More travels in the French southwest
The autumn has threatened, at times, to take over recently. The Mistral blew quite cold for a while but then retreated. After a bout of drizzly rain, calm weather and the sun has returned. It is glorious now – sunny and a perfect temperature. I still swim every morning but it is a stretch. The pool temperature had fallen to sixteen degrees at one point but is hovering close to eighteen at the moment. A few laps every morning is refreshing and certainly gets the day moving.
We took a week recently to do a road trip. This took in Arles, Perpignan, Port de la Selva, Andorra, Carcassonne, Montpellier, Nimes, Avignon and Toulon. No disappointments there. We did a bit of a motorway dash to Perpignan but stopped off in Arles on the way there. That was a lovely place, one time home of Vincent van Gogh, it has a wonderful old town and impressive remains of a Roman amphitheatre. What we missed here was an opportunity to have a visit to the Camargue. A bit of a wilderness area with wild horse and flocks of flamingos. Another time, I hope.
While we stayed in Perpignan we took the opportunity to drive to Spain for lunch. The coast road was lovely all the way to Port de la Selva. Jackie had holidayed there as a kid when it was quite a different place. It was Puerto de la Selva too back then. That was still in the Franco era in Spain when the Catalan language was effectively banned. Hence the difference between the port and puerto. It’s often surprising to see the area of Catalan that extends from France to Spain but also encompasses Andorra as well. The capital there was previously Andorra la Vieja. There was a time in France when there was less of a tolerance to regional languages but the street signs in many towns in this area are also in Provençal these days.
From Perpignan we drove to Carcassonne via Andorra. The capital of Andorra, Andorra la Vella, was not particularly characterful but the drive west from Perpignan through the Pyrenees was lovely and fortunately we were blessed with lovely weather. Perpignan did have an old town but overall, the city was not quite as nice as some of the other old towns in the other cities we have visited in France. The visit to Andorra was the chance for me to visit the only European microstate I hadn’t seen before. Previous travels had taken in Lichtenstein, Monaco, Vatican City and San Marino. Andorra is basically an oversized ski resort but it was wonderfully scenic in the absence of snow.
Carcassonne has a lovely old fort but it has a bit of a Disneyland feel to it as it has no real function except to cater to tourists. The town of Carcassonne itself was very nice despite bits of it having seen better days. With enormous amounts of time you can take a trip down the canals that traverse it. That again might be something for another time.
We took a long drive to Montpellier. We followed back roads through some lovely wooded country with breaks to have brie and bread snacks from the back of the car. There were some lovely old villages on the way too. But this then gave way to flatter farmland and more practical looking towns. We had a pokey little flat in Montpellier but it was close to the city centre. This allowed a few strolls through the old city. I liked it as I am a city person by nature. One of the bigger cities in the south of France, it was really lively with some wonderful architecture. It had the same trams as Sydney’s east which are very large for a light rail. Montpellier’s were individually decorated and probably worked a bit better given the city’s more transport friendly topography.
The drive then took us through Nîmes, with an even more impressive Roman amphitheatre and a pleasant, largely modern, town. From there it was through the countryside again to Avignon. It was here you definitely find there are times where travelling by car is not always the most practical way of getting around in Europe. After much squeezing through very narrow streets in a very confusing old system we had to park well outside the town and trudge to our accommodation. Again, a lovely old town. It is beside the Rhône River and was once the seat of the popes before they moved to the Vatican. It had a massive old papal palace which was very impressive from the outside. Given time constraints and the rather poor reviews of the interior, we skipped that and headed for Toulon. I had wanted to see a rugby match there and managed to make it there. The south of France is rugby country. The crowd seemed to be a fair cross section of the population, not like in Sydney where there is always the whiff of North Shore toff at any rugby game. Toulon itself was pleasant. A working port but a beachfront area that looks slightly faded. The grey skies didn’t help much there. We were due to stay that night but for a range of reasons ended up doing the one and a bit hour drive back to Claviers. That was the end of a week touring another part of the southwest of this great country.
Back in France
Now a very long time since I wrote anything. We are in Claviers in the south of France. The weather is still great but the Mistral is making its presence known. It is still a lovely scene when you get out of bed and walk onto the patio every morning. It’s quiet now. We had Max here for two weeks but he was ready to continue his journey. We said goodbye again in Marseille as he caught the train to Paris. A bit of heartbreak again. Marseille itself was a lovely surprise. A very attractive city and the port area where we stayed was lovely. From there we stayed a night in Aix-En-Provence before a lovely drive through the back roads to Claviers. The longer I spend in France, the less inclined I am to leave it. I have been here quite a few times but this has been longer than usual. It always helps to be not working and staying in someone else’s nice house.
It had been a bit of a hectic arrival. The flight from Warsaw was smooth enough but confusingly we arrived at a different terminal at Nice airport which took us a while and a bit of luggage lugging before we got to the hire car office. Citroen had informed us our lease car would be late but arranged an interim hire car. We got here much later that anticipated. The next day our friends Sue and Carl arrived to stay for a couple of nights. It was lovely to catch up.
But it didn’t stop there with the arrival of friend Dave straight afterwards and then Max the following day. Then Mick and Kath dropped in on their way from Sicily and returned later on their way back to Toulon to catch the ferry to Sicily.
The worst event of the trip so far was Max getting his phone nicked. Caused enormous amounts of hassle. Apple don’t make it easy. To recover your account you need to sign in with the phone you’ve lost or at least verify a sign in with the number you don’t have access to. Despite putting the phone in lost mode it appears it was still broken into but all significant passwords had been changed by then, so it looks to have come at the loss of a few photos only and of course the expensive handset itself. Luckily no credit cards or passport was lost so that made it a bit easier. It certainly caused a great deal of stress and made us look at our own security arrangements.
Croatia
The supposedly two-hour bus trip to Dubrovnik turned out to be nearly five hours. We had been warned about this by an American traveller we met on the bus to Kotor. Much of this was two-hour jam at the border crossing. Back to old memories of endless immigration posts
Dubrovnik was something of a shock. A seriously crowded tourist trap. Certainly a stunning looking city with its little lanes and streets. Definitely this was the wrong time to visit. August can be bad in Europe but post-Covid the crowds are not what they would have been in previous years. Dubrovnik is also a bit cursed by cruise ships which generate endless crowds of old farts on walking tours. Our flat in the old town was not the best either, being a bit light on facilities and not the most spacious place. It was a killer bringing our hefty luggage down the endless steps. It would have worse if we were heading up. The city soaks up the heat in the stone walls and reflects it back as the day progresses. Prices for food and drink are absolutely through the roof. Stupid. In the desire to escape this we hired a car for a couple of days and headed first to Mostar in Bosnia. The price of the first night’s accommodation was paid for by the fact it had a washing machine. We had accumulated a fair bit of washing in the previous days but a laundrette in Dubrovnik was asking sixty euros a load! Our spacious flat in Mostar was less than that. It was a really nice place too with all possible mod cons and thoughtful addons. It turns out it abutted the infamous Sniper’s Tower of Mostar and our apartment building still bore the scars of war, still pockmarked with bullet holes. It was certainly cooler than Dubrovnik and we saw rain for only the second time in six weeks. The drive back though Bosnia was lovely and that gave way to some lovely old villages in Croatia on the way back the coast. The reality is that those villages are dying as the shocking depopulation of eastern Europe – Financial Times article.
We stayed in a small town called Slano, where we swam on an uncrowded pebbly beach. Definitely worth taking the loss on accommodation and getting out a bit. I certainly look froward to other trips in eastern Europe and the Balkans. It’s been a bit of a learning experience but will make future visits much better.
Montenegro
The bus ride to Montenegro was grim. Hot, malfunctioning seats, heavy traffic, border delays and general disorganisation turned a six-hour trip into eight and a half hours. Kotor was lovely, however. It’s not a place I would have really known much about and the visit there was as much as anything a stopover to Dubrovnik. It has a compact but lovely old town and it is set in what is basically a fiord. A really nice place and one I would happily revisit. There is a fort up the hill which climbed despite the rather oppressive afternoon heat. A great view to be had and there was a certain satisfaction to be doing that walk nearly fifteen years after nearly having my legs destroyed in a car accident.
Albania
The flight to Albania was a smooth one and arrived at Tirana airport, picked up the car and headed out. First to Kruga Castle which was in a spectacular setting. The driving was of a standard the I would expect. Traffic is generally quite slow but there are the “gangster Mercedes” as I call them that speed by at a frantic rate and do risky overtaking manoeuvres. There are many flash Mercedes in Albania despite it being a poor country. They love the car for various reasons – Mercedes in Albania. There is a fair amount of speculation that it is a favoured destination for stolen cars given the lax registration standards in the country – In Poor Albania, Mercedes Rules Road
We stayed the first night in the city of Durres. A pleasant place on the coast. Its tourist value are the Roman amphitheatre and museum. The next stop was a drive down the coast to Fier. This was not the most attractive town but I had booked two nights there, They have some amazing Roman ruins on the outskirts of town – Apollonia. The town itself lacked quite a bit of facility. There are a huge number of bars and cafes but very limited places to eat out. We weren’t too unhappy to leave it.
After that the drive down the coast to Sarrande was lovely. Firstly, taking us high over the Llogara Pass with rugged scenery and spectacular views over the coast as we came down the other side. It was beautiful. We stayed at a lovely place in Sarrande itself that had ocean views and you could also see Corfu in the distance. Quite touristy at this time of year but mostly Albanians there for the weekend, it got quiet after that. Next, we drove inland to Gjirokaster. This was higher and slightly cooler. It has a lovely old town that was nice to walk around, and I visited one of the many bunkers that the old communist regime became obsessed with building. North Korea apparently inspired this. Then we headed back to Tirana via the lovely old town of Berat. It had a well-situated castle and a rustic old town. Tirana was quite lively and noticeably wealthier than the rest of the country. More bunkers to visit here. They have made them into quite popular attractions called Bunk D’art. One in the centre of the town was more of an art gallery – not so impressive and stifling in the heat. The second on the outskirts of town was really interesting and very big. We luckily went there quite early in the day as when we emerged there were busloads of tourists arriving. Albania was pretty cheap and relatively untouristed compared with neighbouring countries. It was a place I had always wondered about seeing I’m glad we went there. There is more to see than we saw especially some more of the more mountainous areas.
Transylvania and Greece
Again, this is a long time between instalments but since this blog probably has an audience of less than 20 on a good day at the moment that’ll be enough.
I left it last time when we had arrived in Bucharest. One of the touristy things to do there is a visit to the Parliament Buildings which loomed large in the city skyline as we looked out the back window of the flat we were occupying. Its main claim to fame is it is the world’s heaviest building. Bulk is its main virtue as there was little of style in there. Started under the dictator Ceausescu, wasn’t quite clear if it was entirely finished. Overall, a curiosity of sorts but not that memorable really.
After this it was the painful hiring of a car which had been a schmozzle from the word go. I forgot my own adage not to go cheap on this. We finally got a local car, a Dacia Duster, a sort of SUV. It had 100k kms on it but was adequate for the purpose. Despite the endless warnings of how bad Romanian drivers were, I didn’t think they were that bad, probably on a par with driving somewhere like Italy. They weren’t particularly bad tailgaters, like the French and Spanish, but overtaking is the worst bit. I drove with headlights blazing all the time. If you are a road where you see a truck approaching you needed to slow a bit and be on your guard as you knew there would be a queue of impatient drivers waiting to jump out at you. On my side I pursued a policy of driving reasonably slowly and letting the nutters past, pulling off the road if necessary. There were very few hairy moments even driving over the Transfagarsan mounting route.
Our first stop was Brasov, an old Saxon town with a lively centre. The term Saxon appears to be used all the time but should really read German for it. There had been German migration to Transylvania since the 12th Century that waxed and waned over time. In the post world war era this population declined for all manner of reasons. The population is a fraction of what it is today with many of the Romaninan Germans resettling in Germany over this time. The legacy is seen mostly in Saxon churches that followed protestant teachings and are in contrast to the Orthodox sect that is dominant in Romania. The Black Church in Brasov is one of the largest but they decorate many of the smaller historic towns that we encountered in Transylvania. We stayed in a lovely old house (or part thereof) in Brasov despite being a bit of a nightmare getting the car in and out of the yard. The obligatory visit to Bran Castle, supposedly the home of Dracula was a pain. Of course it wasn’t the real home of Vlad the Impaler but it appeared as such in Bram Stoker’s book that popularised the whole legend. I’ve never been much interested in the whole thing really and Bran Castle was a hideous tourist trap. Long queues stretched out of the place and although were able to bypass much of it by buying tickets on the phone in the queue, it was a still in the end not worth it. We visited the nearby citadel of Rasnov which was far less crowded but somewhat unspectacular. Some of these places are clearly being restored with EU money which is great but some of them are surrounded by scaffolding and have limited entry.
From Brasov we headed to another historic town, Sighisoara, which is smaller but more significant in that is the home of an old English friend, Ian. It was great to catch up and spend time in person and to meet his seven-year-old daughter, Sonia. I’ll never know how many litres of beer passed through my system in those few days but it would be higher than the trip average which in turn has been pretty high. It was great to drive out in the countryside to see towns like Biertan and a pleasant nearby city, Targu Mures. The latter was pretty devoid of tourists and the lazy way we had got by in English (which is generally widely spoken in urban and touristed areas) didn’t work so well in a place where Hungarian and Romanian were the order of the day. People were largely friendly and the confusion we had over the parking system which incurred a small fine was sorted out by an approach to the helpful local police and nearby travel agent. A pleasant town probably more Hungarian in population. Transylvania was originally part of greater Hungary and they still claim it to this day. Romania’s chop and change, stop start participation in World War one had its ups and downs but eventually gave them the opportunity to nab Transylvania is the disintegration of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.
From Sighisoara we had a day in Sibiu to the west which also has its share of old buildings and was abuzz with mostly Romanian tourists. Pleasant enough but the real reason for heading that way was the Tranfagarasan road over the Fagaras Mountains. It was a lovely scenic drive but fairly busy at some points. We sighted two bears on the way down. There is quite a population of bears in Romania which can cause problems at times. Bears in Romania
Thankfully our flight to Athens the next day was pretty much on time. Bucharest airport is disorganised but not particularly busy, so it was a fairly easy trip. Athens itself was fun with Jackie getting more confident with her Greek very quickly. We had a nice apartment near the Acropolis but as we had both visited it on multiple occasions previously, we thought it best not to fight the crowds and heat this time around. We visited the new Acropolis Museum which was great and bussed and walked around the city, I posted something on Facebook about the bizarre ritual of the changing of the guard outside parliament. It remains one of the strangest things I have seen. Our ferry was delayed getting to Hydra, but it was great to get here eventually. Loads of tourists but many of them Greeks. We did a round island cruise which was lovely. The swimming stops in the sea were fantastic, wonderfully clear water and beautiful temperature.
France and onward
Been somewhat slow in starting this time. Already in France a week. Starting in searing hot Paris where to one point we saw a temperature of 43 degrees. Being dry heat, it was slightly more bearable and after some of our travels in India with temperatures that stayed relentlessly 40 + for days on end we took it as it came. Lovely Airbnb on Île de la Cité that despite having no air conditioning (not common in northern Europe) we didn.t suffer badly at all. From our rear window we could see Notre Dame, which was very close to us but sadly shrouded in scaffolding as they rebuild from the disastrous fire there in 2019.
It was lovely to walk out the door and see the Seine in front. I was surprised at the size of some of the barges that sailed down. It was a lovely scene. We had no real tourist plans and were happy to stroll through the streets and people watch in restaurants in the evening. However, this being probably the 6th time in Paris, I still had never visited the Palace of Versailles. Getting there proved to be more challenging than I thought given it is one of the most visited places on the planet. The easy method would have involved a straight through train but we were informed that line was shut and we needed to take the Metro with three changes to reach the town of Versailles. The London is a bit more user friendly than the Paris variety and there was a fair wait for interconnecting trains too. When we did reach the town of Versailles there was limited signage pointing to the palace. At one point they just ran out and I had to ask a local newsagent to point the way. You have to book a time slot and we had a bit of a quick march to get there in time for ours. The place is pretty impressive. Not just its size and gardens an=but the endless artworks, sculptures and the rich historical background. You could easily justify spending two days to have good look at it but tiredness took its toll. A great place but it felt like ticking a tourist box going to see it. After three days in Paris it was time to go to Nice to see our friends.
The airport wasn’t too bad but the plane ended up being two hours late. This caused confusion with the care rental and as the company had given away our car and we were stung for an extra 150 euros to rent a flashier model. I don’t know if they were being completely honest but that’s the game they play. There is dread in my heart about travelling this August in Europe, but fingers crossed.
What a fabulous time we’ve had in Claviers with our friends the Edwards. Their hospitality has been amazing and lending us their house in September and October has made the whole trip possible. Much lovely eating and plenty of drinking has been the order of the day and all against the wonderful beauty of the countryside. It has been hot but also made bearable by large quantities of cold beer and a swimming pool.
To Romania
It is strange to be collecting stamps in our passports as the we are no longer part of the EU. British passports are pretty useless these days except for getting into the UK itself. So sad to see what was once a respected nation in these parts slowly flush itself down the toilet. The election of the gormless Liz Truss seems to be a foregone conclusion so that is good in a way that the Tory government in the UK will continue to be run by a clique of twits. It will hopefully be their final downfall. We are probably a long way off doing something sensible like joining the Single Market or re-instituting freedom of movement given the gutlessness of the British left in standing up for it.
While the plane from Nice ended up taking off nearly two hours late – a feature of post Covid travel, summertime Europe and the never-ending nonsense that is Brexit – it was on the ground that we had the biggest hassle. The baggage took over an hour and a half to emerge! One of our fellow passengers kept saying how embarrassed he was to be a Romanian and groups of other passengers were berating airport staff and even the police. The upshot was that our rental car company put us down as a no-show and cancelled us. After endless phone calls we were able to sort it out and ended up not bothering to rent in while in Bucharest.
We are staying near the Old City which is lovely and chock full of bars and restaurants. There are some really gorgeous old buildings and most of our time has been wondering the streets despite the heat. We are staying in an apartment that is reasonably new but located on the top of an old communist era building that is a bit grim when you enter it. It has its eccentricities but not to worry. Things don’t always work smoothly here but not to worry.
Going West
To continue from last time, we went from Siliguri in West Bengal to Varanasi. This involved a two-stage flight, the first on AirAsia, who pissed us off greatly on our flight to Bagdroga by rigidly enforcing baggage rules. They were fine this time and the second stage of the flight from Kolkata to Varanasi was in a half empty Air India plane. All very jolly.
Varanasi was STINKING hot. In fact, the whole place was like a hot brick that barely cooled down overnight. The temperature was comfortably over 40 degrees every day we were there. The only time to really enjoy the place was at dawn or dusk. Most of the action took place at dawn and that was when it really worked its magic. I have said before, when people have tried to allude to what is really India and what is not, that there is no single place that sums it up as it is remarkably diverse. But there is something in wandering by the side of the Ganges at dawn, with the ghats and buildings clustered on the bank, that is quite enchanting. Like something out of an old history book of India, how I might have imagined the place as a kid. Travelling by row boat down the river at dawn was simply mesmerising. I had expected the place to be swamped by western tourists but they were considerably diluted by Indians. In fact, the place was not a western tourist trap at all in the way Goa or parts of Kerala are. The street scenes were not as harrowing as I might have thought. We certainly saw a number of cremations and the transport of dead bodies wrapped and carried on stretchers. But this was not as openly graphic as I might have thought. Varanasi is a very holy city for Hindus to be cremated and an even holier one in which to die.
Despite the spectacle, it was a relief in some ways to escape the place as it was essentially like being in an oven. It was dry heat rather than the oppressive humidity of Kolkata but hard enough, nonetheless. I’ve experienced this before and you just have to grin and bear it, venturing outside in small journeys and allowing time to rest up and re-hydrate in between. Overall it was quite some place. The ghats were a source of endless interest and the narrow back lanes were a fascinating labyrinth where it was very easy to get lost.
From Varanasi, it was a large jump to Amritsar. It was a disjointed two-stage flight again that involved a long layover in Delhi airport. By some fluke, we had managed to get premium economy on one leg which was pleasantly comfortable. It was impressive how the onboard staff could get all the food and drink out on such a short leg. I remembered visiting here years ago and visiting the famous Golden Temple which is an impressive religious monument. Amritsar was, on the surface, a friendlier place and, except for the day we arrived, blissfully cool. It was great on the second day when grey skies appeared and rain fell. It was a comforting feeling. I have seen hardly any rain in last year and while many would think this was a blessing, I think you need to have some balance in seasons and weather. The first place we visited was the memorial park where the 1919 massacre at Jallianwala Bagh took place. This was quite a hideous episode where an unarmed and largely peaceful crowd were fired upon by British commanded troops. The commander at the scene, General Dyer is not well looked on in history. He chose to deal with the situation without regard to the amount of bloodshed and only the structures in the area prevented the deployment of armoured cars which would have caused even more mayhem. A very unpleasant reminder of British rule, that despite apologists emphasising some of the few positive aspects, was essentially vicious and self-serving.
The Golden Temple had also seen more action in previous years when it was stormed and heavily damaged by Indian troops during the infamous Operation Blue Star in 1984 in response to its occupation by militant Sikhs. This led to rebuilding some of the temple complex which, although much of the damage was repaired by the government, there was a preference to rebuild much of the tainted area. I avoided handing in my shoes at the shoe booth, you are not allowed to wear shoes inside the temple area, by putting them in my shoulder bag. I did not close it too well which turned out to be a mistake. They were spotted by a passing pilgrim who relentlessly hassled me. I knew you couldn’t wear shoes but didn’t realise that this included not bringing them inside the temple at all. I was reported to the temple guards who duly escorted me to the shoe depository. It is an impressive complex. An adjoining museum has a gallery of pictures detailing some of the hideous and tortuous punishments meted out to and by the Sikhs over the centuries. The Sikh men in particular look quite dignified in their turbans and impressively cultivated moustaches. I’m still unclear quite how the women fit into all of this as they don’t appear to have such distinctive dress rules. They are required to cover their heads but this usually done with a chunnai scarf but women also wear turbans sometimes. There are five requirements for Sikh dress including special underpantsAmritsar also had a network of narrow lanes that threaded through shops and workshops and this made for a fascinating walk. While the place had a generally friendly feel about it but there were few westerners about and that seemed to create more staring than usual as well as a higher number of selfie posing requests. I can tolerate a high degree of staring but sometimes it is a bit hard. For instance, occasionally a waiter in an uncrowded hotel will linger and stare at every bit of the foreigner’s eating habits, much like you’d watch an animal at the zoo. It is usually disconcerting and somewhat annoying. As for the selfies, I am amazed at how many selfies someone can actually take but it is a national pastime in India and any tourist site in the country will be surrounded by Indians pointing phones at themselves. I have to admit that the need of many people to take a picture of themselves standing next to a foreigner is a mystery to me. I guess they show them to their mates but I can’t quite see the attraction. But it is a fact of life here. I’m not sure how many pictures I appear in but I am stored in quite a number of Indian phones.
Next it was to the final leg of the two-month travel finale in India as we headed to Rajasthan. First, we flew to Jaipur which is a place I visited about ten years ago. Not that this was a long layover. We headed straight off to Ranthambore National Park the next day in the hope of going on safari and spotting a tiger. I was caught short on my research here as I thought all that was required was to turn up and all the touts, hotel staff or hawkers would duly set us up for a safari. It wasn’t that way at all. The whole business was run and controlled by the state government and was a bit of a schamozzle. You were required to book online, I discovered, and there was limited space available. I had hoped to stay a couple of nights and get a few safaris in a “gypsy” (jeep). Not so lucky. First, the hotel manager came knocking at the door of our room offering us a rather overpriced ticket on a “canter” – an 18-seater 4WD. We walked through the village armed with sticks to brandish at packs of threatening dogs, to the official ticket booth. The rudeness was quite appalling and only one or two helpful people eventually clarified what was happening. No gypsy available as they were booked ages ago. Only one safari ride available which was the following morning in a canter. We did manage to book that online, thus avoiding the 33% commission on offer at the hotel. The hotel staff were helpful in other ways but it still involved a trip down to the ticket booth at 5:30am so I could show the online booking and be allocated a vehicle. I then had to travel back to the hotel on the back of a motorbike to wait for the safari vehicle to call by and pick us up. Typical Indian red tape. So, in the back of an 18-seater being bumped around uncomfortably we headed off. To make things more complicated, the park is divided into zones. We luckily got on the canter to Zone 6 which is a high tiger spotting area. After being bumped around for an hour and a half and seeing very few animals of any sort we stopped next to a watering hole. At this point I had given up all hope of seeing a tiger and couldn’t wait to go back to the hotel and on to Jaipur. A gypsy pulled up close by and clearly reported seeing a tiger as our driver took off at breakneck speed. While there were other vehicles present, we finally did see a tiger emerge from the undergrowth. It was an impressive beast. Beautiful, like all the big cats, and certainly the largest cat I have ever seen. It made up for some of the stress of getting to the place and on a safari.
With improved spirits but still weary from the early morning wake up we returned to the hotel and made as swift an exit as possible back to Jaipur. I had abandoned the idea of a second night at Ranthambore as there was little point, with no prospect of further animal spotting. The hotel we stayed in had a heritage style and lovely grounds with a murky swimming pool. There was a large stone wall across the road form it where, legend has it, leopards sometimes sit and wait to spot their next meal We didn’t see any, but I’ll settle for the tiger.
Back in Jaipur we limited our activity to taking another trip to see the pink city and one to the Panna Meena ka Kund, a so-called step well near the Amber Fort. Now we are getting nearer the end of the journey. A one day lay up in Jaipur where we rested up and prepared for the next stop at Pushkar. The travelling can be a bit hard at times but it is nothing like the sort of gruelling travel I did as a young backpacker in these parts. Age and more money has seen to that.
Kolkata and beyond
From the south we headed to Kolkata. I first arrived in that city when I came to India in 1976. It was called Calcutta then and was entirely different place. As I’ve said before, India and the world were different places then. I remember suffering a bit from culture shock despite having been travelling in South East Asia in the previous months. I thought it was great at the time and was not disappointed after my lengthy absence. It had a bit of a different vibe to Mumbai and in many ways was rather more pleasant. The old yellow taxis gave it a Manhattan sort of feel. I was surprised to see them in such abundance. Based on the old Ambassador cars they really added to the atmosphere of the place. Interestingly they had “No Refusal” written on the side. I took this with a grain of salt and see I was probably right to do so. In theory they use the meters and although on our first ride the driver did so, all subsequent experiences were different. This included reneging on the original deal when we were already inside and setting off. I did push back against this by shouting “Stop the car and I’ll give you 20 rupees!” It worked every time and the original deal was reinstated. After this we mainly used Uber and Ola – not always easy hooking up with the ride but considerably cheaper and no hassle about the fare.
These hassles aside, the place was a treat. The sumptuous Victoria Memorial was on a Taj Mahal like scale. I barely remembered it from the first visit but it presented magnificently and was set in lovely parkland. We also loved the Indian Museum. It had some old and crumbling exhibits but the building was brilliant, this is so often the case with many of the museums in India. Often these are small with quite eclectic collections but housed in lovely buildings. The Indian Museum is on quite a different scale and a wonderful place to visit.
It must be added, that although Kolkata was fun to explore it was also hideously hot and humid. I was best able to stand up to it and spent a bit more time walking about. It was hard however keeping adequately hydrated as I became drenched in sweat. I photographed some of the lovely old buildings expecting to be shouted at by some guard. Many of the loveliest old buildings house government departments and that usually means photographing them is banned. I was chased off at one point but just carried on everywhere else as brazenly as possible, thinking that if they stopped me so what? There is an obsession about photography in India. Many things are exempt from any forms of photography. Often quite innocuous buildings or particular parts of museums. There is usually a charge added on at museums for cameras. Then sometimes you are only allowed to take photos with a mobile phone not a “proper” camera. It can be annoying and often seems arbitrary and stupid but that’s the way it is. Sometimes playing dumb or being sneaky gets you past this.
I also ventured over to the Central Market near where I had originally stayed all those years ago. I would be instantly pursued and harassed by some young lad as soon as I entered the place. They would list everything they could think of: “do you want pashminas, handicrafts, carvings…” the list would go on. Then in more hushed tones they would say: “Do you want hashish? Heroin? Morphine? Speed? Cocaine ..?” again the list would go on. Then: “You want girl?” And in even more hushed tones: “You want boy?” Anyway, the place burned down some years ago so it is unrecognisable today. So, life goes on….
I left Kolkata thinking that I had not really had as much time there as I would have wanted. It’s probably nicer at street level than the great city of Mumbai and has the reputation as a cultural and intellectual centre in India. A friend who spends quite a bit of time there on business had a few suggestions for places to eat and visit but we only got to a few of these. But there is always another time. From Kolkata we headed to Darjeeling. This involved a flight and a three-hour drive. We were finally caught having cabin baggage that was too heavy by AirAsia. It was an annoyance and cost us about $A30 (£13). They’ll probably do it again the next time we fly with them.
Darjeeling, a famous old British hill station, was far less touristy than I expected. Most of the tourists are Indians and we saw only a few Westerners. The town was hardly over developed for tourists either. What we did encounter was something we hadn’t seen for a while: rain. In fact, we got caught in a huge downpour and our flimsy umbrellas were of little protection. The lower temperature meant it was quite pleasant to walk. I had booked a ticket on the narrow gauge “toy” train that these days is pretty much a joyride. The day before they sent me a text saying it was cancelled. As the weather the next day was fine, we chanced going to the station and were rewarded with a ticket on the next train up the hill. I got covered in large coal dust but thoroughly enjoyed the ride. It brought back memories of my late father who was a huge steam train fan. He would have greatly enjoyed it.
Then it was off to Sikkim. I had always wanted to go there after I read about it as a kid. In those days it was an independent kingdom but that changed in 1975 when India decided to depose the king and take over. Sikkim’s strategic location abutting the Chinese border may have pushed India in that direction. I should probably have researched the trip a bit better and left time to get a permit to visit Lake Chengdu. As it was, we needed a special permit to visit Sikkim which was a bit of a nuisance to acquire. It involved going to two different offices where stuffy old geezers wrote details in books and issued stamped forms. In the end no border soldiers looked at it but the hotel needed to see it before you could check in. But we were blessed with the weather in Gangtok and got great views of Kanchenjunga, the third highest peak after Everest and K2. It was really nice in Gangtok and the drive up there from Darjeeling was beautiful. Getting out proved a bit trickier. I hadn’t really accounted for the largest democratic exercise on earth – the elections for Lok Sabha – the Indian central parliament. This has received quite a bit of publicity in other countries. Over 900 million people eligible to vote and 15 million new voters since the last election in 2014. It is staged over about five weeks but unfortunately kicked off on the day we were planning on heading south. It appears that the advent of the election brings in all sorts of restrictions. Alcohol was not sold in the days preceding it and on the first day itself nearly all transport services were suspended. After some searching, we found a taxi driver willing to take us. After nervously waiting for the next day, he’d obviously farmed it out to a friend. We ended up with the guy in the picture. He looked about twelve years old, but was twenty, and drove like a maniac. He was a nice guy however and thankfully arrived in one piece.
I write this while sitting in a hotel room in Siliguri, a not particularly notable town but one that is a point between Gangtok and the airport at Bagdroga. Tomorrow we have a two-stage flight to Varanasi. Our time here gets shorter but as we are doing so much it all seems so long. It’s going to be quite a change. Now we go back to the great heat of the plains and away from the relative cools of the hills.
Fond of Pondy
Fast forward to India again. From Kandy we had headed south. First to the Udawalawe National Park for a safari amongst the elephants, monkey and birds. It was nice but again it was a bit of a shit fight with the other armada of vehicles. Eventually these seemed to disperse and we were left to wander in relative peace around the park. The park has its problems with the conflict between foraging elephants and the farmers who live around its perimeter. There appears to be some stress on the animals themselves whose opportunities for feeding themselves appear to have diminished. Elephants are large animals who eat a lot and can be a threat to humans when their lives conflict. This has escalated in recent years in Sri Lanka with over 375 people killed by wild elephants and over 1,100 elephants killed by humans within the five years to 2018. I have seen this in Africa before. Often it is the big businesses that own safari parks not really sharing that wealth around. Therefore, subsistence farmers bear the brunt of animal incursions.
From there we went to the southern city of Galle. This gave us an opportunity to have probably one last trip to the beach which was nice. We stayed in the Fort area which was a lovely area based on the old Dutch colony. Certainly, it was a lovely spot. See the pictures here.
Sri Lanka was a pleasant place but I am not overwhelmed but a huge desire to return. I would certainly recommend it to those who find the prospect of India daunting. It is altogether a far tamer and more benign place.
So, from Sri Lanka it was back to India and a flight to Chennai followed by a three hour taxi ride to Pondicherry. I have long wanted to come here. It is the main part of the old French India. There is still some influence left here. The old colonial town, White Town, is lovely, There has clearly been some effort put into restoring the old buildings and to emphasise its Gallic past. The result is rather nice. There are some very tasteful restaurants and boutiques and overall the place is lovely. It has to get a nomination for one of the most pleasant places I have visited in India. The only downside to this seaside town is that it lacks a beach you can swim on. It has a seaside promenade but this faces a sea wall. Notices ban any thought of swimming. We visited the neighbouring new age town of Auroville which I have to say was largely underwhelming. It has a fair presence of westerners with about 40% of the resident population being non-Indian. There some photos of Pondicherry (colloquially known as Pondy) here.
The French had a presence in India for several hundred years. There were apparently a number of reasons for the French withdrawal from India. The areas under French control were disparate and tiny. Times were changing and old-style colonialism was unpopular and outmoded. France had been hammered by the Vietnamese in Indochina and had come to the realisation it wasn’t the power it was anymore. A number of European countries had tried to carve out empires in India with the Dutch being ousted by the British, who appeared to tolerate the longer-term presence of the French and Portuguese. The latter were of course duly kicked out by the Indians in 1961 as their fascist regime had clung on desperately to its colonies until the mid-1970’s. Even the Danish had a few goes but were small and often disorganised. I feel an over-reliance on Wikipedia as a source here but it provides a fairly accurate overall picture.
We needed a new power board and were pointed in the direction of a local department store called Pothys. As we made our way to the electrical section on the fifth floor we passed through a dazzling selection of sarees. They made for a very colourful two floors. Quite a stunning scene. The shopworkers seemed to think it was a bit strange that we were quite taken by it. Obviously, they see it every day. The purchase process following typical red tape laden procedures. The shop assistant comprehensively tested he power board by taking it out of the package, taking me to another desk and demonstrating that each power socket worked. Not bad customer service. He then typed up a sales invoice and directed me to the payment desk. I duly paid and had the sales invoice stamped four times in two different colours. I then had to go to another desk where another shop assistant officiously grabbed the stamped sales invoice (grabbing bureaucrats and frontline staff are another feature of Indian life), and then stapled the invoice to the plastic bag that was in front of him with the purchased power board. As soon as he had stapled the invoice, he then instantly ripped it off (leaving a hole on the side of the bag) and matched it with another shorter version receipt. He then stamped the two pieces of paper twice each with a blue stamp at dizzying speed and shoved the receipt and shopping bag at me with a look that reeked of resentment. Perhaps I was a little bemused and amused at the whole process at the same time. I was disappointed that he kept the sales invoice with the most colourful stamps on it but you can’t have everything. Red tape is a way of life here. It can be infuriating at times when you are stuck in a needless process but quite entertaining at others. I must admit I kind of preferred Pothys to David Jones or Marks and Spencer. The customer service was attentive and the colour of the place was seductive. The overstocked interior and the armies of sales staff reminded me of older times. I’m not been condescending here. I love these little things that this country throws at you. They come often in the most unexpected places and during the most trivial of tasks.
So, from here we leave the south. First to Kolkata and then even further north to Darjeeling and Gangtok. What a lovely part of India it has been. I haven’t been to Kolkata since 1976 but it was the first place I landed here and so significant as the first time I discovered India.
I love Kandy
Well not really. It’s not quite the green and pleasant place I had wanted it to be. It’s one of those places I remember seeing on the world map in my bedroom as a kid and wondering what it might be like. Over the years I probably built a picture in my mind of lush bush surrounding a quaint old colonial town. Not really much like that. Kandy was the kingdom that for centuries successfully fought off the Portuguese and the Dutch invaders, only to finally succumb to the British in the mid-19th Century. There is certainly pleasant countryside surrounding it but it brims with stinky traffic. Not on an Indian scale mind you. Sri Lanka has been comparatively mild compared with India. There is not the dreadful polluted air and manic traffic zooming around amidst odious mounds of thoughtlessly strewn rubbish. It has been a treat to smell things here – fresh air, hints of flowers. The traffic here is said by all guidebooks to be manic and lawless. But again, compared with India it is positively tame. The roads are generally well kept with all the white lines in place and there is far, far less of the eternal rubbish that despoils beautiful India. This is meant as a statement about some of the immediate and largely superficial differences between the two countries. I could not be said to be anything but an admirer of the chaos and swarm of humanity that characterises India and have blathered on about this at some length before. But India does take it toll on the senses in many ways and a brief respite is not such a bad thing. At this point, after a short foray further north to various ruins and things, Kandy has been where I have spent the last two days. It is something of a permanent traffic jam which does greatly detract from its charm. There are glimpses of what it has been and probably can be at times as you look over the lake into the green hills behind. But sadly, it hasn’t quite matched my preconception. But I’m not going to complain as it is pleasant, nonetheless.
Colombo was an immediate contrast to previous months as the streets were well paved and the rubbish piles relatively well contained. I found it a bit souless really. Not a particularly interesting city but I don’t think it is really fair to judge places in this way. There is a lot of development going on in the old Fort area which makes for some pleasant walking but has probably diluted some of the old charm of the place.
I have probably seen enough of temples for the time being despite some of these being quite striking. We didn’t really have time to explore the ruins of Anuradhapura and learnt on that visit the first problem of temple visiting here – hot feet. The sun that beats down makes the ground so hot, walking through them impossible at times. The answer is to take a pair of socks that makes it a bit more bearable. We then went south to stay at Sigiriya, home of the famous rock fortress. Too famous as it turns out. It is a tourist cliché here and if the climb to the top in unpleasant temperatures wasn’t enough then the crowds detracted from it as an impressive site. See the photos of the crowd waiting to go up the stairway. I imagine at the right time it would be magical but we didn’t see it at its best. I tend to grin and bear the heat a bit but it does make some of the trip quite hard. The ruins at Polonnaruwa were very impressive both in their scale and the attractive setting that surrounds them. I had thought to leave a visit to them off the itinerary at one point but was rewarded for the effort. “Effort” may not be the right word. We caved into pressure and went with a car and driver here. Public transport is not the greatest and the cost of taking individual cars from place to place was pretty much the same or more than hiring our own driver for much of the time we were here. It is hardly my usual style of travel but you can get used to it. At least it is to our own timetable and itinerary. The sweat factor very much in play and the increasing oppressive heat can make sightseeing tortuous at times. But I have persisted and the sweat-dripped climb to the top of Sigiriya rock was the dedicated labour of a long-term traveller. This was even more heroic given the unexpected violent vomiting I had experienced at breakfast that morning. For some reason a glass of freshly prepared pineapple juice seemed to induce it. I brushed it aside and persevered nonetheless. It is otherwise refreshing that my battered legs and foot survived the climb with no problem. It is a great relief to me that the foot that I almost cut in two before embarking on this journey has proved to be pretty much problem free. While my reconstructed toe has no power of its own, it neatly and agreeably falls into step with the rest of my foot and causes me no bother.
So today we headed higher through the tea plantations and gorgeous green foliage interspersed with colourful flowers that are part and parcel of the tropical highlands. Another day up here and it’s off to the hotter lowlands and coast.
I’ve added some photos here. But there are more to come.
Heading east then south
I’m sitting in a hotel room in Chennai on the eve of a flight to Sri Lanka. The journey since last writing has taken us from Kerala to the state of Tamil Nadu. The last leg of the Kerala journey was up into the hills. We stayed at a place called Munnar. It was blissfully cool and green. The area is known for its tea and the tea plantations themselves were a sight to see. The wonderful sea of green was surrounded at times by beautiful wildflowers and trees that also had uniquely coloured foliage. The contrast from place to place in this country is quite amazing. Of course, I have been to Himalayan areas and know how different they can be but the more I see of India the more I realise I have seen so little and that will probably never change.
There wasn’t an awful lot to actually see around Munnar as the wildlife park I had wanted to visit was closed as the rare nilgiri thar (a kind of goaty antelope) were having their breeding season and they didn’t want them to be upset or put off. But the scenery made up for this deficit as it was verdant and the air was the freshest we had breathed in some time. In fact, the air of south India so far seems better. We will return to the north and probably much worse air later. As I banged on about before, the air pollution is one of the worst things about being in India.
From Munnar we got a car to Madurai. This is in the neighbouring state of Tamil Nadu. Down from the Western Ghats to the drier plains. It was a beautiful drive and thankfully over fairly decent roads. The previous year there were very bad floods during the monsoon that caused quite a bit of damage, but a lot of road building had gone on and it was better than most we have experienced so far.
Of course, with the drop in altitude came the return to the heat. A drier heat than Kerala but very hot nonetheless. We were staying next to the huge Meenakshi Amman temple. It is one if the largest in India and quite imposing. We went inside but large areas are off limits to non-Hindus. We did see enough to see the extent of it and it was impressive. Madurai has been referred to as the spiritual heart of Tamil Nadu and this temple is at the centre of that. There is more of the history of it here. Out hotel was right next it and we didn’t know but the roads around it were all closed and so this necessitated a walk with luggage under the hot sun. We had to repeat this when we left. Madurai is a pleasant town and not too big, around one million, although this has probably grown since the last census in 2011. This is pretty small by Indian standards. It had some quite ridiculous traffic jams that belie its size, which is clearly an area that needs work. It was very low on western tourists as well so it was Indian breakfasts eaten in very downmarket places. Not really a problem for me and quite a refreshing change in some ways from much of the touristy areas we have visited. There was also a quite imposing palace, the Thirumalai Nayak Palace, that apparently used to be much larger. It had huge pillars and I was left wondering what it must have been like in its better days. Like most things in Madurai, the prices have not yet been jacked up to sting foreigners. These can often be quite high. Understandably they should pay a market type price in order to maintain them and that poor Indians should be able to visit them, but sometimes this is a bit steep. Foreigners are frequently made to feel they have the same status as a walking ATM in India. There is an understanding that they should pay more but sometimes it grates a bit. This is sometimes why I find myself bargaining down a tuk tuk fare by 60 cents. Unfortunately, you need to do this to an extent otherwise you will be treated with a degree of contempt. When someone is honest with me, I am happy to give a large tip.
So, we flew from Madurai to Chennai to catch the flight to Sri Lanka. This was poorly researched on my part as, when I got to the airport I realised there were direct flights from Madurai to Colombo! They are not particularly expensive either. So, I added an unnecessary flight to the trip. I didn’t need that as I have lost track of tge number of flights we have done here and airport security is a real chore. Some airlines in India perform an extra security check after you have gone through normal airport security.
Photos of this part of the trip can be seen here.
From Kochi we have headed south. Kerala is a beautiful place, all lush and green. It was lovely to journey through the small roads with the coconut palms and glowing green foliage. Not entirely different from other parts of India but it feels quite a bit more tropical anyway. Certainly the heat and humidity is cranking up although that is largely due to the change of seasons. I have been in north India before around April/May and I know it gets hideously hot. That’s something to look forward to, not.
Among the many sights that is striking is Indian men often hold hands when they are walking together. This is not a sign of a same sex relationship but quite a common thing, more an expression of friendship. It is a strange thing at first but easy to get used to. It is common in many cultures around the world and was once quite common in Western societies especially in the nineteenth century. It can look a bit incongruous when you see a man in western dress holding hands with his friend wearing a short mundu (local skirt).
The mundu or its close relatives, the dhoti and lungi, are very common dress in Kerala. I’m not sure if I have an exact handle on the difference among them. It probably relates to length, style and colour. “When unbleached, the mundu is called “neriyathu”. In modern times, two types of mundu are prevalent—the single and the double. A single mundu is draped once around the waist, while the double is folded in half before draping. A mundu is usually starched before use.” Then we start on the lungi: “In Kerala the Lungi, locally known as Kaili or Kalli Mundu, is worn by both men and women. It is considered a casual dress or working dress of labourers. Most men in Kerala use lungi as home dress or sleep dress. Lungis are generally colourful, and with varying designs. Lungis are not used during occasions such as weddings or other religious ceremonies.” Thank you Wikipedia for that info, further reading is here. I’m still confused personally but suffice to say that blokes in this part of the world wear skirts and seem to prefer it to western trousers most of the time. This is not surprising considering it is stinking hot. I don’t think I’ll be making the switch just yet.
Indians in the sea are an ongoing source of fascination to me. I think I have written about this before. As an Australasian, I have a distinct relationship with the sea. I love to swim in it, preferably playing in the waves. That is in my DNA, from childhood that was our beach culture. Swimming was regarded as a life skill that everyone should learn. It was funny to see Europeans in Goa lazing endlessly on their beach lounges just looking at the sea. They only occasionally venture into the sea and only when it’s not too “rough”. That is when there are waves of any sort. I struggle to spend hours at the beach as much as I love it. But it is nice to enjoy the sea. Indians on the other hand are a different bunch again. Many of them can’t swim of course and to see them in places like Goa and Kerala as visitors borders on the comical. Beachwear is pretty much unknown to them so they frolic in the shallows in their clothes. I loved to show off in the sea by catching wave while bodysurfing which is often met with gawping stares by wading Indians. Also at the pool in our apartments I would jump in and do a four lap medley again to gawping stares.
Kerala has had Communist Party led governments on and off since the 1950’s. They are certainly influenced by these ideas but function mostly as a reformist, democratic socialist style government. The flags with hammers and sickles can be seen in many places and there are some more festive and stylistic interpretations to be found on the walls in some villages. The history is rather convoluted with various factions and splits of the Indian Communist Party forming coalition fronts with other left wing parties to form governments over the years. Either way, Kerala has the highest literacy rate in India, 95% vs 74% for the country as a whole. Overall, Kerala scores relatively high on the Human Development Index compared with many other states in India and other countries. The reasons are mixed and debatable. Left leaning governments have focused on healthcare, education, women’s rights, basic infrastructure and sanitation with consequent positive results. But Kerala appears to have strong grassroots organisations that are active and successful. Many Keralans have benefited from working in the Gulf however their success there can also be attributed to higher standards of education.
Kerala is a lovely part of India for a variety of reasons but it has an interesting political history and has achieved some success in human development that outstrips much of the rest of the Indian subcontinent.
See photos of Kerala at https://easytravellerdotnet.wordpress.com/kerala/
On the road south
The first stop past Goa was Bangalore or Bengaluru which is now its correct name. It comes from the local Kannada language Benda-kaal-uru. It means essentially “place of the boiled beans”. There is a legend behind it but that is open to some debate. Follow that link if you want to delve deeper. It was surprisingly green and pleasant. The tree lined streets were not what I was expecting. It doesn’t seem as big as it is, at 12.3 million people it’s not very large by Indian standards but hardly small. It is one of the main centres of Indian IT so that should probably make it one of the centres of world IT. Not that I really saw much evidence of that. I had booked a stopover here for a couple of days with the thought of just having a look at the city itself but that was, in hindsight, a bit of a mistake. The neighbouring places of Mysore (Mysuru) and Ooty are attractive destinations in themselves. I knew we were not really going to make it to Ooty but only realised later how attractive the sights were in Mysuru. It is a pleasant place itself and has a famous palace. In the end we made a one-day trip there by hiring a taxi which included a stop off at a place called Srirangapatna, which is home to another old palace that was rather fascinating. I have included some pictures of it under the Mysore tab. It was about 150km to Mysore from Bangalore, a 300km round trip. That is quite long by Indian standards as roads are usually in poor condition and clogged. This road was better than usual but still was a bit of a slog. I was a victim of my own poor planning. It was worth the journey anyway but I left both places feeling I hadn’t really done them justice. Not to worry, we still saw quite a bit during our stay.
In the background of this has been the latest dust up between India and Pakistan over Kashmir. This was triggered by a hideous loss of life (more that 40) in a suicide bombing of an Indian army convoy by a terrorist group in Pulwama, Kashmir in February. This led to an Indian incursion into Pakistani territory to bomb a supposed terrorist training camp, an Indian plane getting shot down followed by the Pakistani Prime Minister, Imran Khan, handing the surviving captured pilot back to India in a gesture of supposed goodwill. Pakistan has been fairly conciliatory but the sabre rattling on the Indian side has been louder. This is not least because Indian elections are due soon and the current Prime Minister, Narendra Modi, and his BJP party are in danger of losing their parliamentary majority. This whole episode brings a largely welcome distraction from India’s inconvenient problems such as rising unemployment. These incidents can be a gift to incumbent politicians everywhere who are under pressure. I expect this to blow over but we are keeping travel plans up north to a minimum and seeing how it all goes.
From Bangalore we flew to Kochi (previously known as Cochin). These new names for places are seemingly used interchangeably. I haven’t met any Indians yet who feel particularly strongly about it. Bombay is still frequently used in Mumbai. It is largely the same with Bangalore and Mysore. These were essentially Anglicised names that have been officially dumped as an unwelcome vestige of imperialism. I’ve yet to hear anyone call Chennai by its old name of Madras but I haven’t been there yet so I’ll wait and see.
Kochi, at least the area of Fort Kochi is lovely. Pleasantly laid back and not overwhelmed with tourists. The places to eat and stay are largely decked out more tastefully than Goa, where the evidence of its Indo-Portuguese character has largely been wiped away by rapid development. There are a greater range of nationalities among the tourists with a more noticeable presence of French, Australians and even Americans. Although not the worst of your loud Yankee tourists by any means. One great advantage of this is the greater availability of halfway decent coffee.
I finally made good on my threat to hire a Royal Enfield motorbike for a day and rode out west of the city. The roads were a bit less clogged than Goa and not quite as infested with speed humps or speed breakers as they are called here. These are frequently not marked and take you by surprise and leading to hitting the breaks hard or being uncomfortably tossed in the air and threatening to break the suspension. Annoying as these are, they are really necessary because there would be terrible mayhem without them. There are few road rules here and stupid behaviour is common but it has some logic to it with an underlying code of practice. It is possible to ride here fairly comfortably as traffic is generally pretty slow. Even on the old Royal Enfield I barely got above 60kph. There are just too many daft drivers and other obstacles like stray cows, dogs and pedestrians who don’t mind walking three abreast and getting in the way of passing traffic.
This state, Kerala, currently has a communist led government and I have yet to investigate what changes they have brought here. There are numerous slogans and murals on walls concentrating on social issues and warnings about the dangers of drugs. The red flags with white hammer and sickle emblems fly in many places.
Now the plan is to head south through Kerala and then back north across to Madurai and Chennai before a side trip to Sri Lanka.
Goan Goan Gone
I write this on the last day we spend in Goa. It’s been great. We have made friends that will last, we have seen more of this great country, swum day after day in the warm and pleasant Arabian Sea, watched more gorgeous sunsets than I can remember and partied with some fabulous people. It’s been a ball.
More than that though is the fact that it has been great to wake up day after day in India. To be living here has been quite different. There will be plenty of people who say that Goa isn’t really India but in many ways it most certainly is. In fact, it is very hard to point to one place on the sub-continent and say: “This is the real India”. The variety over a huge country of 1.3 billion souls is so great that a lifetime would not be enough to explore and truly know it. Goa has had the advantage of an expat community that has helped provide us with amenity and the companionship of like-minded people. If that has detracted from an “Indian experience” well then so be it. This is a different part of India with its Portuguese background and that lends it a special flavour. It is, to an extent, the Las Vegas of India with its endless hotels, cheap booze and casinos. It is changing from a playground of foreigners to the playground of Indians. I would have loved to have seen it many years ago when I first came to India but that never happened. Places change and it is foolish to lament what was. It still is a charming place and as a crossroads for travellers it has been endlessly interesting.
There is not much more to say than that, although I have written quite a bit previously about it. For us it has been one more chapter in life’s story. These are the things you don’t forget and it has been a wonderful experience. Our trip since leaving Australia has been largely settled. First to England to dump our bags and stay for months and then here to do much the same. It has been very comfortable but now for a bit of wandering again.
So goodbye Goa. I don’t know if I will pass this way again but if I don’t, well it was great to have done it at least once. Ahead lies two months on the road: Kerala, Sri Lanka and northwards (if the conflict with Pakistan doesn’t affect that). So, with a tinge of sadness there is also the excitement of new places, new experiences and all sorts of people to meet. That is the true spirit of life for me. It brings with it a love and embrace of change. Change can be a mixed bag but when you are making the changes you are setting life’s agenda, as much as that is possible. Onward we go.
A typical day
A typical day in Goa kicks off around 8am. Sometimes it’s a bit earlier. I do manage to get to the gym every second day and when an Aussie friend was here, we would swim between the lifeguard stations which is probably around 800m. But otherwise it’s a routine of getting up to a strong Nescafe. I’ve managed to adapt in some ways to awful instant coffee. Had I been a bit more on the ball I could have tracked down a plunger but on some days, I venture to the German Bakery or a local franchise called Coffee Day Café for a half-way decent brew.
Our apartment is a rather spacious two bedroom one with a study that serves as the open suitcase room. It has two bathrooms with one including a bath that has been claimed by Jackie. This works well as the shower is rather pathetic, with a flexible tube and an old fashioned style telephone type shower head. Very English in every way. While my bathroom is somewhat more utilitarian, it has a decent shower.
Our kitchen is spacious and well equipped expect it doesn’t have a proper oven. Eating out is very cheap here so apart from fried eggs for breakfast most days, simple pasta dishes and experimental Indian cookery learned through cooking classes.
We have ample ceiling fans and air conditioning however power cuts are frequent. Sometimes many times a day. It generally comes back after a few minutes. There are backups in most modern places. When ours cuts out we lose the air con but not the fans, We lose the fridge and microwave but not the tv. It is generally no more than a mild annoyance. More annoying is the internet. There are virtually no landline connections so a mobile modem is the only way. The internet is usually ok in the morning but tends to get worse in the evening. I hedge our bets a bit by having two mobile modems on different networks and some data allowance on my mobile (on another network again). But sometimes all three are rubbish and you just have to suck it up. I’ll complain less about the internet in Australia when I get back.
We hire a scooter as main transport as taxis are very expensive by Indian standards. Buses are reasonably frequent and cheap but the convenience of our own wheels is too tempting. The rental for it is about $A6 (£3 a day). The traffic is mad of course and takes some getting used to but as in all these countries with virtually no discernible road rules there is a kind of etiquette. I’m sure it would bamboozle most in the West but it is helpful that traffic is relatively slow. There are the added hazards like cows, dogs, poorly marked speed humps and people who aren’t too fussy which side of the road they drive on. Nuts, but you kind of get used to it.
So, to resume the daily routine. We usually head down to the beach at the first opportunity. While Candolim is a fairly developed part of Goa, the beach is very large and so pretty uncrowded. With a mostly European and Indian tourist population, they barely venture into the sea. Many are English and Russian so sit or lie on sunbeds doing anything but actually engaging with the sea itself. They look at me strangely when I emerge from waves that they consider far too rough to even think of going in. Of course, by Australian standards it’s all pretty mild. I do impress some of them with my body surfing. Something they wouldn’t even think of doing. Indians are even stranger in this situation. They have quite a different way of swimming. “Men in drawers walk the beach or dive into a resort pool while their fully clothed women frolic in its shallows..” says one Indian website describing the new age of Indian tourism. The article is an apt description of local tourism in modern India: https://www.dnaindia.com/analysis/column-when-the-twain-shall-meet-2691391?fbclid=IwAR1h7mWRsBYLdKGhnQAyNq9yKxyVHnOI1g15DnkPzRnosbEaHWoHkvhGoMc. Indian tourists are on the rise in Goa as Europeans increasingly retreat in the face of over development, higher prices and annoying, expensive visa regulations. Indian tourists are not particularly popular with locals. They tend not to spend money in restaurants and bars and often are to be found roaming the streets in packs (males especially) inebriated on cheap and strong beer. Booze is cheap in Goa – much more so than other states in India, some of which are completely dry. With large groups of Indians comes the inevitable: noise. They are not a quiet people. This article sums up how tourism is developing here: http://www.openthemagazine.com/article/society/the-ugly-indian-tourist
This is not a racist rant, Indians like all others on the planet, some are lovely others certainly not. The people are amazingly diverse, ranging in colour from the white to the deepest black. This is a country that swarms with crowds, noise, colour and chaos. It may not be everyone’s cup of tea but for those of us who embrace it, it is life affirming. To have lived here month on month and lived it every day, it is wonderful.
But I digress again. The beach is lovely and the swim is like having a bath as the water hovers close to 29°C. Some days the surf is great for a frolic, others it is rather too calm. On those days the English will venture in for a paddle. The walk to the beach takes around ten minutes. It is a pleasant one down a dirt track that wends through the palm trees and old Portuguese villas. Strange and exotic bird noises fill the air. On many days this short walk fills me with the invigorating essence of what travel is for me. I suspect it would be like all of Goa was twenty or so years ago. But on the way back when you hit the main road that vision tends to vanish.
Our daily walk to the beach has brought us into contact with our three main furry friends. Ashley, Stumpy and Tyrian. Ashley loves to lie in the ash residue of the frequent rubbish fires that are lit in our street just over the wall.
Stumpy is fairly obvious. We meet her near the beginning of the track to the beach. Sometime in her past there was an unfortunate accident with her tail. Finally as we progress down the track is Tyrian. A strange looking dog. The picture does not convey his diminutive stature. When you see him you would think he should be bigger. He has the rumpled and loose skin that should be on a larger beast. He is a pleasant creature although a bit doddery. We greet each other everyday when we pass and it is unusual not to find them in their customary places.
The days never drag. It always seems to be a surprise when we mockingly ask: “Where has the day gone?” Of course, typical days are not always typical. Some days we have errands to fill. Sometimes there are things to find like clothes, medicines, bags etc. We have out rides into the hinterland or to other beaches north and south. Sometimes we venture into the state capital Panjim and walk through the old Portuguese quarter. Others we spend time with friends we have made here, usually at some musical event. Life is hardly hectic but not really empty either. This is some sort of practice run for retirement It would be hard to understand for many friends back in the world of work. A rigid adherence to the protestant work ethic would probably fill me with guilt most days. But it does so less and less. I am aware however time can be wasted so it is best to try and fill it with creative things if possible. Work does loom on the horizon as we haven’t retired and realistically can’t retire for some time. For now, typical days are very pleasant days.
Urban cows in India
From my kitchen window I have seen this calf come into the world and take its first steps. I have walked past it on my way to the beach or the supermarket and watched as it wobbled on its brand new legs. This soon turned to sadness as the poor thing had a rope fixed around its neck and it has lived in this stifling hot shed, often tormented by flies. This has been its life so far. Anyone who has been to India will have seen the sacred cows wondering the streets. These create more than a few problems: https://www.odditycentral.com/animals/indias-sacred-strays-millions-of-urban-cows-living-alongside-humans.html
It is sad to see the young calf spending its short life at the end of a rope. I have watched it trying to prance about but the rope won’t let the poor thing move more that a few paces. Its young legs have never felt real freedom. I must say that is upsetting to me as I think freedom is the greatest thing any creature can have. It makes me think how nice it would be to see this calf prancing and playing in green fields and wide-open spaces. To let the young animal roam the streets would probably expose it to impossible danger from the anarchic traffic.
There are many scenes of suffering in this huge and enigmatic country and some of them you are forcibly confronted with. This is one of these things. I can only hope that this young animal will eventually realise its freedom from its oppressive rope. It will never live a life of frolicking in rural splendour but will eventually be free to roam the streets and graze on the piles of rubbish that is the fate of the Indian urban cow.
Into the final month
Final month in Goa that is. It’s getting near the time I should describe a typical day here. After all there is no work involved and it is an interesting experiment in how to keep occupied when living this way. But more of that with the next post. The trip to Hyderabad was a nice one. It was almost perfect in that Indigo airlines took off and landed at precisely the times they advertised. That was a good start and finish to the trip. The only annoying part was the tedious trip to the airport in Goa. It’s expensive and takes well over an hour depending on the traffic. We go to Pune for the last excursion in mid-February and so I make that three trips to the airport left. Two there and one back.
Hyderabad was pleasant, far less manic than most Indian cities. The airport is really new and there is an expressway which whisked us into town in pretty good time considering the distance. We stayed in Abids which is the older part of town and away from the new and upcoming Cyberabad, the new hi-tech part of the city that is taking it forward. There were virtually no tourists although we did befriend a couple from Yorkshire who were fairly constant travellers living most of the time in Cyprus but managing to be regular visitors to Kerala over the years. There were some lovely buildings in this part of town. The famous Charminar, the four pillared mosque that is a famous landmark. It is surrounded by a market area with many lanes. It was a bit more Muslim than we had been used to but as a male I could still get away with shorts and a tee shirt, something not so readily available to the ladies. We never even got close to getting into the enormous Mecca Masjid mosque nearby but it was enough to admire it from a distance. The Sarlar Jung Museum was a wonderful collection of all sorts of stuff. My favourite sort of place. I was especially drawn to the amazing walking stick gallery that had a fascinating collection. Having been reliant on a walking stick for a while I had my own collection but this was phenomenal. There was a wide collection of art, toys and all sorts. The Chowmallah Palace started off as a large garden at the front but there was a fabulous ballroom with huge chandeliers and further collections of weapons and vintage cars. As is frequently the case you have to pay a fee to bring a camera and take photos which is usually 50 rupees ($A1). I duly paid this but was then told I couldn’t use my good camera, only my phone. Outrageous I thought, but managed to get a few good sneaky shots away with the SLR. It would have been good to have had the time to compose them better.
Ramoji Film City which is apparently the largest film lot in the world is the centre of Tollywood. This is the Telugu language film hub. It also produces films in Tamil and even a few in Hindi. This maybe a powerhouse in the movie world but the trip to it was underwhelming to say the least. It is obviously trying to emulate a place like Universal Studios but has some way to go. To anyone visiting this lovely city you can safely give this place a miss.
Before leaving for Hyderabad we were invited to a birthday party by a long-term Italian resident who we often bumped into at one of the few good coffee shops in Goa. Definitely the realm of older hippies but there were some younger ones there. Apparently most of them are followers of Ohso better known to most as the Sri Bhagwan Rajneesh who was very popular in the 1980’s before his Oregon commune imploded and his fleet of 99 Rolls Royces were repossessed. I failed to see quite what great enlightenment they had gained form their various journeys. Some of these had involved long sojourns in ashrams here and there. For one Australian there, it had involved a long stay in Pune before he talked about freeing himself. Anyway, they were good at chugging back the red wine and puffing on the fags.
Northern adventure
Goa was fun at Christmas despite being a bit tacky. A piss up at the Hard Rock café in Calangute was the ticket for us and friends. A large of gathering of largely English expats spent time hoovering up more alcohol than food. There were only a few isolated scenes of public disgrace. Then back to some friends’ place to party on into the early hours. All jolly fun really and very pleasant. New Year was a bit more low-key. This was seen in by a suitably anarchic fireworks display on Candolim Beach. Never respecters of timetables, the Indians let rip from at least 11:30 onwards with floating lanterns and what was ultimately quite a number of entertaining pyrotechnics. These became a little more dangerous as freelancers joined in the festivities with their byo incendiaries.
It was now time to head north. An annoying three leg plane journey was required to get to Kathmandu. Of course, the plane left Goa quite late and threatened our connecting flights. Jet Airways excelled themselves on this occasion by whisking us off the plane in Mumbai to the flight to Delhi. No security check required. We got off on the tarmac and were the first to board the plane. It was a long day as expected and we didn’t make it to Kathmandu until after midnight. The visa on arrival process was long winded with the soon to be familiar standoff about paying by credit card. This became a common theme in Nepal as they were always keen to get their hands-on cash – US dollars preferably or failing that, Nepalese rupees. Reverting to the cash economy has become a bugbear of the Indian sub-continent, as for years I had become so used to paying for even the smallest things with plastic.
Nepal, Kathmandu and Pokhara especially, was not really recognisable from my last visit. This is hardly surprising given that I was last there in 1976. The worst aspect of this was the air pollution. Kathmandu was grim in this regard. The smog from increasing numbers of cars and bikes made it sometimes hard to breathe at street level. We also encountered in other places, such as Pokhara and Chitwan, a talcum powder-like fine dust that, quickly covered all footwear and inevitably forced its way into the lungs. In India we have to deal constantly with dust, smog and garbage. The management of all this may seem like a first world luxury but it really is very serious. When you see the air pollution in Mumbai it is truly shocking. Delhi is reportedly even worse and was bad the last time I was there nine years ago. Reports of increasing levels of lung cancer in younger people in north India are becoming increasingly common. It’s a tragedy and something that must be addressed on an individual level as well as at a state and national level. Much of this must start with a serious public education campaign. There was a time in western countries when littering was not particularly considered such a bad thing. The longer I stay in India, the more I am gobsmacked at the indifference to rotting piles of garbage and other detritus strewn everywhere. In such a magnificent country, with incredible natural beauty and centuries of the most fantastic art and architecture, to be confronted constantly by the simultaneous environmental desecration everywhere is almost heartbreaking. India cannot be completely singled out in this regard as it happens at some level everywhere but when there are a billion plus people acting in this way, it brings home the level of environmental destruction in the world. It is harder to retain the same level of optimism that humanity can invent solutions to our impact that we can in our smaller, richer and tidier homelands. My attempt to clean up the entire Arabian Sea by myself has of course ended in failure. I love the chaos and swarm of humanity in India. The sensory assault is exciting and I will never lose my love of it but at times I am saddened by the mess left in its wake.
It was lovely to see the beauty of Nepal. The backdrop of the mountains is phenomenal. No, we didn’t do any trekking which I now have to confess would be to see it at its best. The beauty of some of the temples and other structures was a joy to see even as the 2015 earthquake had taken a dreadful toll of many of these. Foreigners were asked to cough up substantial admission fees with the promise that this was part of the restoration project. In that case I can’t complain. What I had forgotten from my previous visit was the preponderance of beautiful women. I probably shouldn’t remark on such things in this day and age but I can’t divorce that from the overall natural beauty of the country.
Not being able to face the bus ride from Kathmandu to Pokhara, we splurged out on a fight. Despite the chaos at the airport we finally got on our rather small plane and were rewarded by fabulous views of the Himalayas on the 25 minute flight. It sure beat a bus trip of up to ten hours on bone rattling roads.
Pokhara had grown out of all recognition since my last visit. The only point of reference was the lake. It is still a pleasant place, bearing in mind we were there in the off season. We were afflicted by cloud covering the spectacular mountains on a couple of days which was a pity as it is a lasting memory of the place last time I was there. We climbed to the Peace Stupa which I’m sure was not there last time I was there and got beautiful views of the lake. We walked down the hill and visited the Devi Falls and a Tibetan refugee village. We hired bikes to ride around but they were fairly uncomfortable and that diminished some of the reward from that venture.
Off to Chitwan next. The bus journey was unpleasant and uncomfortable but we got to the the park at around three in the afternoon. Our first walk to the river yielded some good views of the rhinos which were far bigger than expected. I expected some Asian midget ones but they were huge. It was worthwhile doing the elephant safari. Off in the early morning mist was great and avoiding the noisy Indians and Nepalese on the other elephants was peaceful. I did some research on the way elephant were treated before undertaking this. Apparently it is greatly improved and they are managed very well. You can’t help thinking they would rather be doing something else. Three of us come in at over a quarter of a tonne so it can’t have been too much fun. The jeep safari later in the was disappointing by comparison but the boat ride down the misty river amongst some respectably sized crocs was also a highlight.
Then it ended and we were back to Mumbai, so often the hub of all our activity. We stayed near the airport in the suitably noisy (that is a given really) and mad Andheri area. Not many foreigners around there but I barely raised an eyebrow when I walked down the street. Max unfortunately was afflicted by a vomit inducing stomach complaint which blighted our last day together and wasn’t much to fun to take with him on the flight home. A tearful goodbye at the airport and our boy (or should I say 6’5” man) was once again gone. What a joy to spend that time with him. Six lovely weeks and then heartache once again.
And so the days pass
Time goes on. Things change but also remain the same. The good changes are that Max arrived. We went up to Mumbai and stayed a couple of days after he arrived before taking the train to Goa. I’d heard that the train journey was quite scenic but it seemed nothing too spectacular. I did have the disadvantage that I acquired a case of Bombay belly and was not in the best of condition for the trip. Luckily, I was able to lie flat out all day in an AC 2 carriage that was comfortable enough. We stayed in the Fort area of Mumbai this time which I remembered correctly was quite pleasant and relatively quiet. “Quiet” is not a term usually associated with Indian cities.
Life in Goa has become routine. We drag ourselves to the beach each day for a morning swim and often return later in the evening. Daily conundrums include where to go for dinner. We have socialised with a group of English long termers. That is, those who have returned year after year. Most are sheltering from the British winter. It’s not quite the same for us. Rather pleasant, nevertheless.
We went on anther venture to Hampi (a large site of ruins) that is around 300km to the west in the neighbouring state of Karnataka. Hampi was once a great city and capital of the once great Hindu Vijayanagara Empire from the 1300’s and by 1500 was the world’s largest medieval city after Beijing. It was a focus of traders from Asia and Europe. It was pillaged and destroyed by a coalition of Muslim sultanates in 1565 and been in ruins since then.
The trip was only for a couple of days. We went there overnight in a sleeper bus. It must be said this is not the best way to travel. It was not helped by the awful bus company, Paulo Travel. We had to go out to meet the bus at a place near here. It was a place by the side of the road which was not clear exactly where the bus left from. Eventually a woman arrived on a scooter and herded us up the road. There we were left to wait for a bus to take to Panjim where we were catching the long-distance bus. It was an awful sweatbox with no air conditioning on a rather hot day. It dropped us at a dusty car park with no toilet facilities. More of a hassle to the women. Passengers were mostly foreigners with a large group of Geordies. One of them went into a meltdown on the bus as she thought she could smell diesel fumes. It was a bit smelly but not very bad. But she shouted to the drivers and got them to stop for a bit. By that time, she had puked into a plastic bag. Eventually it settled down but it was like sleeping in washing machine and I didn’t get much sleep that night. It didn’t help that our return train, which we got up at 5:30 to catch was six hours late! Such is the stuff of travel in India. You just have to go with the flow.
Our hotel was out of town and they had arranged for a tuk tuk driver to pick us up. Another driver already thought he had our business and scuffled with ours. A bit of a spectacle after all those hours on the bus. It was a fairly modest place but quite nice in other ways. The owners were very friendly and chatty. They also provided nice food. We powered through the day by hiring a driver to take us round most of the important sites. We were tired by the bus journey but the place was amazing. Not just so much for the ruins as the surrounding country which was covered in large parts by huge boulders. Some of these had been used to create some of the magnificent carved monolithic statues. It was an extremely impressive set of ruins and a quite massive site. We stayed the following night in the neighbouring town of Hospet in a less modest hotel. It was very close to the railway station. We checked out early only to find the train was very late, Luckily we were able to occupy our room again while we waited.
So, into the barely noticeable festive season. Goa, with its Portuguese history, has a fair number of Catholics but still Christmas is pretty low key. We will celebrate with our merry band of expats. Off to Nepal in early 2019 with a couple of other short trips planned to Hyderabad and Pune in January/February. We’ll make the decision where to go after that.
Posted onEdit”Settling in a bit”
Settling in a bit
Now over two weeks in India. The good news is we found an apartment to live in for the next few months. After searching for a bit, we settled on it as it was the one that suited our needs best. It’s about five minutes stroll to the beach which is fine. There is a busy main road to cross first then it goes to dirt roads that converge quickly into paths and becomes green, pleasant and quiet. The apartment cost more than we really wanted to spend but life is too short to be paying for what you don’t really want. To get cheaper we would have had to go inland further which may have been quieter but there would be the constant need for transport. Probably false economy. Where we are now is close to a lot of amenities, restaurants and shops. It would have been nice to have got a quaint Portuguese villa but those come with their own problems. This place has two bedrooms and that will be great when Max is here.
Now that we have sorted out our immediate issues there will be the challenge of filling that spare time. So far little has been done about that. We met an English couple who live here half the year and they invited us to a bar where one of them plays acoustic guitar solos. He did it well, had a great choice of songs and we drank too many beers and had a few jolly conversations with other members of the English expat community.
There are at least two long trips to the beach every day. There are huts down there and endless sun lounges. As pleasant as it is, I am sure there will need to be some excursions soon. We fly up to Mumbai on 4th December to meet Max. We’ll stay there a couple of days and take the train back to Goa. We are completely excited about seeing him again as we have missed him like crazy. Despite not all things not going to plan on this big trip, it was leaving him behind that has been the only thing that has made me ever think twice about the wisdom of it. I’m sure he’ll enjoy it here too.
I finally hired a scooter and we ventured up to Fort Aguada on the hill to the south of Candolim. It was a bit of a hazy day but the views were nice. It was good it was a public holiday today as the roads were slightly less chaotic. Indian traffic sometimes beggars belief but having experienced Mumbai, this is a scaled down version. Of course, it travels relatively slowly given the general congestion. Apart from having to deal with the general chaos there are the mindless dogs that stroll into the road and the itinerant cows that roam everywhere. Given that they are a largely protected species they aren’t too worried about wandering into the general traffic without warning. Like all things you get used to it.
Walking presents its own interesting obstacles too. Paved surfaces have unique protrusions designed to trip the unwary and cow shit abounds. You see the occasional tourist stepping in it much to the amusement of local taxi drivers. Other vile unidentified substances also litter the walkways.
I wouldn’t mind a small trip in between heading up to Mumbai such as taking the bus or train to Hampi, on cooler and higher ground. But maybe we’ll drag Max into that one. Preoccupation with logistical things has meant little time for photography so that has to change. The fabulous sunsets on the Arabian Sea are always tempting. Yesterday as I walked to the beach I saw a mongoose run out of the bush and promptly disappeared into a neighbouring patch of bush. Keep catching those snakes. When I was in the sea there were a few fish jumping and a fairly large manta ray did a flying leap out of the sea. It landed quite awkwardly for such a graceful animal. These are lovely things in a quite lovely place but it is very touristy and that can have its own annoyances.
One of the worst blights on this magnificent and beautiful country is the rubbish. Indians are generally appalling litterbugs. I continually remove any rubbish I see in the sea or beach. The Goans have proclaimed endlessly to me about how all this is caused by the invading hordes descending over Diwali. All of this is caused by drunken yobs throwing rubbish everywhere and they are such an embarrassment to all Indians. I suspect everyone is guilty. There is some rubbish collection on the beach but it is inadequate. It seems to me the businesses (especially based on the beach) could make a small contribution to the collection and disposal of rubbish even if that meant employing people directly to do it. India is in dire need of a large education campaign on the subject. These have been undertaken in countries like Australia and did change people’s behviour over time I’ve seen more than a few people just discard rubbish. Then there are the fires to burn piles of it where they do collect that adds even more to the smoky haze that hangs around everywhere. The sad thing in India is the huge increase in the number of people consuming more disposable items, like plastic water bottles, and the environmental impact is huge. I think the world will strangle the oceans and land with plastic before the changing climate will get us. 1.2 billion Indians are contributing a good share.
I am now about 80% vegetarian and almost exclusively sticking to Indian food. I have the odd plate of chips or we have cooked up pasta dishes at home but we have yet to tire of eating Indian everyday, several times a day.
So the new challenges are what to do next, both in terms of travel and in day to day things.
First world problems in the third world
Coming up to one week in Goa and it hasn’t all been as easy as we might have thought. Goa, if you didn’t already know, is one of India’s smaller states and up until 1961 was ruled by the Portuguese. The Indians are to be commended for kicking out the Portuguese who were always takers and gave little in return. Portugal was run by an awful fascist government at the time and were one of the last European powers to be dislodged from their significant colonies after that government was deposed in a military coup in 1974. Portugal is now an altogether nicer place and the disparate international lusophone community is an interesting legacy. Anyway, the Indians had little patience in showing them the door and the rest is history. Geographically the state is spread down the coast with the capital, Panaji (or Panjim) more or less dividing into north and south Goa. Legend has it that in the modern tourist world north Goa is party town and south Goa laid back and quiet.
As usual, the real world is not that simple, but we based our decision to spend time here on the basis that we would head north first before looking at the south. Not that we were looking for Ibiza style rave parties but were keen to find a vibrant place and like-minded people to pass the time. Accommodation ranges from the extremely high upmarket resorts and downwards.
So, we have been staying in a place called Calangute. This is a fairly busy place compared with some of the other beachside towns but is reasonably closer to central Goa and has a lot of amenity. We have now completed short tours of the north and south and in some ways are none the wiser about where to set up a more permanent home. We went as far south as Palolem beach which is very nice but undergoing rapid development and dropped by at others like Agonda, Colva, Majorda and Cansaulem beaches. The lush south is lovely (around Palolem and Agonda) but kind of falls a bit short of our needs a bit by being quite far from long distance travel infrastructure such as airports and train stations. By the way I stupidly did not visit Goa on my first trip to India in 1976 but the downside of that is I may have been grievously disappointed by its current state. As we moved north, towards Panaji, the beaches got a bit awful but some of the hinterland wasn’t too bad. I was hoping for more from this area as it would be more convenient for the airport and long-distance travel.
Panaji is a pleasant enough city but doesn’t really attract as a base to live. Being near the beach is part of the reason for being here. There are city beaches in Panaji but not really very nice. I’m not too sure about the water quality there, being next to a port.
North Goa was more crowded with tourists. Morjim being the stand out beach in terms of beauty. But to be honest they start to seem much the same. Russians are multiplying everywhere. They can be seen splodging on most beaches like bloated white things gradually turning into lobsters. There are the few very hot exceptions of course. At first, we treated them as potentially not people you want around but after the raucous sound of loud Americans trampling around Iceland still ringing in our ears, they seem largely unobtrusive and quiet. A taxi driver told us that they had “evolved” over the years. The first of them being known for being incredibly rude and condescending but they had changed as they morphed into mainstream tourists. For the most part they are in family groups and there are the occasional twits walking down the beach with their ghetto blasters blaring.
Complicating the picture now is the Diwali holidays have brought in huge numbers of Indian tourists. Other concurrent festivals such as the Guajarati new year have swelled the number of badly-behaved groups of blokes blokeing around town and annoying locals with their behaviour. This is their tendency to drink to excess and leave a trail of litter throughout the local towns and beaches. Many of them are friendly and impeccably polite it must be added.
After the week we are not much the wiser. We may well stay in the area but will seriously start looking for longer term deals. This will also be an iterative process no doubt but the serious searching begins this week. We are looking for a two-bedroom apartment to accommodate Max, who arrives in three weeks, and itinerant festive friends.
Now is the hour
So now the time finally arrives. Three and a half months living in Britain starts to make it seem like home again. Comfortably ensconced in a quiet suburban four-bedroom house with spacious garden, it is now time to go where we were always going in the first place.
Naturally upping stakes and moving on brings with it not so much trepidation but the realisation that a new comfort zone has been built and needs to be broken down and left behind. But that is precisely the reason we have embarked on this whole venture and so it needs to be embraced. The logistics of moving arrive with frightening rapidity. Boxes of nostalgic stuff from this house combined with purchases inevitably accumulated since we have been here, must be packed and sealed, customs forms filled in, the shipping company consulted on how it must all be done. Addresses for UK driver’s licences must be changed as must those for the banks. We have quickly built up the infrastructure of residents and now it must all be dismantled.
But in all this there is excitement! The teeming hordes and chaos of India awaits and with it all the wonder and splendour of its natural treasures, civilisation and history. What really outshines this of course is that we will see Max soon. Our greatest treasure.
But of course there is an element of sadness and regret. I do love this country and our ties will weaken even further when we leave this time. To walk into it is to walk into an old home. Instantly familiar and easy to integrate back into life here. It does have the bonus this time that there is not the work a day trudge of crowded tubes and the general hurried flight through the crowds. That has its own attractions but it is also eventually draining.
It seems so long since we have been here, and the fantastic thing is to have caught up with so many friends and seen how their lives have progressed, their children have grown and, sometimes unfortunately, how tragedy has taken its toll. We have been blessed by the weather as the sun has shone and even now as the autumn gets colder and the days shorten we are still able to see the sun every day. But I haven’t forgotten what a British winter is like.
To have sat down with old friends with whom we have shared so much in the past, and while faces are a bit more weathered and waistlines expanded, it is a sublime pleasure to meet people who are still as they have always been. Time takes its toll in many ways but melts to nothing when in a moment of meeting, nothing has changed and there is the realisation of what brought you together with such great people in the first place. This is a joy and life affirming. In essence this is what this trip is about.
Since returning from Iceland there has been more catching up with friends, demonstrating against Brexit, watching football and seeing more of London’s wonders. The trip to north Wales was wonderful with glorious days and autumnal colour.
Being part of the nearly 700,000 who marched through London to protest the idiocy of Brexit was wonderful. There was no particular “type” of demonstrator but when you looked through the crowd there was everyone – young and old as well as clearly those from the conservative middle class to the “lefties”. There was little shouting or chanting and not a hint of trouble. It was dignified but its power was in the sheer numbers who marched and who had made the effort to come from all parts of the country. I don’t know where Brexit is headed or what it will bring but clearly more people have had the time to think “why are we doing this?” It is hard to see who it will help but the trouble as much stems from the fact that the European project has marched forward, usually under the auspices of faceless bureaucrats, while politicians have failed to communicate the benefits of peace and integration that the EU, imperfect as it is, has brought. Politicians through lack of principle and leadership have failed to neutralise the fear and ignorance that has fuelled this ridiculous situation. We can only hope that some sensible arrangement can be reached that doesn’t blow all the benefits of years of membership to nothing. At the moment the victory appears to be going to the angry and disempowered who are easily exploited by the self-interested and opportunistic nasties who see the possibilities for power and wealth to be gained from this mess. Sadly, the clock is ticking on a sensible solution and the cliff edge no deal Brexit is a stronger possibility. It will be costly, and it is difficult to see who will benefit from the damage. I grieve for the UK on this one. Maybe there will no longer be a UK if it pans out badly.
So, as I sit in the pre-packed mess that precedes the next chapter there is a strong feeling of nostalgic sadness at leaving old Blighty. This is probably in the knowledge that it is unlikely that we will return for such a long period again. But the decision to embark on this venture has proven the value of our journey so far. Not another year of sitting at a desk analysing data but reconnecting with old friends, wondering thought the glorious streets of old Italian and Maltese towns, the hustle and bustle of airports that is annoying but pulsates with the adventure to come, seeing the wonder of huge icebergs, beautiful snow-capped peaks and weird volcanic hills of Iceland. For me this is the essence of my existence and despite the problems and hassles that have happened on this trip, I’m loving every minute of it. India – bring it on.
Iceland
A lovely few days spent in Iceland with more than a few photos to mull over. The beauty of the place is undeniable with its bizarre volcanic landscape contrasted with stunning snow-capped peaks. It seems very prone to rainy weather, which we certainly encountered. But we got some absolutely beautiful sunshiny days as well and that certainly made up for anything else. I can imagine winter there would be especially grim. Possibly it brings a better chance of seeing the northern lights, which we didn’t.
The downsides? It is horribly expensive. This may be a matter of knowing the place better and how you could find the cheapest possible alternatives for food. Accommodation is dear and while there is Airbnb, it is also pretty expensive and some of the places would be in some studenty spare room. These days I’m not really interested in that and our dumpy Airbnb in Dublin made me think I should be a bit more discerning. Not that either of us need luxury, basic comfort is fine. We stayed in hotels which were by and large fairly bland and a little disappointing. The Base, near Keflevik airport, where we first stayed was very good and by getting a free upgrade we were pleasantly comfortable. It’s an old army base but they have converted it very well. It is first and foremost a backpacker hostel, which these days would make me run a mile, but it is not all dorms, so we managed to get a comfortable room and as cheaply as you could hope for.
The trip was not a triumph of research and organisation on my part. Thinking the Golden Circle (an abbreviated tourist route taking in some geothermal stuff and the stunning Gullfoss falls) would take over a day to explore, I booked two nights at a dull place called Selfoss. In the end it didn’t matter too much as the rain would have put paid to the best sightseeing plans. We still did some interesting exploring on that extra rainy day with a visit to the Kerid crater and photographed some of the interesting beach houses down on the black sandy beaches around Stokkseyri. As it was, we were fortunate to enjoy mostly good weather days and made the most of them.
The drive out to Diamond Beach was a bit of an epic in the end. It was a 320km return drive from Vik and it took a bit of effort to fit that in to an afternoon. I probably drove 450km that day which you might not have thought possible in a place like Iceland. But it was certainly worth it! We were wowed by the amazing backdrop of glaciers and massively towering dark volcanic and weirdly shaped green hills. The light on the golden grass, the moss-covered volcanic rocks on the ground and the black sand beaches with crashing waves on the other side of us. We had to drive back the same way but the light had completely changed by then, so we were treated to a different version of the same spectacle. But the place itself with it’s stunning lagoon full of icebergs and those on the beach were also quite breathtaking. There were a few tourists around but enough space to escape them.
The wind was as good as anything Wellington has dished up I think. Firstly, at Dyrhólaey on the cliffs and then at Jökulsárlón, as we approached the icebergs. The gusts could sometimes be outrageous and knock you sideways but there has always been wind in my soul and this kind of weather made me smile and laugh. My £15 Primark winter jacket was brilliant for the conditions. It provided protection for some of the bitingly cold wind blasts and was waterproof too.
Hörse. You can’t help but be struck by the number of horses in Iceland. I have read that they eat them but that is not their primary purpose. Which is for riding it seems. Apparently, part of their unique attributes is that they have an extra gait. This is beyond the normal walk, trot, canter and gallop. They add a lölt to this which is some sort of fancy lateral step or something. Of course, they came to international prominence in 1955 when a team of Icelandic horses stunned the world by sweeping all before them at the England Ballroom Dance Championships in Blackpool. But seriously, they must be hardy souls as they can be seen standing out in the fields in the most cold and blustery conditions. There are cross-like fences in many fields that would provide some shelter from the freezing winds.
On the last night in Reykjavik we finally treated ourselves to a decent meal. This was a bit overdue as even the most awful food was costly. Iceland supposedly has the healthiest diet in the world, but I can’t say much that was unique seemed to be available. No pots of Icelandic yoghurt with rolled herrings. We largely snacked on supermarket food and even went to a KFC one night. Our final night’s meal was delicious and not too bad really for about ISK9,770 ($A110, £52) for two mains and a beer. The bonus was that it came to the exact amount of Icelandic krona cash I had. Reykjavik also appeared to be overrun by tourists – loud American was the main language that could be heard in the streets. It was a struggle to get a table at most restaurants in the city and there was a weird way they liked to make people queue for them. We managed to get in a on a table by co-opting a young American woman to share ours. She, like more than a few people had dropped into Iceland to visit the Blue Lagoon.
Ah yes, the Blue Lagoon. On our way back to Reykjavik from the south we visited it, that is we had a look at it. Jackie is not a huge fan of thermal pools and after a lifetime of sitting and swimming in them in New Zealand (of course), Indonesia and Japan, I am rather underwhelmed by them. We could see what was on offer, the place is built nicely but it was a run through of the usual lot ticking things off the bucket list. Interestingly, no one seemed to be walking out with a big smile on their face. The basic entry price of $100+ just didn’t seem worth it, especially as would have paled into insignificance after the other sights we would have seen. Even our young dinner companion had said the whole constant push to upsell stuff to the tourists there was a turn off. Clearly it is on some must do tourist circuit somewhere. I would think New Zealand is a better bet for that stuff. To give everyone their due as well, many would never have seen anything like it before.
Perhaps the most disappointing aspect of visiting Iceland was the lack of insight I really managed to get into the place itself on a social level. We tended to have little conversation with locals. I always like to talk to people about their country and what life is like for them. From my own perspective I think if I grew up in a place like Iceland I would have wanted to get the hell out of it. With only 350,000 people it is tiny. This is also its charm of course. There is a bit of similarity with New Zealand here despite that country being larger in area as well as population. There is always the opportunity to talk with staff in hotels, restaurants etc but most of these were foreigners – large numbers of east Europeans who are found everywhere these days, so little interaction with locals.
Iceland interested me as a small island that is relatively isolated and how plays out in the lives of ordinary people. It must be stultifying on one level as everyone would always know your business and there would be limited opportunities in many areas of work and life. But it one of the wealthiest countries in Europe by GDP per capita and wages are high. That flows into prices too but with most things needing to be imported and a small market with limited competition that it always going to be a fact of life. I never knew any Icelanders in London, I’m sure that’s where I would head first off if I had grown up in Iceland. So, I never really got the chance to understand the thinking that pervaded those who did.
While I have spent most of my life out of New Zealand, it still exerts a strong influence on my consciousness. The physical memory of the country never leaves you and of course the childhood memories. For Icelanders I would expect this would be very much the same with even a stronger influence of the very small population and the unique language. It would be in many ways hard to just leave it all behind. As we drove around we would often see houses standing alone in a huge, imposing area of green fields interspersed with black volcanic rocks and earth. There was a haunting beauty in the absolute desolation of it. But I always asked myself: could I stand living there?
Europe in a dash
Of course the aim of this one year trip was to spend most of our time in India. Due to my injurious delay we ended up in the UK in the summer school holidays which rendered nearly all travel prohibitively expensive. So, when the month ticked over it was time to be off to visit friends in Europe.
Part 1: Sicily
First off the list were Mick and Kath in Sicily. Out first experience with Ryanair wasn’t too bad. There was a big delay by the time we flew into Comiso. The car rental queue was not so much very long but very slow and took over an hour. Poor Mick and Kath endured the wait with us. By the time we set off in convoy it was around midnight. We had to park the car one side of the river and all pile into the Toyota Landcruiser to make the last leg to the farmhouse. It had changed massively since our last visit in January 2014. The inside looked fabulous and we were treated to a brilliant bean and vegetable stew by Kath all harvested from the land around. The kitchen had been done really well and main room was beautifully homely, of course decorated with many Afghan and Moroccan homewares and furniture. The real bugbear has been the electricity which is still to be connected. There is a generator that provides part time power but solar, and therefore full-time power, is still in the pipeline.
Waking the next morning allowed us to appreciate the beautiful setting. Jackie, having been mauled by mozzies during the night was keen to move to the ‘matchbox’ (their small flat) in Modica. Kath had to be in the UK the next day for work so took the bus to the airport. The matchbox had also changed a bit in that the last time we saw it, it was being pretty much used as a storeroom. It is very compact but a nice space. The mezzanine bedroom area works really well despite the occasional head knock. Parking was easy in the town but as usual in Modica there was a bit of an uphill walk to get to the matchbox.
Mick needed to devote much of his attention to the other bugbear of the farmhouse, the river. It had decided to destroy much of the ford in one of its bad moods. This had led to Mick’s early departure from the UK to fix it. There had been a trail of nuisance in getting the materials and lining up the labour to help fix it.
We used the time to do some further exploring and top of our list were the legendary mosaics of Piazza Armerina. Luckily, Mick and Kath’s friend and local real estate personality Ramsay, had advised us that the satnav would lead us to the middle of a field if we used it. He was bang on for that one as that’s where we ended up before having to use old school techniques like following signs. Easier said than done but we arrived there reasonably early (again advice from Ramsay) and beat much of the increasing loads of coaches that seemed to bring only crowds of old people. The mosaics were quite amazing and those with the wild animals and the bikini girls were a great source of fascination.
The following day we had a late afternoon drive to Pozzallo and finally a splash in the Med. We did some exploring on the south coast seaside towns the next day. It was a pretty coastline, but the towns often were littered with deserted buildings that were a bit of an eyesore on the drive. Eating out was excellent and of course reasonably priced. Laura and Oriol from Spain arrived after the second day with a strong desire to stay at one of the yurts on the farm. The threatening deluge of rain never eventuated so the farm was never cut off as predicted and the ford was repaired. There is a hell of a lot of work that has gone into the farm and I have to say I would no longer have the energy or at least the desire to undertake a project like that. It has been an adventure for them and I think life should be nothing but an adventure.
Part 2: Malta
There is always a lot of fuss involved with flying, especially the 25 minute flight to Malta from Comiso. After locating the car hire people (not that easy despite having an office at Luqa Airport) my first surprise was that they drive on the left. I wasn’t expecting that, but it was a breeze after driving in Italy where there is a certain ‘style’ to driving that I am pretty used to now. One thing I am not used to however is their occasional suicidal acts of overtaking on blind bends. Nuts.
We stayed in an Airbnb in a lovely part of the capital, Birgu which is across the harbour from Valetta but part of the same network of cities (I think). The second surprise on arriving at the accommodation was that they use British power plugs. We were rather unprepared for that as we had come equipped with European ones and left the British ones in Epsom. Reminder to do more research on coming to a new country next time. Birgu was delightful with narrow cobbled streets and houses with colourful balconies.
We drove the next morning to Rabat where there are lovely walls and streets as well. We visited the extensive catacombs which were interesting. There is some nice coastline on the island and the good weather meant there were still plenty of tourists. That meant crowded beaches. European style beaches mostly with the usual set up of deckchairs and umbrellas. Give me an Aussie beach any day.
Much of the main island is fairly barren with few trees and lots of rocks. The coast is better. We had a swim at the Blue Grotto on the south coast. A lovely setting but the swimming area reminded more of Clovelly in Sydney. Much of the walled towns have a Game of Thrones feel and I know it has been used as a location for that series including the neighbouring island of Gozo. While I like the series, I wasn’t particularly bothered about hunting out locations. It was great to take a small boat across the harbour to Valetta. The highlight for me was the palace armoury museum which had a quite amazing collection of armour and old weapons. After three days we flew for the first time on EasyJet back to Gatwick. On previous trips to Europe I had avoided these budget airlines as I had been able to get similar fares on Air France and British Airways.
Part 3: Ireland
Two days after getting back to London we were on our way to Ireland. We took off in bright sunshine and flew over Wales (also in bright sunshine). I was glad I had been allocated a window seat and had to evict a grumpy old Irish woman who had occupied it. Stuff you entitled old git.
We were originally going to stay with Siobhan and Bill, but he is quite ill now and their house was having government sponsored modifications made so we stayed in an Airbnb a bit out of Kilkenny. It was great to catch up – especially Jackie and Shove getting some girl time together. We did a limited amount of sightseeing. Kilkenny Castle and some of the surrounding countryside. Of course, there was the well documented (on social media) visit to Tipperary – not much to see there and down to Waterford. Ireland was a bit more multicultural than I expected. Especially a town like Waterford where there were all manner of races and nationalities noticeably present in the street. In the centre of Dublin there was little evidence of anyone even speaking English in the street. A pleasant city but it didn’t grab me especially. Probably more for the young and those out for a drinking good time.
Part 4: Spain
Well always one of the favourites. This time we didn’t really travel anywhere but completely chilled out in Denia. The place was largely devoid of tourists and pleasantly quiet. I was chuffed to get a near new Ford SUV for a week for the grand price of £45! I’ve been amazed at some of the prices of rentals. We had a Ford Fiesta for 3 days from Gatwick for £14.50! I’m at a loss to know how they make money.
The area of Spain is so familiar to us. It was good to meander around and of course spend time with Phil and Mara. We had some great lunches and a more than a few laughs. It’s always good to return to our second European home. We climbed the Montgo – that is Phil, Jackie and me. I had done it before we left Denia in the 90’s when I almost ran up it. I took a more sedate pace this time. It was relatively easy to climb and we were cooled by the brisk north wind. It would be a bit harder in full sun and heat. The hard part was coming down. We went over the other side towards Xabia and eventually to the town of Jesus Pobre. It was a bit of a hard one for me. I had worn sandals as were the best footwear for my readjusted toe. The route down the other side had quite a different surface with some razor-sharp rocks on the path and it required care to not lose footing. Falling over would have involved shedding blood. The view over the coast was great. Going downhill was always going to be a test of me knee and foot and so it proved to be. My knee was in a fair deal of discomfort by the time we reached to road at Jesus Pobre. It was frustrating as it took away some of the pleasure of the walk and reminded me of the toll of the passing years and accumulated injuries. We resolved to come and spend three months on the Costa Blanca at some point and venture to the north west of Spain which I have wanted to see for years. It’s always a case of being there reminding you of what a lovely place it is. Coming back to Gatwick I went from left hand drive automatic SUV to right hand drive Golf seamlessly. It’s less of a challenge the more you do it – the brain just clicks over.
England and Scotland continued
The thin veneer of heat that passes for summer in Britain is retreating. Of course, this has been one of the greatest summers ever. Only the great summer of 1976 bears comparison and constant reference is made to this in the media and the street (by those old enough to remember). I can’t make this comparison personally as I first arrived on these shores in 1977. The temperature came dangerously close to 37oC at its peak but overall it can be called benign by Australian standards.
But as we get further into September the cool mornings and occasional brisk winds remind us that we are heading into Autumn. What a lovely time to have been here! The beautiful sunny days and green countryside are blissful. So much of our time here has been spent driving along roads with overhanging trees that filter the sunlight to make peaceful, secluded enclaves. There was a slight harshness to the sun in the summer when you walked over open ground. Now that has passed and the soporific pleasure of basking in fading full sun is divine. The trip to Scotland was lovely but the nights noticeably cooler. How British to spend so much time discussing the weather. But when it is lovely it is a time to rejoice here. The atmosphere of the place is so dependent on it. Places that seem lovely now will soon be cruelled by the grey blanket of winter that lasts as long as an Australian summer.
One downside of being here at this time has been the fact that travel to Europe is so expensive. From the middle of the month we hit the road to Europe for a few short bursts. A lot more time could have been spent here but with the focus on India, it’ll just have to be another time.
Living here, I have also fallen victim to an extent of Brexit fatigue. It now seems that stupidity will prevail and it will happen. Probably in the worst possible way. Now there will be a morbid fascination as to how it will unfold and if it will be as destructive as many think. Deal or no deal, it is clear that some things will continue as before for a while as there is simply aren’t the resources to make it happen from day one. HM Customs (or whatever they are called now) have said they don’t have the resources to stop every truck entering from the EU and will just wave them through until they can come up with some way of managing. There will be a lot of unintended consequences – mostly bad but there’ll have to be some good. The Tories are set to tear themselves apart over it. Probably a good idea the Conservatives (like the Liberals in Australia) split into factions of centrists and right wing nut jobs. In the UK it’s really all about Brexit whereas in Australia it’s the moderates versus the coal loving, gay hating, bible thumping dinosaurs. Either way the parade of clowns “ruling” both countries is risible. More fun to be had in the chaotic beauty of India. No order to be sought there, just go with the flow.
Scotland was lovely and great to see other people not seen in years. Again, we were blessed by the weather. Dundee seemed thoroughly pleasant despite its reputation for being poverty stricken and drug ridden. Other travel so far has taken us to the West Country, Norfolk, Derbyshire, Kent and the New Forest. Nearly all in bright sunshine through the green and pleasant land. More travel in the British Isles awaits. Ireland and Wales have yet to come.
Amongst the joy seeing our old friends we are reminded also how random and cruel life can be. One of our Scottish friend’s life had been hit with tragedy, two suicides and illness had decimated her close family. A couple known to Jackie for years (and to me for that matter) had been cut to one by an untimely death from cancer. Another friend had lost a nephew recently through a freakish accident. One other friend who had seen off an abusive relationship was faced with breast cancer. I admire the way she could brush it all aside and embrace life. I guess our close family was very near to tragedy but luck was on my side. But to reconnect with old friends is to give meaning to our presence here. It is life affirming and it feels that to have embarked on this adventure is a way to seize the day and live in the present. It also shows how our focus has shifted. Our ties to Britain have weakened. Time has taken quite a toll and the place has lost its magnetism. Its withdrawal from Europe has also lessened my pull towards it. It’s like seeing a once admired relative become grumpier and weaker, with more of the already fading mystique leaving a feeling that maybe there was less to admire than originally thought.
England
Fitting back into England has been a bit like putting on an old glove. On the surface it’s easy but there is a definite lack of connection. Maybe that’s because the ties to Australia are stronger than they used to be. There are times however when it has such a strong familiarity about it I feel almost at home. I remember a TV show in Australia about expat poms and how they felt about their experience there. Some had not found what they wanted and gone back and others were quite at home in the sun and warmth. One particular Brit had said he didn’t miss much but proximity to Europe was one of these. The best thing about the UK, he said, is France. Can’t help agreeing with that. One friend thinks this country is in a collective state of depression (well it always has been to some extent).
Proximity to Europe brings the subject of Brexit. There’s a definite negative feel I have about the place as it seems to lurch towards a disastrous hard Brexit. As far as Brexit is concerned there are a multitude of views from our friends and others. Some voted for it and regret it. They say they were lied to, which is definitely true. Some friends are planning to buy a place in Spain but voted for it anyway and are a bit confused why that plan will now be a lot more complicated, if it’s achievable at all. Lots of people think it’s nuts while one friend who lives in Romania hasn’t really given it loads of deep thought but has just said he has no idea what will happen when it does happen. Hopefully there won’t be a time when he is sent home and needs leave his partner and young daughter behind. Of course, two particular acquaintances were diehard Tories who loved the whole idea of tipping the place upside down. Like many in this category they had some money (either earned or inherited) and at least one had a foreign passport. Older people without a job and livelihood to lose supported it in droves and no doubt still do. It will mostly affect the poor who supported it because they saw the EU as the source of the erosion of their world and the prospect of even more Johnny Foreigners overrunning the place. Essentially racism lies at much of the heart of it. More than one person has thought the old (meaning white) Commonwealth should band together as a jolly club and trade together like to old days. But the old days have passed.
Which brings me to another noticeable point about London – the disappearance of the Australasian community. Years ago, it would be unlikely that the person pulling your pint in a central London pub would not have an Antipodean accent. Clearly there are a number of reasons for this as this BBC article from a few years ago says: https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-25401024
There are of course large numbers of them somewhere but the old ritual of moving to London on the old working holiday has clearly pretty much died. I think it’s not just cultural reasons, although someone should tell the older Brits that Australians and New Zealanders don’t really look towards the “Home Country” the way they once did. I think a lot of it is economically driven as well. The London working holiday was largely driven by the tyranny of distance and the vast expense of travelling to the other side of the world. This is no so much the case more really with the massive fall in airfares. Any office in Australia will always have a roll call of those on holiday in Vietnam, Slovenia, New York or Peru. Off for a few weeks and back to your comfy home. With travel now an off the shelf commodity for many and gap years also an industry that offer a myriad of possibilities beyond cramming ten to a tiny flat under the grey skies while working hard at piteously paying jobs to fund a jaunt round the sights of Europe in an old Kombi. Mind you that wasn’t quite my London experience. I have never been to the Bierfest for a start or much of that “circuit” but still did enjoy the company and friendship of my compatriots when I lived here.
But as I rapidly head towards senior status (well I’m there already but don’t qualify for the pension) I have seen quite a bit of change in the world and while it’s not always great I have learnt not to fear it but embrace it. It’s lovely to have spent this time here. The wonderful summer is a lovely accompaniment to travel through the benign green and pleasant countryside. To catch up with old friends is always lovely especially when their lives have been good.
I’m not the same person I was when I last lived in the UK and it is not the same place. No tears to shed about that. It’s nice to see old haunts and to remember the years in London which were largely very happy ones. When you are young the place is rich in adventurous possibilities while now I am merely a visitor. A well acquainted one but a visitor nonetheless. While I have easily able to reintegrate on one level there is also no going back. Once this was my home and I didn’t want to leave but I feel no great pull to stay. For now, being a visitor is good.
There have been some setbacks this trip. The main one has been the difficulty of renting the house. Never expected that one. With its conversion to an Airbnb, more income will eventually flow. There has been a run of other misfortunes. Kicking it off was my phone. Somehow the sim cards managed to dislodge and jam in it. It required major surgery to extract them. This rendered me totally phoneless for several days. I thought I might die from withdrawals but it actually wasn’t so bad. In the course of the sim card surgery the tray had to be cut. My slightly unusual phone meant that I had to buy a replacement part form China which will take up to a month to arrive. Now I have to exist with a phone that is simply a phone.
Secondly the Citroen Berlingo acquired an overheating disorder and the cause is not immediately clear. It can still run short distances but we have been forced to hire a car to get any sort of distance. Shit happens and often in stinking piles.
I’ll just keep looking forward. First to some time near the Mediterranean and then a sojourn in warmer and more exotic climes.
Posted 2018-19
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Wandering and wondering 