrow's plans in the hands of Twitter and they voted that I go to Hortobágy national park - home to over 50 types of grass, no less - in the North of the country. It is close to the city of Eger, which is a famous wine region, so I think that could be the first stop.

Egészégére (cheers),

Jx

Day 2 - Budapest, Hungary

2009-11-11T13:11:00.000-08:00

I posted my first blog early last evening and things went a little bit strange from then on. The guy who owns my hostel, Alex, decided to take me under his wing and show me the sights and sounds of Budapest at night...

The old town is full of run down residential buildings with which the government can't quite decide what to do, and so locals turn them into underground bars. They're all over the city, but it seems that their location changes from time to time when renovation finally takes place. They generally consist of a makeshift bar, a DJ and a number of tables and chairs, none of which match each other. It was in such establishments that I spent the evening; drinking the local fruit brandy "Palinka" and talking to a mad Hungarian and a Finnish bodybuilder about how similar their two languages are, and that they are descended from the same Finno-Ugric roots. My newFinnish friends and Alex (who once worked in Ireland) eventually fell out quite spectacularly over the former's insistance on using the word "craic" and the latter's hatred of drugs.

The night ended in the driving wind and rain with my new Hungarian friend showing me around the city's sights at 2 in the morning; the locals call Palinka "liquid jacket" because after a few shots you don't need a coat - all I can imagine is that it doesn't really work on tourists.

And so I overslept this morning and didn't get nearly as much as I'd like done. Saw the Ignác Semmelweis museum, which goes through the history of medicine including Mr Semmelweis's discovery that it is necessary for Doctors to wash their hands in order to stop disease from spreading. It seems obvious now, but at the time it was revolutionary, especially as to admit that washing hands could save lives tacitly admitted that for many years doctors had been inadvertantly killing their patients.

From there, and with only a coffee inside me, I braved the driving rain again, determined to stop at the first possibility for food. It turned out to be a Subway - not a complete cultural disaster as I found that the Hungarian word for meatballs was husgomboc, and as any good QI fan knows, a Gomboc is also the name of the first mono-monostatic object, invented in Hungary. What that has to do with meatballs, I am yet to find out.

Anyway, it was getting colder, wetter and darker, so I decided to head over to the mineral baths. Apparantly Budapest is only bettered by Reykjavik as a capital city of thermal spas. Unfortunately I'd left my swimming costume in the hostel, so decided to try to buy one there and was horrified to find out that all I could do was rent some. YUK! Ah well, thermal baths are supposed to be good for skin diseases, so perhaps the two cancel each other out, I thought, and got involved with the Széchenyi Baths which is one of the largest bathing complexes in Europe, and the home of those pictures of old men playing chess while sitting in a swimming pool. The skin was very wrinkled by the time I got out, but anything that smelled that much like rotten eggs (all the sulphur) must've been good for me - despite the pair of second-hand trunks.

I include a picture of the Széchenyi Chain Bridge over the Danube. The story goes that János Marchalkó who made the sculptures was extremely proud and thought them perfect in every way. When he overheard people mocking them because he had forgotten to include their tongues, he was so embarrassed that he jumped into the river. The Danube is supposed to look blue and inviting in the summer, but no amount of embarrassment would have gotten me in there today.

Jx

Day 1 - Budapest, Hungary

2009-11-10T10:45:00.001-08:00

Will try to keep this blog up, but it all depends on how often I can get to a wifi hotspot.

So I've arrived in Hungary. It's very damp and dark, but I guess that's what you get for arriving in November at nighttime. Alex is the owner of the hostel that I've arrived in, and he seems incredulous that anyone should come to his country at this time of year. Let alone that I should expect to be able to take any photos later in the week. No sign yet of the "old woman's summer," the Hungarian version of our Indian Summer.

Decided to get the bus & metro to the city centre, if only because the Budapest underground is the oldest in the world (outside the UK); built in 1896 - it is a world heritage site, though everything seems to be so these days! Little more to say as I have literally just arrived, but I have many museums to see in the morning, and am being taken out on the town by my new Hungarian friends tonight. So may have much more to add tomorrow....

Up there is a picture of the first impressive-looking building that I saw as I walked in - no idea what it is, maybe someone could tell me?

Viszontlátásra,

Jx