amazing travels

Cairo and the Modern Egyptians

2009-12-01T19:35:00.000-08:00

A view from the road near my Hotel, showing the proximity of the Pyramids to Cairo's population and pollution.

Travel Date 25th March-2 April 2008
Click on any picture to see a large version.

Egypt was interesting. I use the word in the same way as the ancient Chinese who cursed their worst enemies with: "may you live in interesting times".

I'll try to be positive and stick to the good things I saw in Egypt. Those included, of course, the ancient sites but also the Nile, Aswan Dam and a few of the people. But I will have to be honest and also refer to some of the negatives.

Egypt is the only country in all my travels where I have used a local tour operator to arrange things. Never, ever again. I did a lot of research and it seemed sensible to use locals who could access good hotels, good cruise boats and good local guides as a package. After some research and many emails I chose Osoris Travel.

Just in case anyone reading this ever considers using them, read my report on Tripadvisor. By leaving the report there I can reduce the negative here. Suffice to say they turned the visit to Egypt that I had dreamed about for a year into a nightmare. To use another ancient and appropriate curse, may the fleas of a thousand camels infest their armpits for all eternity.

Noting that my impressions of Egypt are coloured by that experience, I'll clear the decks with the rest of the negatives now. That way I can concentrate on the positives for the remaining posts. But first, one nice experience.

One of the few nice Egyptians I encountered was a representative of a different tour company who helped me when I arrived at the airport. After an hour, when my own tour representative failed to appear this man helped me, reducing my stress levels enormously. My Egyptian SIM card was arriving with my missing tour representative so I had no working phone. In addition to making several calls to Osoris to try to find out what was happening, he convinced the airport police to allow me to return to the secure side so that I could use the ATM. That's a point worth remembering if you visit Cairo - get your cash out before you go to immigration. There were no ATMs on the other side of those barriers.

An odd thing happened as I returned to the security barrier, manned by police, after collecting my cash. One of the police stood in front of me and said "baksheesh". I was surprised, but I realised that he wanted money. I looked to my good Samaritan to get an idea of the usual payment. He looked embarrassed and had some sharp words with the cop, who then grumbled a bit and turned away allowing me through. When my own tour representative arrived I gratefully thanked my helper. He shook hands, wished me well and never asked for money.

Later I realised how rare he was. Unfortunately he didn't give me a business card and I have forgotten his name. I am forever grateful for that good Samaritan; I never met another like him in Egypt. Nor did I meet many other Egyptians who did not demand baksheesh for a service, no matter how trivial the service was, and who did not aggressively pursue that baksheesh if they felt it was due.

Egypt is the land of baksheesh. Absolutely nothing is done for free. Bear in mind that I have travelled now in many different cultures including the "tipping" culture of the USA, which is such a shock for Aussies, and the poverty and beggars of India and the poverty of Cambodia. But the baksheesh culture of Egypt takes institutionalised tipping and begging to quite different levels. I'll give a couple examples of many.

The traffic in Cairo is incredibly bad and, when it is busy on wide city streets, very dangerous for pedestrians. To cross a road - even at lights - is a death-defying experience for a pedestrian the first few times until you learn the rhythm of the traffic flow. But never fear. Any non-Egyptian who pauses momentarily at a kerb will instantly attract a helpful local who will unhesitatingly guide them across the road. In one case I had a guy try to drag me over when I had no intention of crossing. But as soon as you reach the other side one of two things will occur; either your helper will instantly put their hand out and say "baksheesh" or they will invite you to visit the art gallery (or shop or perfumery or cafe or clothing store or other business) of their relative or friend. If you decline to visit, patient persistence will be applied with sometimes increasingly angry insistence if you continue to decline. More than once I had to pull my arm forcefully out of the clutches of my friendly unsolicited "helper". And sometimes I just gave in and bought some perfume or an overpriced child's gallabiyeh or similar for the sake of peace.

With time and experience I learned how to decline before crossing or, occasionally to accept the help on dangerous crossings and pay the baksheesh. Once, to a cop. After more than a year I've forgotten the going rate for an assisted road crossing.

A different example. In Aswan I decided to buy a few cans of beer to store in the fridge in my cabin. I had not realised how difficult that could be in a Muslim city, not knowing where the bars and liquor outlets were. So I went exploring. Eventually I found a sign saying "Bar" but it appeared to be closed. A local was dozing in front of the door, looked at me, asked "beer?" and grabbed me by the hand. I followed him up some dark stairs beside the entrance. After three flights the stairs got lower and darker and I had to hunch over to avoid banging my head; I started to get a bit nervous wondering what I was doing following this guy into an unknown place in the dark, but I kept going. By now his hand was like a vice anyway. Eventually we emerged into a dimly lit room with a concrete floor covered in several inches of sand. We crossed that and a bar appeared with a couple of bored patrons and a barman. I bought my beer, but I was no longer surprised when my guide of the moment demanded baksheesh. I eventually negotiated down to 12 Egyptian pounds (about $2.50) for the service. It's not a lot of money to us, although it probably was to him, and you eventually get used to it. In this case I probably would not have found the place without him. But you do get tired of the system.

Nothing is for nothing in Egypt.

Incidentally, if you are brave enough to drive in Cairo, you need to be even braver to park.

As I mention in my report on Osoris the Oasis Hotel is close to the Pyramids but over an hour out of the centre of Cairo. The rooms and facilities are excellent, my only real problem with the hotel was the location.

They have a free shuttle into town so I hopped on that as soon as I had settled in and took the hour and a quarter ride back to town.

Cairo is a city of contradictions. There is an old town of Mosques and Churches, I'll write more on that later. Downtown Cairo is like any major modern city; a mix of modern and old, bustling and quiet, busy and sleepy. It was much less crowded and frantic than Delhi but still very different in character and style to European, Australian or American cities. Some sections could have been downtown Paris, obviously catering for the wealthy and for tourists.

Others were for the locals with tiny specialist shops and lots of cafes with men smoking Shisha pipes, with smoke bubbling through the water bowl. This was a little fast-food shop that served a decent lunch; not a Maccas. I did have a wrap at a Maccas later, but that was to "pay" for using the facilities. You start to look for the Golden Arches when you find too many of the facilities at other "good" restaurants look like the ones in the next picture.

I took this picture, through the window at McD's, of the local Police hard at work controlling traffic at the intersection. Every so often one of the many cops would wander into the middle of the road and direct traffic for a minute or two, but mostly they chatted with their mates there, or on the phone, and left the drivers to sort it out themselves. The other picture is of an unenthusiastic pedestrian who was told to "assist police in the course of their transportation".

You may have gathered by now that I was fairly unimpressed with Cairo's Police Force. I didn't have any problems with them personally, something I am very grateful for. I was just surprised at the petty corruption I encountered and the obvious lack of interest in their duties.

This is a local butcher's shop, with carcasses hanging in the sun over the foot-path. Shops like this for various meats were common; this one was typical. Despite getting a dose of the traveller's curse after my first night in Cairo (probably from fruit or veges) I still ate meat dishes in Egypt and never had a recurrence of the problem. I'm not sure if this guy was selling tea or coffee; he looked very similar to the tea-sellers I saw in Istanbul on a previous trip.

In my Osoris report I mention the crowd at the museum in the mornings; this was taken as I waited outside. I have no pictures from inside the museum. In some rooms photos are forbidden and in others the crush was so intense it was impossible to take photos anyway.

The population of Cairo is somewhere between 25 and 30 million depending on who you ask and where they set the city boundaries and whether they count the homeless. A significant proportion of that population lives in tenements like these. Nearly all have an unfinished look to them, as though they are allowing for additional floors to be added as needed, but some of those unfinished buildings are decades old. Possibly they have tax laws like Italy or Greece, where buildings are deliberately left unfinished so that final taxes are not paid. I asked my drivers and guide, but none seemed to know and all seemed surprised that I asked the question. The attitude seemed to be "surely all the world is like Cairo?"

All of Egypt is dominated by the Nile, including Cairo. I'll write later about the river, because Egypt would quite literally not exist if not for that river. This is the mighty Nile as seen from the heart of the city.

Next, the Cairo-Aswan train.

Cheers, Alan

Petra, the Jewel of Jordan.

2009-11-25T19:33:00.000-08:00

Travel Date 24th March 2008.
Click on any picture to see a larger version.

As I mentioned earlier, Jordan was a serendipitous inclusion on my itinerary. It was a fortunate accident where the coincidental addition of Royal Jordanian Airlines to the One-World group met my need for a way to fly from Delhi to Cairo without having to go the long way around via London.

I decided to add a few days in Jordan after rearranging the itinerary. In hindsight I am so glad I did. Unfortunately, after I had done that, I found that some bright spark had held a competition on the world wide web to list the greatest surviving wonders of the Ancient World and Petra was on the new list. Suddenly all the prices went up and so did the crowds. Ah, well, everything has a price.

Jordan was expensive and seemed even more so when arriving from India. I think three nights in Jordan cost me more than double my week in India. But it was worth it. In planning the trip I used several web-sites, but this one was the most useful: http://www.go2petra.com/

We arrived late in the day in Wadi Musa after wandering down the King's Highway. I had booked the Crowne Plaza via Agoda. At the time of booking I thought US$139 for the night was a bit steep. However, on arrival I found that to be very reasonable when compared with the alternatives. The hotel was first-class and could not have been closer to the entrance to the ruins. If you decide to book it, be aware that the lowest two floors use stairs with no lift but they are closest to the old caves. In the hotel room I found a complimentary pack which included, among other things, a water bottle and a cap for the next day's outing. It's a nice touch; I had chosen the right time of year but even in late March it is a hot, dusty place.

I ate at an acceptable restaurant “downtown” (or tourist central) which was a pleasant walk of a few hundred meters from the hotel. I needed to transfer a full XD camera card to disc; that turned out to be very expensive indeed at about $8 per disc.

The next morning I started out bright and early to see Petra.

There are many myths about Petra, some with a basis in fact, most not. Partly for that reason I won't attach labels to the pictures because there is still argument about the appropriate names and whether they are tombs, living areas, treasuries or palaces. I'm just fascinated by their age, architecture (is it still architecture if it's carved out of the rock?) and design.

Each section is interesting. The ancient site starts with the Siq. This is a long winding path, about 1200m or 3/4 mile long, naturally slashed through a ragged cleft in the surrounding sandstone mountains

When in the Siq it is easy to see what a great defensive entrance it was for the ancient Nabateans. The Siq is a natural geological formation resulting from the frequent earthquake activity in the region for millennia. The Nabateans cunningly used it for a defensive entry and also to be part of their hydraulic and plumbing system to divert every drop of water that fell near the city to supply their needs. Notice the channel on the left in the last photo of that set and the detail in this photo.

The shape of the Siq and the hydraulic system may be the reason for one of the myths or legends. People from the mists of time believed this was where Moses struck the rock to secure water for his wandering people after the flight from Egypt (see Exodus 17:6 or Numbers 20:8). Thus the Jordanian town which now services the Petra tourism industry is Wadi Musa, the Valley of Moses. Apparently the valley was named by Baldwin, the Crusader King.

After the Siq you come quite suddenly on the opening to Petra itself; see the photo at the top of the page. That is the astonishing first glimpse of Petra as seen by every arriving traveller for the past two millennia. The scene was made famous more recently in the movie "Raiders of the Lost Ark".

Petra has not always been just the remains we see now, carved out of the rock. In the past there were also many free standing buildings but, over time, they have been lost to earthquakes. Many were lost in a major earthquake in 363; the few standing ruins that remain from that time have suffered severely from weather, pillagers and antiquity robbers.

The origins of the Nabateans are a bit vague. Some believe they were the descendants of the Edomites mentioned in the Bible, others that they were nomads from Arabia in the south who defeated and supplanted the Edomites.

They first appeared in historical records around the sixth century BC. Their influence grew over the next few centuries until the Romans arrived in the region in the first century BC. At their peak they controlled all of the land between Yemen in the south and Damascus in the north. They profited greatly from all the trading caravans that moved through their district and the associated merchants who used their cities, including Petra, to trade. Their own traders travelled too, as far as India, China and Rome, but most of their wealth came from closer regions. Their government was a monarchy but with a strong democratic flavour and they did not keep slaves; unusual at that time.

Rome became their nemesis. They initially repulsed the Romans in 63 BC but had to accept their nearby presence and slowly came to hate them. The rulers made a mistake by becoming Parthian allies when the Parthians warred against the Romans. They paid dearly for that and eventually Herod, as a puppet of Rome - yes, that Herod - occupied their territory. Roman trade routes slowly moved away from Petra and the city declined slowly from that time on.

Eventually, over the following two millennia, the city was claimed by the desert and the nomadic Bedouins until it was “discovered” in 1812 by Johann Ludwig Burckhardt.

I made the mistake of trying to save a few dinars by ignoring the various transportation options along the way and walked all day. If I go again, I'll spend the money. There are really four long sections for footslogging. The walk starts at the entrance gate, with an option of a pony ride or buggy ride. Then there is the Siq, with the same options, then the long and dusty site itself with camels available and finally, if you have the energy (I didn't) the climb to the Byzantine Church. Then you retrace all that and walk home again, mostly uphill. I saved about $70 and my poor feet regretted that for a week.

For the rest, just wander through the pictures and click on those you find interesting. I had a long, fascinating, dusty, footsore day and enjoyed every minute of it. We drove back to Amman in the late afternoon and dusk via the faster, but less interesting, Desert Highway.

One of the modern conveniences lacking in the long valley of Petra is, er, conveniences. I met these two beasts of burden while searching for one, or at least for some privacy. There was sufficient evidence of their, or their masters, past presence in the cave that I was not embarrassed to follow their lead. I later found a restaurant at the far end of the valley; much too far at the time.

The following day I departed to Cairo.

Cheers, Alan

The King's Highway, Jordan

2009-10-25T21:22:00.000-07:00

From Amman to Wadi Musa via Madaba, Kerak and Mount Nebo.

A chamber in the Kerak Crusader Castle

Travel Date 23rd-24th March 2008.
Click on any picture to see a larger version.

Many things surprised me during my short sojourn in Jordan. Of course, they should not have if I had thought about it before arrival; but they did.

Jordan is strategically located on the cross-roads of the world. It is traversed by the trade routes of major civilisations from before the beginning of recorded history. There are remnants of all of those eras but it had not really occurred to me how much history would remain in the form of stone, bricks, mortar and mosaics. In sequence I saw modern Amman, Roman Jerash, early Christian Madaba, Crusader Kerak, ancient Mount Nebo and Nabatean Petra.

Jerash was settled in ancient times but the predominant ruins are from the Roman era of the 1st to the 3rd century AD. The following day I followed the King’s Highway to Wadi Musa and Petra; along the way each of the places I visited was ancient, nearly all had been settled since the dawn of mankind, but each had preserved very different eras for posterity for us to see today.

Madaba, the first town I visited after leaving Amman, also dates back to those ancient eras but the most notable site is the 6th century AD map mosaic in the Greek Orthodox Basilica of Saint George; a rather imposing title for a rather small but very, very old church.

I found later that St George is also an important saint in the Egyptian Coptic Church; something that would probably surprise many Britons who think of him as the patron saint of England.

The mosaic represents a map of the world as it was known at that time. Although I have tried to adjust it for easier viewing, my picture does not do it justice. If you are interested in further information there is an excellent description and history here: A Virtual Travel Through the Madaba map Holy Places.

The town of Kerak is as ancient as the others and also went through Moabite, Nabatean, Greek, Roman, Ottoman and other eras but the Crusader Castle of the 12th and 13th centuries dominates the city. During that period it ruled the district and was effectively the capital of the Crusader region. It was built in the 1140s and despite its size, position and apparent impregnability eventually fell to the Muslims under Saladin around 1189.

Kerak's story at that time was full of blood and treachery, mainly by the Crusaders. It also had occasional quirky moments of chivalry such as the time about five years before it was taken when Saladin was besieging Kerak and he became aware that a wedding was happening in the castle, so he kept his siege engines off the bridal tower.

One of the final rulers, Reynald de Chatillon, became famous for his treachery and brutality before he was deservedly beheaded personally by Saladin. Sometimes I'm very grateful that the "good old days" can never return...

Mount Nebo is most famous from mythical pre-history as the burial place of Moses. The theological scholars can argue about the date for that. However, the re-constructed church on the site dates mainly from the 4th and 5th centuries AD.

The picture is a glimpse of the Dead Sea from Mount Nebo. The model shows a layout of the old churches and sanctuary of Moses on the site. Archaeological and reconstruction work has been continuing since the mid-1930s. As in Madaba there are significant mosaic finds being reconstructed on site; the work is slow and painstaking.

My next post will be on Petra. The wonderful temples and structures carved into the rock at Petra generally date from the late 2nd century BC to the 2nd century AD.

There may be other countries in which such a range of excellent sites representing so many different ancient civilisations could be found strung along a 250km stretch of road, but I doubt there are many. Or maybe that just means I haven’t been to them yet; possibly Israel, or the Lebanon. However, I may wait until those two are on friendly terms with each other before I visit them.

Along the route we covered some surprisingly rugged country including deep ravines. In one of these we crossed a major dam providing power and water. We also saw several nomadic herders' tents beside their flocks.

I arranged my driver through the tour agency in the Commodore Hotel. He got me there and back safely; as a stranger in a strange land you can't ask much more than that.

Cheers, Alan

Noumea Revisited

2009-09-18T00:27:00.000-07:00

Our hotel is between the palms.

Travel dates 21st and 22nd August 2009
Click on any picture to see a larger version.

After a pleasant night at the excellent Hotel Banu (review awaiting approval on Tripadvisor) we headed south to spend our final two New Caledonian nights in Noumea.

We took our time, just enjoying a relaxed drive.

The picture exemplifies the Grand Terre west coast north of Noumea outside the towns: few dwellings, open spaces, hills and mountains rising from the pasture but very few animals to be seen in those pastures.

Then we were back in "civilisation". After some of the hotels we stayed in during this trip we thought Le Pacifique was marvellous. Yes, I'm getting soft. The pool was the view from our window. Here are the intrepid wanderers, off to see Noumea.

Once we had settled in we wandered the city with no particular place to go. I pretended I knew where I was going, so I was headed for the docks to get to the market when we came across this hilltop Catholic shrine. At least I could see the docks from here. When we finally reached the docks, we could have been in the Mediterranean; extensive marinas and lots of expensive pleasure boats.

The views that the saint was surveying were superb; the shrine was still in use, the small grotto had several candles in it.

The shops were modern and well-stocked with items from all over the world but mainly New Zealand and France and, of course, China. The Kanak penchant for Rasta items was everywhere, with Bob Marley popular as a symbol. So was Che Guevara; see the white T-shirt. Two very different heroes. I respect Marley's music and Guevara's ideals. But I'm less impressed by Marley's penchant for pot and Guevara's bloody methods. I hope the Kanak youth are able to use some discrimination in following their heroes.

Down-town Noumea could have been any French town. This is a typical down-town street.

Next to the dock was Le Marche, the market, in full swing. Not an enormous market under cover, but a very wide range of fruits and vegetables, meats, fish and bakery goods and of course souvenirs and knick-knacks. Compared to many markets we have been to in our travels it was very civilised and orderly with no-one aggressively pushing their wares or harassing obvious tourists like ourselves. The souvenir prices for cowrie shells, carved totems and similar items were many times higher than those we passed on roadside "honour" stalls in the north.

As we left the market we heard a lot of noise and noticed a demonstration heading towards us on the highway beside the market. It was quite large with several thousand demonstrators but very orderly. There were three trucks with sound systems regularly spaced along the group of marchers with people making speeches from the trucks as they steadily rolled along. The majority of marchers were Kanak but there were a few Caldoche among them. Caldoche is the term used for the new Caledonians of French or European ancestry.

The demonstration went on for several hours, winding throught the streets north of the market in an older section of town, with the trucks stopping for the speakers to address the crowd at regular intervals. Between speeches music entertained the marchers. The procession was followed at a discreet distance by a fleet of police vehicles and several walking police, but they weren't over-bearing in their presence. I had no idea what it was about, so I looked it up since. The background story is here. It looks like they have a pretty good cause to complain to me.

That night we were on our way home from dinner when we saw this guy. New Caledonia was expensive, but haircuts must be really, really expensive.

The following day we had a little trouble getting out of the hotel car-park; as we reached the side street we found it barricaded with witches hats down the centre. It was a bit unclear which side of the road was available for us to drive on. Eventually a friendly guy saw our confusion and showed us the way. We had not realised that one of the biggest sporting events of the year, the local marathon, was taking place that morning. We had seen signs and bill-boards with pictures of athletes, but not realised their import. We tried not to run over any of the competitors.

Then we headed south, intending to head for the South-east tip of the island, but never quite made it. Instead we wandered some of the southern villages before heading home.

At one stage we stopped at an enormous supermarket several kilometres south of Noumea in a building like a giant warehouse. It was like a combination of a K-mart and supermarket in one space. Again, very French in style and layout. For example, the red meats were nearly all displayed in large cuts, such as a full rump (or flank) with a butcher standing by to slice it to your needs. There were very few of the plastic-packaged slices of meat we see in supermarkets at home. On the other hand, the cutting board the butcher was using looked rather unappetising as it was crawling with flies, which he casually brushed away as he tossed a lump of meat down for slicing.

The range of packaged fish was excellent; I would love to be able to buy a marlin/mahi mahi/tuna shashlik like this to throw on the barby at home.

This was the spot where I had my last New Caledonian (and quite pleasant) beer; life is tough. The final views are the trusty little chariot that took us around the island, the sunset from the hotel, and a glimpse of the lagoon as we departed.

Departure was little annoying. There are so many good things about New Caledonia, but the understanding of many people within the local tourist industry of the needs of tourists is not one of them. I've tried not to concentrate on the negatives in these blog reports, although you will find some negatives in the hotel reviews, but some of the annoyances will have surfaced. At the airport they included the duty-free shop where I wanted to get rid of the last of my Pacific Francs. The clerk was happy to accept part cash, part card, but the remainder after cash was less than XPF1000 which is a little over AU$14. She refused to accept less than 1000 for the card. Nowhere else had we come across this minimum, but I had to buy extra to meet the requirement. Trivial, but annoying.

Earlier, Air Calin opened check-in late; no big deal but there was already a long queue waiting at the right time. However, they were good compared to the girl handling the departure passport check. She left a long queue waiting outside her closed door for another hour until less than an hour before departure time. We presumed she enjoyed a leisurely afternoon siesta. No-one let the waiting queue, for the only departing plane, know what was happening or when the door would open. Again trivial but annoying. Little annoyances add up over a week and they were just a few examples of many which displayed the local attitude to tourists.

It's a lovely island, like two nations - Noumea and the rest - in one locality and the people we met who weren't in the tourism industry, and some who were, were also lovely. But I probably won't be back even though it's only two hours away. Despite that, I'm glad I went.

Cheers, Alan

Poindimié and Nickel Mines to La Foa

2009-09-14T02:24:00.000-07:00

Travel dates 19th and 2oth August 2009
Click on any picture to see a larger version.

We left around 9 am after a leisurely breakfast, cooked on my trusty little skillet. The dawn view was glorious, interrupted by a couple of inquisitive deer. We decided to make it a short day's drive, intending to have a relaxing afternoon at the next town. The scenery was similar to the day before with the road separating the steep hills from the beautiful beaches with occasional small coastal plains. The small Melanesian "Tribu" villages were more frequent and so were the pedestrians, with always a smile and a small wave acknowledging us as we passed.

A pleasant observation was the care taken in caring for the departed in New Caledonia. The grounds were always well looked after and it seemed that every grave had fresh floral tributes. These were typical of every cemetery we passed.

One of the little things we noticed was the minimal use of motor vehicles in the Province Nord. There seemed to be few cars used by the villagers and even fewer motorbikes. I rarely saw a truck on the roads, which surprised me because I expected to see goods delivery trucks and mining trucks. Maybe we just picked a quiet week. I doubt that I saw half a dozen trucks on the road in the entire trip outside Noumea.

This flower intrigued me; I have no idea what it is, it just looked interesting. Again, that feeling of Bali Hai was in the back of my mind as I wandered down this coast and stopped to look at some of these beaches and scenes. I almost expected to hear Mitzi Gaynor and Rossano Brazzi bursting into song beside us. It really is a beautiful and almost unspoiled coast. Until you get to the mines.

We spent the night in Poindimié at La Tapendouri Hotel; not our best decision. My review is on Tripadvisor. The town was interesting; another small town with very limited tourist facilities. We had lunch at Le Rasta. The food was very ordinary, overcooked chicken and chips, but the surrounds were fascinating at first. Very Caribbean and Marley, with appropriate T-shirts and souvenir goods. They became less fascinating when three dogs, including one that looked extremely unwell, decided to join us at the table. They were friendly but very inquisitive and appeared very unhygienic. The staff didn't seem to care; possibly they owned the dogs. We had finished, so we left. We tried them again for dinner, as there were limited alternative choices, but the dogs beat us to the table so we made other arrangements.

Next morning we continued south. These "honour" sales tables appear regularly beside the road all the way down the east coast, mainly near tribu villages. Sometimes they sold fruit or vegetables, often growing in pots, but more often they sold carved small totems or shells, usually cowries of various shapes. The prices were occasionally marked on them and the customer is trusted to leave the right cash.

Creeks and rivers, some quite large, regularly crossed our path. Very often the river and the local town shared their name; this was the entry to Ponérihouen.

We stopped at the only proper cafe I can recall in Province Nord for a pleasant and surprisingly cheap coffee. The guy using the computer appeared to be getting wi-fi - but I couldn't detect it. Wrong spot in the room?

I took the second picture because of an unusual spindly pine tree that appeared regularly along the road. Very high, very slender, usually alone but occasionally in small groups as a copse.

After Houailou (no, don't ask me to pronounce it) we started to see more signs of mining until we were eventually driving through the middle of the Poro Mine. The road was sealed and good but became steep and winding. The mine was enormous but there was very little activity. Possibly this one is played out; there is a much bigger and newer mine at Goro further south. There seemed to be no effort made at rehabilitation of the resulting lunar landscape.

I'll let the pictures speak for themselves. To get an idea of the scale, look for the car near the top right in the fourth picture.

There were small cairns of rocks at several points on the road verges, then we noticed this collection which appears to be a shrine of some sort. I don't know their meaning and I could not find it on the net; if anyone knows I would appreciate the information.

Although we saw very few cars or trucks while circling Grand Terre we saw several abandoned vehicles in roadside ditches. Some were damaged, but some were not. Maybe it was too expensive to tow them away instead of leaving them when they become uneconomically repairable. This one was a bit extreme as there had obviously been a recent crash and the vehicle had burnt out on the road before it was pushed to the side and abandoned.

After leaving the Poro mine well behind us we encountered this conveyor as we left the East Coast to head towards the West. It went for many kilometres and eventually climbed the side of a mountain and disappeared over the top, connecting another inland mine to the coast.

En-route to La Foa in the heart of the mountains we paused here to look at this magnificent flowering Poinciana Tree (I'm open to correction, I think that's what it was - looked good anyway) and noticed a waterfall in the far distance in a valley.

We stayed the night in La Foa, which is a pleasant town about an hour north of La Tontouta airport. La Foa's main claim to fame was as the headquarters for the US forces on New Caledonia in WWII. It is claimed that over a million US servicemen passed through New Caledonia at that time. The Hotel Banu was used as a headquarters and the walls were covered with photos from that era and later photos of senior French visitors. The ceiling was almost as interesting, with a collection of over 4700 caps from past travellers. We stayed in a pleasant bungalow for two in the grounds and had a good dinner at the Vietnamese restaurant opposite the hotel.

The child-care centre was on the road behind the hotel. Coming from a country that seems to get more politically correct and over-sensitive every year, I smiled at the title.

Tomorrow, back to Noumea.

Cheers, Alan

To Hienghène via Poum

2009-09-01T04:21:00.000-07:00

View Across Hienghène Harbour

Travel date 18th August 2009
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We left Koumac about 10 am and headed north. My plan was to cut straight across the top of the Island and omit the 100km diversion to Poum, heading for Hienghène via Ouegoa and Pouèbo. I thought the extra distance would make it too long a day’s driving.

I neglected to take account of the rather sparse use of road signs in the far North, so it wasn’t until I saw a sign indicating we were passing Malabou Beach Resort that I realised we had missed the turnoff to Ouegoa about 40km back. Not a great distance from here Cook, the Great Navigator, discovered and named New Caledonia. Obviously, I am not a descendant. It appears we were fated to see Poum, the most northern town on Grand Terre, so I drove on.

It was a small, pleasant beach-side village. This marker was next to the Mairie by the beach. We saw very few people, apart from the only inebriated person I saw on the whole trip, happily meandering all over the road as he walked away from town about a kilometre south. We missed him, both coming and going. He seemed very happy but I doubt he was aware we were passing.

The Melanesian Village also appeared deserted, but I’m sure there were people there. I was interested in visiting the village but there seemed to be no-one to ask. Many kilometres later I realised I should have asked at the Mairie.

We headed back towards the turn-off we had missed, over 50km back, after debating whether to try the alternative dirt road. We decided it wasn’t worth the risk and eventually discovered the correct turnoff at Chagrin; well named in the circumstances.

Again we had the road to ourselves en-route to Ouegoa, rarely seeing another vehicle or a person. There were occasional farm-houses, usually set well back from the road. The country gradually changed, becoming hilly and more rugged as we skirted the Northern tip of the central mountains. I had expected to see a larger town at Ouegoa but it was really just another small hamlet. We stopped at the general store for a quick look around and to look at the food on sale at the snack bar. We didn’t find it appetizing (we had had our fill of burgers by now) so we wandered on until we found this lovely little spot not far east of town.

Well, it was lovely until you noticed the rubbish; it was obviously a popular spot for the locals for picnics but no-one bothered to clean up after them. But we ignored that and enjoyed the solitude and the babbling brook.

Lunch was delicious; a length of crisp on the outside, soft on the inside French baguette with cheese, ham and onions. The French-influenced cooks of New Caledonia may not yet have learned how to make good Pizza, but they can certainly bake a baguette. This was the third time I had eaten that lunch but the first time I tested afterwards. My diabetic friends will understand why the resulting 9 mmol/l (160mg/dl) made it the last time I ate that for lunch.

Shortly after lunch the road changed and started climbing steeply, then changed to gravel as we encountered a long stretch of road-works. The view as we crested the final rise was quite spectacular; this is the section of the shallow lagoon that Cook passed through as he discovered this island in 1774, just north of Balade. The water changed colour quite distinctly showing the different depths.

His ship, the Resolution, must have had quite a shallow draught to be able to navigate these waters. To be honest, he didn’t show a lot of imagination with names for islands; he also named the New Hebrides, New Britain and New Ireland on that voyage. Of course, he also named Australia originally as New South Wales.

We slowly wandered on past coastal tribal villages, seeing more people and noticing a significant change in crops. The hills dropped steeply to the water, with only short and limited stretches of coastal plain. The crops were more coastal and tropical: bananas, coconuts, paw-paws, manioc and taro (fibrous tubers for starch). There were no defined or fenced fields but many small plantations of banana or coconuts along the road verge; or paw-paw and other crops set a short way back. There were many coconuts lying scattered on the ground but I got the impression they were not free to be collected but owned by the local tribes, so we didn’t pick them up. We started to pass more locals who invariably smiled and raised a hand in greeting as we passed. The men wore simple western clothes: shorts with T-shirts or similar, although younger men often added Rastafarian headgear or dreadlocks. The women, young or old, all wore variants on a shapeless but colourful shift, muu-muu style.

Within a short time it was like driving through a set for “South Pacific”. I'm sure I saw Bloody Mary several times, but Liat only rarely. I didn't see any Marines, but there were certainly lots in the area in WWII as we discovered later at La Foa.

We continued down the coast, past the Catholic Mission where some earlier missionaries became dinner, and the township of Pouèbo. We stopped often just to pause and look at some of the spectacular beaches and occasional small waterfalls. We noticed a cloud of smoke in the distance, gradually getting bigger until we saw this fire roaring up the hillside near Tao, about 20km north of Hienghène. It was out of control, but nobody seemed remotely interested in it.

There were villagers working in a tiny banana plantation only a short distance down the road, but they were ignoring the blaze. They know their own land so maybe they were right to do so; but it’s hard to watch an uncontrolled bushfire through Australian eyes.

Along the way we paused often. There were regular pleasant road-side parks where we could stop to look at the scenery or take a picture of the coast. Shortly after the fire we stopped for a brief picnic to look at this waterfall, which eventually descends to the creek. It’s hard to give the scale from the photo. The small coloured dots at the bottom left of the falls are people.

One of the things I had learned on Grand Terre roads was to watch the road like a hawk, for pot-holes, road-works, coconuts, children and other interesting obstacles. Which was just as well when we came around a corner after descending a hill and suddenly found that the road disappeared straight into the water. I’ve often been on ferries in Australia, but we usually get a little more warning. I was fine but my lady’s tan went a little pale for a while.

The ferry crossed a beautiful stretch of water propelled by one of these engines on each side; one for each direction. It was free and provided a leisurely and scenic break in the journey.

We spent a fruitless hour in Hienghène attempting to find reasonably priced acceptable accommodation; the gites mentioned in my six-year-old Lonely Planet guide appeared to have closed. We asked at the very modern and very new information centre and were directed by the girl there to the gite across the road. The hostess showed me a grotty room, with a couple of tired single beds and facilities shared between four other rooms for XPF4000; I didn’t bother showing it to my wife. Back at the information centre the girl was adamant that was the only accommodation in town. Maybe she was family.

As we headed out of town we stopped at the lookout on the southern headland of the harbor.

It is one of the few spots I have been in the world that could rival the scenic coastal beauty of my favourite spots on the east coast of Australia. Yes, I know I'm biased. It was getting late in the day, so the light was fading but it was still spectacular. To the west is a beautiful harbor, to the north the opposing headland and to the east some islands straight out of a Hollywood movie. We were back on the set of South Pacific looking at Bali Hai.

One odd thing occurred to me as I looked west. Despite the marina we saw back at Koumac, we had seen almost no boats at work or play in New Caledonia. This harbor was deserted, and the only boat we had seen in the water since Koumac, despite driving along at least a hundred kilometres of coastline, was a man in a dinghy near the shore at Poum. It seemed strange for an island nation. A harbour like this in Australia would have been crowded with craft of all types.

After fruitlessly searching further south for a gite we eventually gave in and opened the wallet and stayed at the Koulnoue Resort, about 15 minutes drive south of Hienghène. I have given my report on Tripadvisor. It is also in a gorgeous location, the views are from our room in the evening and the morning.

North-west to Koumac

2009-08-27T03:28:00.000-07:00

Travel date 17th August 2009
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We left Gite du Cap about 10 am and slowly negotiated the road back to the highway. It was a little easier knowing what to expect this time.

We headed north-west up the west coast. The land was mainly flat and scrubby towards the water on the left. To the right the flat grazing lands quickly became high hills; to Australian eyes the hills were high and steep, with pronounced sharp ridges. Occasional farmhouses, set well back from the road, appeared but they were far apart. For long distances the land seemed deserted except for occasional grazing animals; mainly cattle, some horses, occasional goats and rarely sheep. There were very rare fields of crops, most of the land appeared to be used for grazing or fallow. On the whole trip we never saw a farmer or grazier working in the fields. Maybe they knew I was coming, with my notorious black thumbs - everything I plant is doomed…

We saw several “tribu” signposts, but rarely saw a hint of a Melanesian village. They must have been set well back from the road. Later in the trip the villages were much closer to the road on the east coast. Unfortunately we had made no prior arrangements to meet villagers, so that was one part of the trip that I would do differently if I visit New Caledonia again. Arrangements need to be made in advance with the village elders. All of the road signs, such as river names and villages, were in two languages: French and Melanesian.

The small towns we passed through were very small indeed. We ate lunch at this snack place, operating from a transportable building in Pouembout. I followed the lead of the other customers, choosing a table and chairs from stacks near the servery. We didn’t realise until later what a rare opportunity for an inexpensive lunch that was. In the next five days we saw only one other similar rural snack café, in Oeugoa.

Next door was a typical Mairie, effectively the Town Hall and Civic Office. This was the main street, at peak hour. Well, I doubt it was any different any other time of day.

During the day we noticed this wind-farm on the hilltops. The propellors are smaller than the usual wind generators I have seen in the past, and only two-bladed. Later we saw another farm in the Plum district with slightly larger propellors.

Kone was slightly larger. Significant towns, such as Poembout and Kone, had excellent basic infrastructure regardless of their small populations. Each town had a school, to at least Primary (Elementary) level, a Mairie, a Gendarmerie and a supermarket or two. The size of the school populations, seen playing as we passed, indicated that there were significant feeder villages beyond the towns. Many of the towns also had a smaller Catholic Primary School similar to those in Australia. Almost every town had an Ambulance station with several vehicles in the yard. During the trip we regularly encountered ambulances with their distinctive six-pointed blue crosses, sometimes with blue lights flashing but more often just cruising along the road. Many were sedan cars with no apparent medical equipment. I suspect that they double as the local taxi services, because we saw very few taxis outside Noumea but lots of ambulances.

In Kone we took the opportunity to visit a small supermarket and buy some basics; wine, coffee, teabags, cheese, onions, light cola and butter. Later we found those little purchases to be wise. Some of the little things we take for granted in Australian motels and hotels are missing in the majority of New Caledonian rural hotels and gites. Some provide tea and coffee, but most do not; most don’t even provide a jug to boil water. Some provided a fridge, most didn’t. One tip: never, ever, buy the cheapest French wine on the shelf in New Caledonia; spend at least XPF800; it took days for my taste buds to recover from the one swallow of XPF295 soldes (Sale) merlot. On the other hand, it probably cleaned my tubes out.

After long experience, when I am travelling by car I travel “prepared” with a small electric skillet. It is a very, very useful item, able to do everything from boil water for a cuppa to cooking a full meal of Pasta Bolognaise; which we did later in the trip. I also carry a couple of plastic plates, cutlery, a stopper for wine bottles, a waiter's corkscrew and a one-cup coffee drip filter. We used those items more regularly travelling Grand Terre than I have in any other country.

When we reached Koumac we spent some time exploring and did a little more grocery shopping. Joan of Arc seems to be a very popular saint in the Pacific, this was the third church I saw dedicated to her.

We spent a little time looking for a reasonable hotel and an inexpensive restaurant. We found both to be rather optimistic goals. Eventually, I found one that looked good but could not find any staff. The cashier in the grocery store next door advised us that it was closed for renovations and gave us directions to the Monitel, which we had passed on the road in without realising it was there.

The logic behind the secret hotels of New Caledonia escapes me. Maybe there is some deep and shameful stigma to admitting you actually rent rooms by the day in this country. In this case the “Monitel” sign was a white-on-black 60cm square discreetly positioned on a side road and totally invisible from the main road. By this time we were starting to worry about sleeping in the car so we booked in. The hotel was acceptable but we still had not come to terms with the high prices in NC. There seemed to be two tiers of accommodation in the rural areas: moderately priced but really grotty or very expensive for a level we would expect in a budget Australian or American motel. I gradually learned that New Caledonian hotel prices are simply very high; so by New Caledonia standards it was OK for XPF 9,700 (AU$140, US$115). But to me it seemed rather poor value for money.

Of course, after we had booked in and went driving around town again we discovered the cheaper Hotel Clef - but that’s life. C’est la vie. We were surprised to find that our hotel was almost full, despite the price. Later, watching the people around me as I had a quiet beer I realised that the hotel probably had an account to accommodate many of the workers in the nickel mines. We ordered a pizza and ate in the room; sadly, we discovered that the French, whether Continental or in the Pacific, still have a way to go when it comes to cooking good pizza.

Later we drove around the district and discovered a modern marina with some very nice nearby houses on the coast near the town.

Nickel mining has been, and is, a major economic support for the New Caledonian economy. Unfortunately that has come with a high visual and environmental price. It is almost impossible to drive ten kilometres without seeing another hill or mountain with long strips or scars of denuded hillside. The one in the photo is typical in the Koumac district. Some are just a small strip, others denude entire hillsides, others, as I will show when we reach Poro, are a lunar landscape. Everything has a price, but I suspect that in years to come some New Caledonians will look back on this as too high a price to have paid.

Cheers, Alan

Bourail and Gite du Cap

2009-08-19T02:20:00.000-07:00

Travel date 15th August 2009
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The road north from La Tontouta follows the west coast through small villages. After leaving the Europcar office we decided not to stop until we reached Bourail because today was the annual Foire de Bourail; roughly equivalent to our local RAS Show Day. We will be taking a little longer to see La Foa and Boulouparis on the return journey.

The smaller villages such as Moindou were hardly noticed as we passed through. That is really the first thing you realise as you leave Noumea and start driving through Grande Terre; the place seems almost empty away from Noumea. To put that in context, the entire population of New Caledonia is a little over 230,000 and over half of those people live in Noumea. The next largest city on Grande Terre, the big island, is Bourail with 4500. Over the next few days we realised that a significant number live away from the main roads in the Melanesian villages, but even so the land seems almost deserted.

We were too late at the Bourail Fair to see the rodeo acts but we really wanted to see the people rather than the acts anyway. First, of course, after a long drive we had to inspect this uniquely French institution. Unisex and pay your 50 francs in advance.

The crowd was fairly evenly mixed between those of French ancestry, many of whom would not have looked out of place in the crowd at an Australian country town Show, and those of Kanak descent. As I mentioned earlier many of the young Kanak men seemed to be followers of Bob Marley or at least admired Rastafarian garb and hairstyles.

Many of the Fair exhibits and side shows were straight out of similar shows in my childhood, but the fast food was very different and so were some of the artisans and craft displays.

There were two gambling stalls which were doing well; not surprising when you look at the wobbly "chocolate wheels" they were using.

Everything seemed expensive, something we slowly came to realise was true of all of New Caledonia.

I didn’t try the Paella, although it smelled good, but I did have a home-made ice-cream concoction that tasted of marzipan and probably sent my blood glucose levels sky high. But hey - I’m on holiday, so I‘m only testing occasionally. My excuse is that it was meant for Lorraine but she didn’t like the taste so I wasn’t going to let it go to waste.

We had a quick glance at Bourail, a hilly small town, after leaving the fair but didn’t tarry because we were a bit uncertain about finding our bungalow at the Gite du Cap.

I later reflected on what a wise decision that was. The instructions were quite clear: proceed 22 km from Bourail on the Kone road, note the Pont du Cap bridge, watch for the green sign and turn left off the highway at the top of the hill and follow that road for 8km. What wasn’t clear was that no person in their right mind would drive a tiny front-wheel-drive Peugot 107 along that particular unsealed, corrugated and poorly maintained road. The pictures don’t do credit to the steepness of some of the sections; I had to use a lot of my old driving experience for a couple of the climbs to build up momentum before hitting the slope.

The bungalow seemed almost new and was excellent and roomy, although the bed was a little lumpy. The views were superb, almost making the road experience worth-while.

We had advised in our booking email that we would not be dining at the table d’hote because of the price of XPF4500, or AU$63 - each! As we were already paying XPF8600 for the bungalow we felt that to be a bit too much. One reason we booked the bungalow was the fully equipped kitchenette; in our haste to get there we had failed to buy meat and veges, on the assumption that we would be able to buy some from our host. That turned out to be a false assumption; she had provided, in the fridge some eggs and bread for breakfast but was only interested in providing value-added food for dinner, so I had fried eggs and ham and Lorraine had a cup-a-soup.

A friendly guy who appeared to be a permanent resident, and who had acted as interpreter when we arrived, informed us a little later that there would be a fireworks display at 7:30 or 8:30 depending on when “the mother of my child” arrived. We thanked him for letting us know and sure enough, at about 7:30, there was a very brief but quite spectacular display. Just after we went to sleep, at about 9:30, there was another, much longer, much louder display. Very impressive for a small country farm; I hope the mother of his child was suitably impressed. I didn’t really mind; it was certainly better than the French TV.

Next, to the Nord-Ouest.

Cheers, Alan

New Caledonia; Noumea

2009-08-18T01:26:00.000-07:00

Travel date 15th August 2009
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I'll return to my 2008 trip shortly. I still have to write about Egypt, the UK, USA and Mexico.

But now for a brief diversion to a touch of France in the South-West Pacific, not all that far from my place. I had some frequent flyer miles to use and wanted to take Lorraine somewhere a little exotic but not too far in distance.

On Australian TV we see many advertisements for places like Fiji, Bali, Vanuatu and New Zealand but rarely any mention of New Caledonia. So I decided to give it a try.

We left Brisbane on time with Qantas and a tailwind. We arrived five minutes early at at 17:25 at La Tontouta. Qantas staff were excellent as usual. A reasonable lunch of chicken korma and rice, minus the rice for me, at 3pm and a free, quite pleasant, shiraz.

La Tontouta Airport is about 50km north of Noumea and appears to be undergoing renovations. We were honest in our Customs and Quarantine declarations and had no dramas, although they did confiscate some cheese we had packed for snacks. The ATM worked with no problems, so, flush with giant-sized New Caledonian Pacific Francs I found the Europcar office and collected our wheels for the next 8 days.

The light had faded quickly and by the time we left the airport at 20 past 6 it was darkest night. We had intended arriving at the Anse Vata Motel before 7pm but it quickly became clear that was impossible. The owner's directions of "just follow the bus" turned out to be a bit useless. It probably helps if you actually see a bus. It might also have helped if the motel has a sign that was visible from the road. Eventually we found it, long after the doors were closed at 7pm. It seemed a bit odd calling the place a “motel” when there was no on-site parking; we eventually found a free street parking spot in the next block. The good news was that the code he gave us for the front door worked.

We had a surprisingly pleasant and tasty dinner of hamburgers (I tossed the bottom bun) at the Rimbu Cafe down by the water; they also sold us a couple of eggs for us to cook for breakfast the next morning. The motel had a small kitchenette but the fridge was empty. The basic burgers were 550 francs, about AU$8 which was very inexpensive for Noumea.

The room wasn’t bad for a basic motel; plenty of space, a double bed and a single, a TV that had only French-language channels, a kitchenette and working hot water. Such a pity that the mattresses were made in a quarry - they made rocks seem soft - and every movement of the upstairs neighbours could be traced either from the footsteps on our ceiling or the plumbing noises echoing in our bathroom.

In the morning I didn’t get upset when the manager asked if I had a pleasant night, but I did tell the truth. Maybe it was my bleary unslept eyes that caused him to do the right thing and reduce the tariff. To his credit, I didn’t ask for a discount; he offered it. He claimed we were the first to ever complain. I doubt it.

We spent a couple of hours next morning checking out other places to stay when we return to Noumea in a week and also buying some basics such as bread, eggs, cream, butter and diet cola from an Asian supermarket open on Sundays.

Noumea was a surprisingly modern city, very French in its style. The traffic lights, road system and shops could have been lifted straight from the Riviera and dropped here in the Pacific. However, the palm trees and the well-tanned local complexions were a reminder of our locality.

The younger Melanesians appear to be suffering a geographical identity problem. It would be easy to mistakenly presume we were on a Caribbean Island from the number of young people wearing dreadlocks, Rastafarian green, gold, red and black woollen knit berets and Bob Marley T-shirts. Michael Jackson is a close number two in the T-shirt popularity stakes.

We wandered around Noumea for a little while, just exploring. Well, that’s what I told Lorraine. Actually I was trying to find my way to the La Tontouta road and kept getting lost. Serendipitously we stumbled on a look-out with marvellous views in all directions over the city; there was a restaurant at the spot but it was much too early for them to be open so we had the place to ourselves and the proprietorial cat.

I finally found the road to the north and headed off towards Bourail. We’ll be returning to Noumea before we go home for a longer look.

We were a bit surprised to find that the toll for our trip north was half the price of the trip south. Maybe it is cheaper on Sundays, or maybe our collector the previous night had a tip.

En-route to Bourail I decided to drop in on the Airport again to find out why the air-conditioner didn’t work. Apparently it was just the on-off switch. This is the highly technical Europcar repair:

The manager said there were no other cars in our size for a swap. Heavy hints about a free up-grade to a larger car with a working air-con apparently did not translate into French. I also took the opportunity to visit the ATM again. The prices in Noumea had caused a rapid revision of the budget.

At least I will know how to find the rental car car-park when we return to it next week; it only took me three circuits around the loop road to find it this time.

Next, Bourail and beyond.

Jerash, an Ancient City in Jordan

2009-05-03T22:19:00.000-07:00

Travel Date 22nd-25th March 2008.
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My flight left Delhi at dawn and followed the sun; despite flying for more than six hours and the usual delays for bags and immigration I arrived at the Commodore Hotel well before noon.

I still felt quite fresh. One of the surprises on this trip was a lack of problems with jetlag. There was a car and driver firm in the lobby of the hotel so I decided to spend the afternoon productively. I chose to see Jerash mainly because I knew so little about it.

Coming from a continent where written history and architecture started in the late 18th century, it is awe-inspiring to wander through an ancient city like Jerash. The ruins on display mainly date from the Roman era. That isn’t surprising, because that was the era of the city’s greatest prosperity, but there are lots of indicators of the earlier Greek period mingled with the Roman ruins.

But Jerash is much more ancient than that. It is located a little over 20 miles or 30 km North of Amman on a strategic trade route with permanent water surrounded by an arid region. Thus it is not surprising that archaeologists have discovered evidence of settlement dating back to 2500BC.

There are Biblical references, although scholars argue whether Jerash, as Gerasa, was the city of the Gerasenes mentioned in Mark 5:1 and Luke 8:26. Some think it may be, or be near, Ramoth-Gilead, mentioned in 1 Kings 22. Whether that is true or not, it is an ancient settlement, built and rebuilt since the dawn of civilization.

But I must admit I had never heard of it before I planned the Jordan section of my trip.

Alexander seems to have colonised it around 330 BC with his usual practice of pensioning of veterans with local land – and local women – as he went on his conquering way. Later, Antiochus IV made it a Greek Metropolis and named it modestly “Antioch on the Golden River” after himself. The name did not survive, probably because there were already several Antiochs, but the city did. Between that time and the Roman era it was conquered briefly by the Jewish leader Jannaus around 100BC.

The great period for Jerash followed Pompey’s capture of the city in 63 BC, followed by its membership of the league of free cities known as the Decapolis, most of them being in Jordan; “free” provided they accepted Roman rule. Trade with Palmyra in the North, the Nabateans of Petra in the South, as well as to the West to Palestine and to the East created prosperity and population growth. The destruction of Palmyra in the 3rd century AD and decline of the Nabateans led to dramatically diminishing trade and the city started to decline. Over time it went through a Christian period, and then became Islamic from the 7th century, but by that time had reduced to less than a quarter of its peak population. By the 12th century passing Crusaders reported the site as uninhabited and converted Artemis Temple into a temporary fort. The site was re-discovered by Seetzen in 1806 and later became an enclave of refuge for the persecuted Circassians, some of whom still live there.

Despite the subsequent eras of temples and mosques, the majority of the buildings which have survived can be traced to the Romans. I never cease to be impressed at the architectural and engineering ability of the Romans. Jerash is yet another example of their skills that I have seen to add to the Pont du Gard, the Forum, Aquileia, Istanbul, Trier and so many others. My house will decay before the turn of the next century arrives but those Roman remains will still be there.

Cheers, Alan

Jordan, City and Country

2009-04-26T21:31:00.000-07:00

Travel Date 22nd-25th March 2008.
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I had looked forward to the flight from India to Jordan as an opportunity to fly over the path that Alexander took as he conquered the region millennia ago. Unfortunately, it was not to be. One of the disappointments of the various flights in Asia was that I rarely saw the terrain we flew over except for the initial climb and the final descent. On the ground the skies could look clear, but at altitude there was a brown murky haze obscuring the ground. This applied on all my daylight flights in South-East Asia and on the flight from Delhi to Amman. Additionally, and unsurprisingly, the flight path curved to the South avoiding over-flight of Pakistan, Iraq and Iran.

I had not intended to visit Jordan, it was a fortunate accident. Another serendipitous occurrence, similar to my earlier trip to Istanbul. My original aim was to visit India followed by Egypt. In my original One-World-Explorer planning I was struggling to find a way to get from Delhi to Cairo without going a long way around via the UK or Germany. Then Royal Jordanian joined the One World group and the problem was solved; Amman was a much more logical transit point. However, my pre-conceptions and fears almost caused me to ignore it. I agonised for quite a while reading everything I could find to check on the safety and security of travelling in Jordan before I went.

We all grow up in an environment which creates and nurtures pre-conceptions, no matter how much we think our education and reading has changed them. My early knowledge of Jordan was Sunday School biblical descriptions, the world of Moses and the land of the river Jordan. My adult pre-conceptions were fed by the media reports and my reading of the chaotic history and troubled present of the Middle East, all mixed in with the Hollywood myths of Lawrence of Arabia. Like many westerners I tended to lump Jordan together with its neighbours. In 1981 my thesis at Staff College was a gloomily accurate prediction of the coming Gulf Wars, so my reading had tended to be focused on the volatile states of the Gulf littoral. Not a cheery grounding for a tourist visit to the region.

I should not have worried. Within a day of arrival I realised that almost all of my preconceptions were shattered.

The first thing that struck me in Amman was the order and cleanliness. After India there was almost no rubbish in the streets, no poverty in sight, no derelict or tumble-down homes, few if any squalid huts and no beggars. Actually, to say "after India" is a bit unfair. Amman, and most of the Jordanian towns and villages I passed through would compete well with Aussie towns in a "tidy towns" award. Most of these pictures were taken from or near the Commodore Hotel, which I booked via HotelClub. It was a good, clean hotel not particularly close to anything in the suburbs. I had no complaints, its main customer base seemed to be European tour groups, mainly Dutch and German while I was there. The breakfast buffet choices were excellent.

There was an agency in the foyer that I used to arrange for the car and driver on my first afternoon to Jerash, and again for the driver next day to take me to Petra, stay overnight, and bring me back the following day. It cost 160 JD, about AU$240 for the car and driver for the two days, which I thought was very reasonable when looking at the quality of the car, driver and service compared to grabbing a cab.

The second pic is my driver for the trip to Petra. My drivers implied that the prosperity and order in the nation was due to the years of peace and the legacy of their much-lamented King Hussein continued by his son Abdullah II bin al-hussein, present King of the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan. The Kingdom is, of course, a monarchy, but there is a slow but steady progression towards democracy occurring.

As I departed the cynic in me may have seen a slightly different reason. Waiting in the Queen Alia Airport departures lounge I read the International Herald Tribune over a coffee. The headline article reported that the US Senate was voting that day on a replacement 5-year plan increasing aid to Jordan to US$900 million annually; $500 million for un-stated civilian purposes and $400 million for the military.

Look at the map. The strategic importance in the modern world of a country bordered by Israel, Palestine, Syria, Iraq and Saudi Arabia, which is also a near and influential neighbour to Egypt, the Lebanon and the other Arab states is inestimable. Add that it is not an oil-rich country, unlike many of the others, and that it has a history of sensible and stable government and it is easy to see why the money may be gratefully received and well spent. Money given to governments does not always buy friends in the streets of the towns. Maybe this time it has.

The people were friendly and helpful, even when the only possible communication was gestures. In my short visit I did not meet a lot of Jordanians, mainly my drivers, hotel staff, guides and occasional friends of theirs. But all showed genuine interest in Australia, our government and our culture, never hostility, despite most being very aware that we were fighting beside the US and British in Iraq and Afghanistan. I felt quite safe wandering in the area around the Commodore Hotel, night or day. Possibly the most surprising thing was the general lack of any anti-Western or anti-American feeling; again, something I had mistakenly expected.

Driving through and around Amman I noticed an "American School" (that was its name) and all the usual American fast-food franchises; all were well-patronised. During the visit I chatted in the car to both drivers on fairly long drives. Possibly they were just diplomatic and good at pleasing customers, but both talked freely and cheerfully about their country, their King and the royal family, the Palestinian refugee camps in Jordan and other things such as the political and economic situation in the Middle East without the rhetoric, religious fervour or jingoism the media would lead us to expect.

On my first day I hired a driver to go to Jerash, north of Amman. I was very surprised to see the green hills and crops on that trip, as seen in the photos above. I was expecting a generally dry and arid country. Instead I found that Jordan, and later Egypt, has extremes of fertile irrigated land contrasting with sudden changes to arid and hostile terrain.

During my time in India with a driver I had learned some of the subtleties of the game. So I didn't object when he chose the restaurant for lunch or I was taken to places like this mosaic factory. The workmanship was marvellous, both for the mosaics and the furniture on display. But I didn't buy, not just because I have no great interest in such souvenirs, but I had many more flights to make with two carry-on bags and no desire to add extra kilogrammes to my luggage weight.

On the trip towards Petra the next day we soon hit the more arid regions as we followed the Jordan River South. The following photos were taken during that trip.

The river valley and a major dam for the water supply.

This Bedouin camp represents a way of life unchanged for centuries. The longer shot gives some idea of the inhospitable country they happily elect to live in.

This is Wadi Musa, the town adjacent to Petra.

This was my dinner in the Crowne Plaza at Petra. I have no idea what was in the little triangles, but I do recall they tasted delicious and so did the soup. For my diabetic friends it was a zero-spike dinner.

Next, Jerash.

Cheers, Alan

To Delhi

2009-02-24T00:08:00.000-08:00

Travel Dates 19-22 March 2008.
Click on any picture to see a large version.

I left Jaipur and headed towards Delhi with no particular plan, just the thought of a leisurely day heading in that direction.

It turned out to be interesting, but a little frustrating because of the lack of appropriate hotels along the way. The road was the best so far. My impressions were probably improved because I had become blasé about the drivers and hardly noticed when we crossed to the wrong side of the road to play chicken with large trucks or slowed to avoid camels, elephants or women wandering across the road with improbable loads on their heads. We saw lots of "work in progress" signs but very few road workers.

The scenery was fairly similar for most of the day, nothing really spectacular but always changing. There were long stretches of farmland, fairly dry, with occasional villages. Some of those villages looked abjectly poor, but the people seemed cheerful and industrious with the women wearing bright saris regardless of the squalor surrounding them.

I had intended staying at a hotel en-route and stopped at several motel-style hotels to check tariffs. All were surprisingly expensive, obviously geared to the well-heeled Western traveller, and most were miles from the nearest town or village. Often they called themselves a "Resort"; the qualification for this term seemed to be a swimming pool, sometimes with water in it. I moved on.

I had read of the Fort Palace Hotel Neemrana on the web, so I dropped in to check it out. It was in a marvellous location with views over the surrounding plain, but the only room available seemed to be a converted pantry, judging by the size, with the strangest en-suite arrangements I have ever come across. Up several steps and bend over to enter the bathroom. The price was definitely not related to the quality in that particular room. I declined.

Before lunch I decided to get some cash out, ready to pay the driver the next day. This ATM was at the gate of a large building which appeared to be a bank; we had to get the building guard down to switch on the power. The photo shows why they don’t leave it on all the time. Work in progress. I was surprised that it not only worked, but also worked without any glitches. The other photo illustrates typical electrical wiring for the shops in Karol Bagh.

I don’t know what these ruined walls were from, about 40km south of Delhi, but they created an eerie avenue to drive through; even the locals seemed subdued and quiet until we emerged from them.

Eventually, we arrived in Delhi. I had not arranged a hotel for that night and we could not find the right street for the Grand Park Inn, which I had booked for my final two nights. When I did stay later the first room allocated was smelly but an acceptable room was found. I would not stay there again. While searching for it I saw the Hotel Florence sign and remembered good reviews on tripadvisor. The bed was comfortable, the night was pleasant and the breakfast was good, but it was a little expensive for an interior windowless room.

As soon as I had settled in I went for a long walk around the local streets at night. I was in the Karol Bagh markets district.

It seemed safe at night, well lit and bustling with people of all castes, from mutilated beggars lying in the street, strategically placed for you to trip over them, to incredibly wealthy shoppers alighting from a Mercedes or a Rolls Royce to buy wedding outfits or luxury items.

There were several shops like this one selling wonderfully elaborate outfits for the groom. Aparently photographs from the street were not allowed, as this burly guard proceeded to inform me. He failed.

The prices of items like clothing and shoes were very cheap by my standards. I bought an excellent long-sleeved business shirt for 75 rupees (AU$2.00) and a Lucknow hand-made blouse as a gift for considerably more. Shoes were less than a quarter of the prices back home, but some of the traders could do with some advice on the way company names translate to foreign eyes.

I eventually spent three nights in Delhi and my entertainment every night was to wander the streets of the Karol Bagh district, looking at the shops and stalls, eating the local foods, chatting to people in tortured English and Hindi and extravagant gestures.

The next day was my final day with Raj. While I still had the car I took the opportunity to see the Delhi Mosque, which seemed fairly basic after some I had seen, Gandhi’s memorial and the Indian Museum.

I found the Samadhis park, which is a vast park for the memorials to the founders of the modern Indian State, to be sombre, impressive and humbling. Gandhi would probably not have approved at the size of the place, but I found the quiet, simple memorial to be very fitting for that astonishing, fascinating and world-changing man.

The museum was worth the visit, with some very interesting exhibits on Indian history.

21st March 2008 was Good Friday but in Delhi it was more important as the first day of Holi. The big day is apparently Saturday, but in Delhi many of the citizens start early and dye powders and coloured water were being flung around indiscriminately by mid-day Friday. Unfortunately Holi has degenerated in some areas and has become a day when it can be unwise for non-Hindus to be wandering among the revellers. That is particularly true for young women, or for travellers like me trying to circle the world with two pairs of trousers and four shirts that I did not want to become like Joseph’s coat of many colours. This thread on the India Mike forum gives more detail on that problem. I decided discretion was wiser and spent that afternoon in the hotel, catching up on some housekeeping, writing and planning.

Things had settled by the evening so I had dinner at the Sandoz restaurant a few blocks up the road and wandered the markets again, retiring early to get some sleep before my 2am call to get ready to go to the airport. I’ve mentioned that airport departure a few pages ago, so I won’t repeat it all.

Looking back, India was, as advertised, incredible. Some day I may be lucky enough to go again. It is a country of contrasts, rich and abjectly poor, fertile and desert, incredibly modern in some ways, incredibly ancient in others. An enduring memory, un-photographed, is of a camel plodding it’s dusty way along the Delhi road with a wide-screen plasma TV strapped to it’s back.

Next stop, Jordan.

Cheers, Alan

Drivers, Stepped Wells and Baolis

2008-12-30T22:14:00.000-08:00

Travel date 16 March 2008
Click on any picture to see a larger version.

When I was planning the Indian section of my trip I did a lot of research into the various methods of travel. There is an excellent train service in India and I spent some time poring over timetables and asking questions on http://www.indiamike.com/ about that option, but eventually it was advice from the knowledgeable people on that site that convinced me to use a car with driver.

I am so glad I did. I eventually booked with Gajraj Travel, (or http://www.gajrajtravels.com/). Not only did I see the country at the pace and route that I chose, there were so many other benefits. Raj, my driver, was not just a nice guy who could survive on Indian roads but he was also an invaluable interpreter and advisor. His presence made the awkward things that could have been hassles into simple things – finding an ATM, knowing the restaurants, shops and markets, interpreting when needed, and answers to all the small questions that occurred to me as we travelled along. The sort of questions that aren’t important enough to appear in guide books but provide insights into the real India.

No matter how much research you do for a trip you always miss something. I had never heard of India’s stepped wells. On the way from Fatehpur Sikri to Jaipur, Raj asked if I would like to see something unusual. Of course I said yes. He turned off the main road onto a bumpy, narrow, rutted dirt road winding through arid farmland sparsely dotted with occasional dwellings. Eventually we came to a small village next to a low, very old, stone building. Raj introduced me to a guide and after paying a small fee the guide took me inside.

Later I saw the pyramids of Egypt. Imagine a giant picking up a pyramid, inverting it, and thrusting it into the ground, then pulling it out again to leave a pyramid-shaped hole in the ground. That is what a stepped well, or baoli, is like.

This particular one, the Chand Baori, is one of the deepest. There are 13 flights of steps and it is over 100 feet or 30 meters deep. It apparently dates back to the 9th century and was only re-discovered recently. I’m sure the locals knew about it, but no-one else seemed to be aware of it until the late 20th century.

In this hot, arid region there were significant benefits to controlling the local water supply; the baoli was also a cooler place to be in summer. Consequently the local ruler used the buildings on one side as his summer palace, with rooms for wives and concubines. Inside the palace there are many rooms cut deep into the rock.

I saw no-one else there apart from my guide and a couple of beggars. This is not a place that most tour buses would reach. However, there were signs that archeologists are working on the many carved stone sections that have been salvaged from the site.

The lower levels were used in drier times but became submerged as water levels rose in the monsoon. Within the buildings there were aqueducts and pipes cut in the stone for a water supply system. It’s not clear how the palace servants raised the water from the well to the upper areas, possibly there were pumps of some sort. The local peasant ladies used pitchers balanced on their heads as they descended the steps, filled the pitchers at the bottom then climbed again. I must admit I wouldn’t drink the green stuff sitting in the bottom now, but it would have looked very different 11 centuries ago.

Cheers, Alan

Indian Forts and Palaces

2008-12-28T04:14:00.000-08:00

Travel dates 16-19 March 2008

Click on any picture to see a larger version.

I’ve included pictures from several sites interleaved with the text; the names in bold font relate to the pictures.

Jaipur City Palace

Indian History has interested me since my teen years, when my High School Library sold some old unwanted books in 1961 and I became the proud purchaser of Cassell’s Illustrated History of India, Vol 1 for the princely sum of 3d.

Fatehpur Sikri

There is no publication date noted, but there is a pencilled inscription on the inside cover page by a student "A Boyd, 1/2/1909". The introduction page mentions that India has a "population of more than 150 million souls" and there is a note in the same hand beside that sentence "1909, now 400,000,000".

That book, somewhat battered, is sitting in front of me now. I did not do well in my final year of history at school but that fascinating book had me reading into the wee small hours, when I should have been studying other things. I have been interested in history ever since. It covered the period from Ancient times to 1824 and I learned about Alexander, and Clive, and John Company, and the Black Hole of Calcutta and many other things from the incredibly biased, racist, paternalistic and totally fascinating viewpoint of the British Raj. This was the India of fabulously wealthy Maharajas and even wealthier British traders, diplomacy and deceit, bravery and battles, subadars and sepoys.

Amber Fort

Later I discovered the books of John Masters, an officer in the Gurkha Rifles between WWI and WWII who writes about India from the unique view of a man who loves the country and understands it, while having to leave it after independance and partition.

With that background I should not have been surprised by the magnificence of the Forts and Palaces of Uttar Pradesh and Rajasthan, but I was. I visited several. I’ve included some photos here taken in Fatehpur Sikri, Amber, and Jaipur as examples. I’ve culled them to show the quality of the architecture, the detailed workmanship, their beauty or simply their sheer size, because there is not space to include all of the photos here.

Pictures can only show what the eye can see, but I hope these convey a small part of the atmosphere and my feelings as I gazed on these ancient places and wandered through their corridors and crannies.

Cheers, Alan

Jaipur

2008-12-27T21:55:00.000-08:00

Travel Dates 15-18 March 2008

My apologies. I can't believe it is over four months since I last posted on this travel blog. I've made a New Year's resolution to spend more time here before the memories fade.

Where was I? Ah - India!

It took over an hour to leave Agra. At one point we inched along in a grid-lock of cars, bikes, pedestrians, scooters, auto-rickshaws, camels and donkeys; moving ten feet in twenty minutes. It was only when a policeman finally appeared (I think it was to usher a cow through) that we finally got moving again

After the chaos and grime of Agra we visited Fatehpur Sikri then crossed the border from Uttar Pradesh into Rajasthan. I'll come back to Fatehpur Sikri later, when I write on some of the other forts and palaces in the region, such as Amber Fort.

The change was quite abrupt, in many small but noticeable ways. The road was better maintained and although the drivers were just as crazy the traffic was a little lighter. The villages beside the road were still poor, but clean and tidy and better cared for. One of the contradictions I noticed as we drove past those villages was the poise and grace of the women and the wonderful colours of their saris and the variety of their jewellery. Possibly their posture was aided by the habit of carrying quite heavy loads balanced on their heads.

We saw several groups working in the fields, but the most noticeable village industry seemed to be dung production in the form of dinner-plate sized discs. The finished items are left in the sun to dry, then stacked in piles like giant beehives; often the stacking is done in a decorative spiral.

Despite that, even when I noticed the ladies carrying loads of the stuff on their heads, their clothing always looked spotless. Presumably the source of the product is the cows, camels and goats or even elephants that we regularly swerved to avoid, but I didn't ask the driver for more detail. There are some questions you don't really want answers to.

We arrived in Jaipur and I checked into Hotel Arya Niwas, as I mentioned in the previous post.

Jaipur, after Agra, was a much more pleasant city. I felt quite comfortable wandering alone in the roads near the hotel and also downtown later when I went shopping.

However, by Australian standards the traffic was still chaotic.

I learned as a pedestrian that the only function of pedestrian crossings was to channel all the targets for the motorists into one area; woe betide any pedestrian still on the crossing when the lights changed. I was actually quite proud of myself at one stage, when I realised that I had crossed the road seven times without injury. Of course, on the eighth crossing I was grazed by a car. It must have been my fault, from the reaction of the driver; he was probably right. Silly me for thinking he was supposed to stop when the light went red...

The people of the "Pink City", Jaipur, are proud of their heritage as the capital of Rajasthan; certainly my driver, Raj, was.

It is a sprawling city, surrounding the central "Old Town" which includes the famous Observatory and several palaces including the City Palace, which is now effectively a museum, and the fascinating Hawa Mahal.

This palace is effectively a facade one room thick but five stories high. It was built in the late 18th century in the form of the crown of the Hindu god Krishna as a place where the Maharaja's royal ladies could gaze out without being seen. So this was their view of the world. As I arrived on the fifth floor this procession was passing; I'm not sure what was being celebrated. The place is being renovated at the moment. Once again I was impressed by the bravery of the Indian workers and their faith in the bamboo and rope scaffolding five floors up.

The observatory was impressive. Built by Maharaja Sawai Jai Singh II, the Rajput ruler of Amber, in the early 18th century it is an amazingly accurate celestial observatory. Most of the structures are shadow-dials of one form or another, designed to track the progress of the sun, moon and the astrological constellations of the zodiac. It served as local clock, calendar and the ruler's predictor and guide. Astrology was considered an important science at the time.

Click on the text photos for descriptions for the associated photos. The large picture above is a reverse view of the Brihat Samrat Yantra, the giant sundial.

Cheers, Alan

Two Indian Hotels: to Sleep, Perchance...

2008-08-23T23:13:00.000-07:00

Travel Dates 15-18 March 2008

Before moving on I should mention the two extremes of hotel service I struck in India. On this trip I stayed in scores of hotels and guest houses in nine different countries. Some were five-star, some had no stars, but in the space of one day I went from my worst hotel service experience for the whole trip to my best, both in India.

The first, and worst, was the Hotel Amar in Agra. The hotel itself was acceptable, a bit threadbare and worn, but for a 3-star booked via the web for AU$47 (1750INR) via http://www.asiarooms.com/ it seemed OK. Later I realised that the price was much too high for the quality by Indian standards.

I arrived in Agra jet-lagged and sleepless after flying through the night from Hong Kong, arriving at Delhi at 2 am and being driven through the morning from there to Agra, arriving around 8am . The district was fairly rough and I didn't feel confident in walking around the area later. I was initially extremely pleased when I was offered an early check in after breakfast. I had a pleasant breakfast and I asked not to be disturbed; the reception staff reassured me that would be no problem and that I had a quiet room. The room was very large and the bed seemed comfortable so I went straight to bed. Eventually I managed to ignore the dripping tap in the bathroom and went to sleep about 9 am.

At about 9:30 the phone rang, waking me. But no-one was on the line. I eventually went back to sleep. An hour later it rang again; I tried not to answer but it just kept ringing. The telephone operator was on the line. She appeared to speak good English but totally ignored everything I said. She gave no reason for ringing and said she would send a man to the room. I asked her not to. She said she would send a man. I said please do not. Sure enough, a man arrived just as I got back to sleep. I got rather angry and again asked not to be disturbed; he disappeared in confusion.

I drifted off to sleep again after an hour or two. When the world's loudest vacuum cleaner took flight out side the room at 1pm I gave up. I rang my driver and spent the afternoon touring the Red Fort, something I had meant to do the following day after the Taj Mahal. That night, no-one had fixed the loudly dripping taps and toilet in the ancient bathroom. I finally fell asleep despite that, from exhaustion.

The sign outside the breakfast room advised that breakfast would be available from 6am. A sensible time when so many people are there to see the Taj Mahal at dawn. At 5:50 a half-dozen guests were waiting with me for the doors to open for breakfast; we saw occasional activity in the room, we waited, and we waited. Eventually one couple barged in and demanded breakfast at 6:20 and a large bowl of boiled eggs appeared.

I, and the other guests waiting with me, missed those dawn photos. Later, at checkout, there seemed to be staff I had never seen with cheshire cat smiles and outstretched palms every two paces eagerly trying to qualify for a departure tip. They failed.

If you are travelling to Agra, find a different hotel. Any different hotel. I didn't take any pictures of this hotel.

The next hotel I stayed at was the Arya Niwas in Jaipur. It is only a two-star, but the attitude to the customer was so dramatically different it was like stepping into a different world.

I had booked via the web. No deposit was needed, simply a phone call before 4pm on the arrival day to confirm I would be there. The district was not salubrious by Western standards, but I walked alone around the district quite happily during the next couple of days and never felt threatened. Like the Hotel Amar it isn’t brand new, but it is well-maintained. For 950INR (AU$25) the air-conditioned single room was adequate, the bed was comfortable and the air-con worked quietly. The hotel had a no-tips policy, with large signs reminding customers and staff of that policy.

On my first night there was some minor noise from the stairwell beside the room when someone appeared to clump down the stairs in hob-nailed boots. I mentioned that in the morning, in passing but not as a complaint. I probably noticed the noise more than usual after my bad experience in Agra and also because the ambient noise in the hotel was extremely quiet. That evening I found that I had been moved to a better room on a different floor, for no extra charge and no tip expected.

The restaurant was excellent and cheap, as also was the laundry service. It had elements of a back-packer atmosphere, with a book-swap service and a common-room area, but the other guests seemed a little above the back-packer level. No noisy parties or drunken yobboes. For a traveller like myself it was perfect, and after the Agra Hotel Amar it seemed like paradise. I had initially booked for two nights. The first thing I did after the first night was extend for an extra night.

Forget the frills; when it comes to the crunch the critical things that will determine whether a traveller has a good or bad hotel experience are a quiet room, a comfortable bed and staff who understand the customer's needs.

Cheers, Alan

Food, Glorious Food In India

2008-08-12T00:41:00.000-07:00

I ate well in India, but it certainly was a mixed bag.

Unfortunately, when I ate in the "Tourist" and hotel restaurants I found, as in many other parts of the world, the menus were all very similar. While much of the food was excellent, the restaurateurs had obviously learned to please Western palates. The side effect of that was a blandness and sameness in those restaurants. However, I quickly realised that my driver literally paid a price if I ate at a restaurant he didn't choose - because he had to then pay for his own meal. Any driver taking a client to a restaurant dined free of charge in a separate area. I could see the logic in that so I let him choose the restaurant for lunch and I did my own thing in the evenings.

I also quickly learned that "mutton", which I've since been told is probably goat, not sheep, was an unwise choice. I didn't mind the bones, they added flavour and good nutrition, but the concept of leaving a little meat attached to the gristle and bone seemed to escape the chefs on the three occasions I tried it. The picture is from dinner in Agra - after I had finished.

On the other hand, the various different chicken and vegetarian dishes I had were excellent. I'm afraid I didn't note individual dishes or menus.

Two restaurants stood out. The Hotel Arya Niwas was a laid-back, casual place, and by far my best value-for-money Hotel during the Indian visit. This sign was a wonderful sight for a traveller in Asia, so they started on a good note when I arrived. Their restaurant was also laid-back but supplied incredibly cheap excellent vegetarian food. I mainly ate breakfasts there, usually eggs in various forms (I suppose they were ovo-lacto vegetarian if you're into that sort of thing). The other guests praised their dinners to me; I try to find a non-vegetarian restaurant when I can, but the one dinner I had there was excellent. In Delhi I found a place called Sandoz, in the Karol Bagh Market area, which had a delicious menu of non-vegetarian dishes quite different to the standard "tourist" fare; allowing me to easily pick and choose to suit my low-carb way of eating. A nice touch in most restaurants was the complimentary dish of sweets provided at the finish. I liked them, but was fairly cautious in indulging.

This delivery bike in Karol Bagh was for a Chinese Restaurant with a Japanese name. One had to wonder where the chef was from .

The Golden Arches and other fast-food franchises are appearing in India. They do OK with the rapidly expanding wealthier middle class but I never saw one crowded. I ate a McAloo Tikki in Jaipur as the price for using the loo. Thankfully, I didn't find out the carb count until I got home and I walked a lot that day so I probably corrected the blood glucose spike. One thing I noticed was that ALL of the clientele, apart from myself, were aged 15-25 and wearing Western dress. That was not the case for the general population walking past.

The streets were thronged with people and many of them were buying their lunch from street vendors. Wherever you went there would be a roti-bread baker with a mobile oven, producing roti bread on the spot. Often these vendors were positioned outside small restaurants; the restaurants cooked their own foods but used the street vendors for the bread they served with it. Similarly, in side alleys would be a street vendor brewing stewed, sweet, milky, cardamom-flavoured tea. I stopped to sample a glass regularly with my driver.

Other street vendors provided a wide selection of spiced dishes. Most restaurants are vegetarian, but non-vegetarian ones could be found.

The best fast food in Agra, Jaipur and Delhi was like that - available on the spot from small restaurants or street vendors. Cheap, nutritious and fairly safe because most of it was thoroughly cooked despite the speedy service. I had no stomach problems in India.

There is another side. On the drive from Jaipur to Delhi my driver suggested we stop for lunch at a driver's restaurant. Not just for tourist car drivers, but for the drivers of the constant stream of trucks. To say that it was basic is an understatement. A large shed, a roof over a lot of trestle tables and seats, open on most of three sides with an open lattice as the rear wall. The cooking was done in a rudimentary kitchen in the corner in several pots and skillets over a fire or in a tandoor oven. There was a large water-tank next door with a hand-pump, but the only people I saw using that were the kids playing with it.

It was very crowded. The smells of the spices and foods cooking were wonderful, everyone was cheerful and talking, the noise was like a bar. We found a couple of empty seats and the driver introduced me and then ordered his lunch and asked what I would like. By that time I had watched the guy sitting opposite devouring the vegetarian curry with the flies on his spoon as extra protein, and the total unconcern for the flies crawling all over the food by others at the table. I politely indicated I wasn't hungry.

I needed to go to the gents, so I asked where it was. From the reaction it seemed to be an unusual request, but eventually I was directed to the area behind the see-through lattice. There I found a square of dirt enclosed on three sides by a lattice attached to stakes at the corners. The open side faced the lattice of the restaurant. No water, no facilities, just the bare, well, not quite bare, dirt with some soggy areas. I suddenly didn't need to go so badly.

On the way back to the table I saw, like a shining beacon in the distance, the golden arches on a lit sign on high pole. I'm not a Maccas fan, but that was a happy moment. As soon as my driver had finished his lunch I went there for lunch and the amenities. Once again the crowd was small, the kids were young, and, most surprising of all, the food was cheaper than the crowded driver's restaurant. But none of the drivers were in Maccas. Traditions are hard to break, and they would also have missed the social contact with the other drivers.

I found the Indian culinary adventure tasty, fun and enjoyable, despite the mutton and the driver's cafe, but one day I'll return armed with better knowledge for a better tasting experience.

Cheers, Alan

The Taj Mahal

2008-07-20T05:33:00.000-07:00

Travel Date 16th March 2008

Click on any picture to see a larger version.

I was fortunate to catch my first glimpses of the fabulous Taj Mahal from the Red Fort on the day I arrived in Agra.

Fortunate because it was hard to believe, as my driver negotiated the squalor of the streets of Agra early the next morning, that anything beautiful could exist in such a place. Even as I approached the gates, first by electric bus in the "pollution-free" zone near the entry, then by foot for the final half-mile, walking down a tawdry, dusty, dirty street to the main entry gates it was hard to accept what lay beyond them. Then I entered the forecourt and finally walked through the main gateway and stopped.

It simply took my breath away.

The Taj Mahal rises from the grime of Agra like the Koh-i-Nur set in a cowpat. Over the past six years I have seen wonderful buildings and architecture, ancient and modern. I’ve seen New York, Paris, London, Vienna, Egypt, Sydney, Istanbul, Prague; many other cities and many other countries all over the world. There is no building to compare with the beauty and symmetry of the Taj Mahal. India’s Poet Laureate, Rabindranath Tagore, who was also Asia’s first Nobel Prize winner, described the Taj Mahal as "a teardrop on the cheek of history".

Nor is there a building to match that beauty with a fairy-tale love story.

Once upon a time in Hindustan there was a young Prince, the fifth son of the Emperor, who met and fell in love with a beautiful young girl who was high-born but not royal. They didn’t marry for five long years, despite their love, because politics and the Emperor required him to marry two other wives first. The lucky Prince was a Mughal and therefore having several wives was not a problem and the beautiful new wife quickly became his principal wife, known as Mumtaz Mahal.

Eventually he became Shah Jehan, "King of the World", and over the next twenty years she helped temper his autocratic rule with mercy and wise advice and also bore him thirteen children. Sadly, when accompanying him on a military campaign she died while giving birth to the fourteeenth.

He was heart-broken and committed to fulfilling a death-bed promise that he would build her a mausoleum more beautiful than any the world had ever seen before.

And he did.

It took over 20,000 artisans over twenty years to achieve it, but I believe he succeeded in her wish.

Unfortunately, after that the story becomes sadder.

Eventually, one of his sons of Mumtaz Mahal usurped him and became his gaoler; he spent his last 8 years imprisoned in the Red Fort in sight of his masterpiece and her grave. Two of his other wives were also laid to rest in the grounds of the Taj Mahal.

Over the centuries the Taj Mahal went through periods of neglect and decay, at one time it was actually put to auction for the value of it’s marble. Thankfully it has survived. It was fully restored in the early 20th Century under the British Viceroy of the time and has since been refurbished several times.

These foot-covers must be used when walking on the actual mausoleum area.

The workmanship in the detail is incredible; these colours are inlays of precious stone in the marble which glow when the light hits them at the right time.

Simply wonderful.

Cheers, Alan

The Red Fort, Agra

2008-07-14T04:01:00.000-07:00

Travel Date 15th March 2008
Click on any picture to see a larger version.

This was the first of the fort palaces of India that I saw; and what a palace to start with. From it’s origins in the 11th century until it’s peak in the reign of Shah Jehan in the 17th century the Red Fort in Agra was a major power centre in India, and for much of the later period was the main Palace of the Mughal Ruler of the time, making Agra the capital in those periods. Shah Jehan transferred the capital to Delhi, but added many buildings to the Agra fort complex and was the ruler who built the Taj Mahal nearby.

I’ll let the pictures tell the story of the fort; some of the history is detailed on the text pictures. The first thing to impress me was the quality of the architecture and the workmanship in nearly every building. During centuries when European civilisation was groping it’s way towards the light at the end of the dark ages, the artisans, masons and craftsmen of India were building masterpieces. The influences of many cultures appear in India but the predominant influence here was Mughal, conquerors of Mongol stock who had absorbed the culture and the Muslim religion of Persia before coming to rule over India.

Before I saw the Red Fort I had seen the Topkapi of Istanbul and the Alhambra of Granada. The similarities in construction and styles were striking, all have roots in Asia Minor and Arabia.

The most fascinating part of that history, to me, is the story of Shah Jehan. He came to power in 1628 at a time when his Empire was crumbling. Over the years of his reign he used his military prowess to put down rebellions and consolidate and expand the Empire and commenced a vast expansion of building projects, especially in Delhi and Agra.

His lavish spending included the wonderful Peacock Throne, made of gold covered with rare jewels; a century later that same throne was captured by the Persians and became the fabulous throne of the Shah of Iran until his demise in 1979.

But even Emperors can break the bank, and his wars, lavish building projects and other extravagances finally did and he became unpopular with his people as the taxes rose. Then, when he became ill after reigning for nearly thirty years his four sons fought and intrigued until only one successor was left, Aurangzeb, who promptly imprisoned his father here in the Red Fort at Agra and ruled in his place.

The great Emperor Shah Jehan died eight years later, within sight of his beloved wife's tomb in the Taj Mahal. The story goes that Shah Jehan had intended to build a matching mausoleum to the Taj Mahal on the opposite bank of the river in black marble; there is no evidence to support that, but it’s a nice story.

Cheers, Alan

On Indian Roads

2008-06-12T02:51:00.000-07:00

Travel Dates 15th -22nd March 2008

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In Australia the Indian Tourism people were running an advertising campaign before I left home under the title "Incredible India".

It's true. India is, in fact, incredible. Things happen there that are hard to believe and life for many of the more than one billion Indians continues in ways that some of us, from our insulated Western societies, find hard to understand. So, with the possible exception of the previous post on the airport, if I describe things like that please note that I am observing, not judging. I don’t intend to criticise the culture, merely to record the incidents and sights I encountered. The pictures are in no particular order; just for fun, see if you can guess the number of passengers in the autorickshaw.

During my short visit all of the adjectives applied at some stage – magnificent, squalid, fascinating, horrifying, fabulous, terrifying, heart-rending, awe-inspiring, shocking, stupendous, and more – that’s India.

The first thing I was struck by as I left the airport were the roads and drivers. So that’s where I’ll start. On my other trips, in Europe, the UK, the USA, Fiji and New Zealand I have leased or rented cars and driven wherever possible, sometimes for weeks. I decided that would not be practical on this trip and, after reading lots of good advice, especially on India Mike, I decided to hire a car and driver. That was the best decision I’ve made in a while. I am a very experienced driver and consider myself a professional; remember that I drove cabs "hungry" in Melbourne for nearly two decades. But I could never have safely driven in India.

Raj led me to the Ambassador and we slowly negotiated the airport carpark sometime after 3:30am. I thought that would be the slowest part of the trip; little did I know. Then we sped off on the direct connection road to the Delhi-Agra main road. It was deserted, not another vehicle in sight so we sped along at about 40km/hr, slowing often to avoid occasional animals and also large lumps of concrete or stone which seemed to be haphazardly strewn across the road. Fairly often we would encounter "Work in Progress" sections. There was no need for speed restrictions – the rubble on the road was more than enough to slow passing traffic down. The road seemed to pass through a heavily industrial zone.

I mentioned to Raj that we were making good time and asked if it would be like this all the way to Agra. He said "wait". Then we joined the main road. And came to a halt. Remember, this was before dawn on a Saturday morning. Mile after mile of Tata and Ashok trucks, all belching fumes, some moving, some not, and some seemed to be just parked in the road.

The next couple of hours is a bit hazy. Every so often we would pull out to pass a slow truck, directly facing oncoming traffic barrelling down the uncluttered opposing lanes towards us; I learnt with time that this was normal practice. The opposing truck drivers apparently know this too and seemed just as keen to avoid collisions as we were. It was like a constantly repeating game of chicken, played to rules that everyone knew but me. The lane markings, when they existed, seemed to be used as a general guide to the direction of the road and had nothing to do with where you were supposed to drive on that road. Like the British before them, they drive on the left in India...mostly.

The reason it is a bit hazy is that I was dead tired with no sleep and I used that as an excuse to lay the seat back and doze through much of that first couple of hours. At least that’s what I told Raj; but really I needed an excuse to keep my eyes shut. With time I came to realise that Raj is an excellent and professional driver but in that first couple of hours I was yet to be convinced. He is also a nice guy, so if any Indian traffic cop is reading this, it is all a figment of my imagination.

At irregular intervals we would stop for long periods in queues at toll gates or state borders and I would groggily wake, look around at the vast crowds of Tata and Ashok trucks and doze off again.

I rose from my doze when we pulled into a driver’s café an hour or so from Agra at dawn. Raj invited me to join him in a glass of tea. I ordered it black and unsweetened and the café man had to make me a special pot. I learned from that mistake and for the rest of the trip whenever he invited me to join him I ordered the same as his, stewed with milk, sugar and cardamom. I reasoned that the small quantity of sugar was OK and the milk would be sterilised by the heat. A wise decision, as I later discovered.

That was when a few little things happened that suddenly made me change from being a bit grumpy and tired to realising why I was here in this dusty, smelly, strange place. Out of the dawn a small troop of monkeys silently appeared, completely ignoring us, and wandered around the area as their own domain. Fascinating to me, ho-hum to Raj and the café man. About the same time a loud pop-pop-pop noise came down the road preceding a strange machine that seemed to be the bare bones of a half-finished truck. Which is exactly what it was – a home-made vehicle legally using the public roads. I saw many more of these as we travelled through Uttar Pradesh (the state surrounding Agra) but not so many in Rajasthan. Not like the truck in the photo - that is a real truck travelling between assembly plants.

The car deserves a mention. For about half a century the the Ambassador was the flagship of the Indian car fleet, manufactured by Hindustan Motors . My thanks to an anonymous friend (see the first comment below) for correcting my mistaken impression that Tata made this car. For more details on the history of the Ambassador see the comment. It appears to be based on the English Morris cars of the ‘50s; very similar to the Morris Oxford which was my wife's first car. The age of the Ambassador I was travelling in was indeterminate, maybe it was reasonably new or it could have been quite old, but it was beautifully kept (I obscured the numberplate in case the owner wants privacy). It probably would have qualified for vintage or veteran status in another country. I was a bit wary at first, but I was reassured that I would be comfortable and that it was a better car for a tall person. By the end of the trip I agreed. It was reliable, solid and comfortable and handled the wildly varying road conditions very well.

After the shock of that first terrifying and fascinating ride to Agra I gradually became more blasé about the roads and drivers of India. There was a noticeable improvement in the Agra-Jaipur road, both in quality and speed of travel, once we crossed the Uttar Pradesh - Rajasthan border, and the road from Jaipur to Delhi seemed almost like a fast highway by comparison.

A highway, and often tollway, marked by "Work in Progress" (that wasn't), stretches of strangely poor surfaces and occasional speed humps, shared with camels and elephants hauling carts or just loaded with enormous loads, or with cows, goats and dogs wandering aimlessly on them, but a fast highway all the same when compared with Uttar Pradesh. So fast that the trip of just over 250km from Jaipur to Delhi, with a stop for lunch, took less than a day...

And, in case you're wondering, we counted 16 passengers in and on that autorickshaw, not counting the driver and a couple of babies.

A fascinating experience. More fun for a longer time and with more adrenaline rushes than a roller-coaster ride. If I had only spent my time on the roads I would still have enjoyed India.

Cheers, Alan

50 Indira Gandhi Airport, Delhi

2008-06-05T20:33:00.000-07:00

Travel Dates 15th and 22nd March 2008
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India.

The whole country is a "Work in Progress". The capital city's international airport lets you know that on arrival.

I arrived in the wee small hours, about 2:30 am from Hong Kong. The Cathay staff on this flight were of the same standard as the flight to Hong Kong; disappointing.

India is a fascinating country and I'm very pleased I went, but the place is chaotic. Indira Gandhi International Airport was a shock. The only airport I've ever arrived at with more stuff hanging from the ceiling, more damaged walls and floors, and less things working was Darwin when I arrived with the damage assessment team in early January 1975 after Cyclone Tracy on Christmas Eve 1974. And every unfinished repair had a "Work in Progress" sign on it. I never actually saw a workman near one of those signs. Not in the airport when I arrived, nor on the roads, nor in public buildings.

Bear in mind that for comparison on this last trip I passed through two Aussie airports (OOL, SYD), Bangkok, Siem Reap, Hong Kong, Delhi, Amman, Cairo, Heathrow, Dulles, JFK, Can Cun, Merida, Mexico City, Dallas and Honolulu. Some were a pain, some were effortless, but DEL was in a class of it's own.

The immigration queue was long and slow, extending back up the non-working escalator into the gloom of the brown-out. After I passed through that I found that there were several hundred drivers behind rope barriers on both sides of the passageway to the exit. After four wanders up and down the throng I was enormously relieved to find Raj. I'll say more about Raj, driving and Indian roads in a later post. If you're looking for a good, knowledgeable, safe driver to see Rajasthan - contact him via http://www.gajrajtravels.com/

Despite the experience of "Arrival" and a week wandering the Golden Triangle before I left for Jordan, nothing had prepared me for "Departure" from this Airport.

I arrived at 3:30 am for the 6:20 Royal Jordanian to Amman. At that time I expected things to be quiet. Wrong. A large crowd was milling about on the sidewalk outside the doors. They were outside because I found that I needed my passport and boarding pass just to enter the building. The sergeant on the door had apparently not heard of e-tickets. So I rummaged through my luggage until I found the email with my Qantas itinerary on it. He begrudgingly let me in.

As I entered the door a guy appeared from nowhere and grabbed the larger of my two bags, literally out of my hands, and immediately threw it on a security x-ray scan machine where it disappeared into the bowels of the scanner. As it appeared at the other end a security man sealed a plastic strip around it to indicate that it had been scanned for checked baggage. I wasn't impressed because I had intended taking both as carry-on; that had been OK on the previous five flights. The security guy would not give the bag to me but only to my helper who had put it in the machine. He seemed to have difficulty returning it until some rupees appeared in my hand.

I eventually found the Royal Jordanian desk, but only after another unsolicited helper showed me where it was; for another tip. There was a remarkable absence of signs, and the only working TV displays in that area did not show Airline counter locations. Maybe they do on other days, maybe it was the brown-out, maybe the guy who got the tip knew where the switches were...

I checked in with the friendly lady at Royal Jordanian; she whisked that second bag away on the conveyor as soon as she had my name to make up a tag. It was only later that I realised that she, and the first guy, had done me a favour. She told me to go to the immigration queue. But I was unaware that she missed a very important point. She didn't give me a carry-on bag tag.

There was another sergeant checking passport and boarding pass before you could enter the immigration queue. It was set up with ribbons into one of those "snake" affairs. The sort where you could slip the ribbon out of a supporting post if necessary. Which is exactly what the cop did about 40 minutes later when a VIP of some sort arrived, showed his passport and a few hundred rupees, and went to the front of the queue. No-one said a word. I got through about twenty minutes later. It took me a long time in the original queue to enter the country - but even longer to leave it.

Then I went through another passport and boarding pass check as I left immigration, to enter the queue for the gate lounge security scan and carry-on check. That was when I saw the "Only One Carry-on Bag Allowed" sign and silently thanked the people who sent my other bag to be checked.

Eventually, I reached the sergeant at the front of the queue. The sergeant became agitated and would not let me pass. He seemed to speak little English and I could not understand him. The English tourist behind me told me that he wanted to stamp the tag on my carry-on - and I had failed to put a tag on the bag.

After a lot of discussion in mutually incomprehensible languages a supervisor arrived and told me I must return to the RJ counter to get a tag and go through the long immigration queue again and rejoin the security queue. I gave up arguing and headed off and luckily found an RJ person who offered to go back and get me a tag - but just then the English guy called me back and said he could give me a BA tag. The sergeant accepted that - with no name, no flight number, and the wrong airline. All he wanted was a tag so he could stamp it. Despite all this, the queue had moved so slowly that I had not lost my position. I am extremely grateful to that anonymous British gentleman. May all of his dreams come true.

When I finally queued to board the aircraft, another cop was beside the flight stewards checking those carry-on tags. It didn't matter that mine was blank and for a different airline - it had a stamp! So I was allowed on board.

I have a vague feeling that I've missed one of the security scans in that description; but I think you will understand that I was immensely relieved when the plane took off for Jordan with me on board. This was the dawn through the smog through the cabin window.

I'd love to visit India again, but I may go by ship:-)

Cheers, Alan

Hong Kong

2008-05-29T02:39:00.000-07:00

Travel Date 12th-14th March 2008.
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The flight from Bangkok was uneventful and short on Cathay Pacific. One little thing is worth noting for travellers. The final security screen for Bangkok Airport gate lounges is at the gate lounge - after the Duty Free stores. Any liquids in bottles greater than 100ml bought at the Duty Free stores can not be passed through security. That certainly perplexed a lot of people in front of me, especially those who had bought duty free elsewhere and were transferring at Bangkok. Luckily, I had not bought any.

Arrival in Hong Kong was similar to anywhere else; a long queue waiting to get through immigration. After a while you learn to go with the flow; it's still a pain. I was unfortunate to be behind an elderly couple with a problem. The man was being assisted by the lady beside him in discussing their difficulty with the immigration officer. His wife had given up long ago and decided to get dinner out of their bag. Which she did; a bowl, some noodles to put in it, some hot soup from a thermos to cover them - and started feeding him while he talked. She looked quite annoyed a few minutes later when he resolved the problem and they had to move on when she hadn't finished feeding him. No-one, including the immigration officer, paid any attention at any stage.

A little research on the web can sometimes be very helpful. As soon as I was through the formalities I went straight to the Octopus counter. For HK$300 I bought a card that gave me return Express train travel to downtown and 3 days unlimited travel on the MTR; when I returned on departure I received HK$50 back on return of the card. Excellent value for a net cost of about AU$35.

The train was ultra-modern, fast and only had two stops before arriving in downtown Hong Kong; I could have taken the MTR to the hotel, but it was only on arrival by cab from the station that I realised there was an MTR station directly opposite.

I booked at L'Hotel Causeway Bay via the net using http://www.asiareservations.net/, the price was great at AU$101 per night. I had not used them before so I was a little nervous but there were no difficulties. As the booking was run-of-the-house I was very pleased to be upgraded to a half-harbour view room. It was excellent; just above where the line runs across towards the top. The hotel wasn't downtown but it was close to everything I needed. Within a block were dozens of restaurants, a laundry that charged by the kilo, shops where I could buy almost anything and the doctor, the MTR and the tram were opposite the doors.

The night shots don't do the harbour lights display justice - mainly because I was downtown watching for the main part of the event.

I was in Hong Kong for two full days, arriving mid-afternoon Wednesday and leaving late at night on Friday, so I had time to wander. As I like to do. I tried all the means of transport, using my Octopus on the MTR, the HK$2 trams, the ferries, and of course, shanks's pony. For the non-Aussies - that's my feet.

The MTR was fast, clean and crowded. I never had to wait more than five minutes for a train to turn up, no matter what part of town I was in. For the Aussies, this sign was on the subway wall; I hope it was working. And everywhere I went were ads for Aussie Universities. RMIT was very prominent.

I must admit I eventually lost track of the parts of town I was in, so the photos are a little random. I've decided to group them by type, rather than in the sequence I wandered in .

First, the trams. They were fascinating, frequent and cheap. But whoever designed them presumed nobody over 5' 6" tall would travel upstairs. I have very little padding on top; I had slightly less after my first tram experience. But the view as it travelled along was almost voyeuristic, looking down on people's lives in the crowded side streets as we trundled along.

Then there were the buildings. I enjoy looking at buildings, old and new, comparing styles and architecture. I have no qualifications in the field at all, apart from designing a couple of my homes and renovating several others over the years, but I'm fascinated by the endless variety of ways architects can create variations on the spaces we live and work in. I found some of the Hong Kong examples just stunning. I started getting a crick in my neck, something I thought I'd only get in Times Square.

I spent hours hopping on and off the MTR or trams and then walking around neighbourhoods.

Several parts of the city were exclusive to very specific products. There were several blocks where every shop seemed to be floor coverings, mainly tiles. Then others where every shop sold plumbing goods. And others were all electrical. I came across an extensive market, which had more variety. They sold absolutely everything; not just foods but clothes, hardware, live animals, shoes, herbs, herbal medications, everything.

The hygiene rules in foreign lands are often a shock for us, brought up in different cultures. Here we have live chickens and other animals right beside the fresh meat butcher's shop.

Maybe that had something to do with Hong Kong being my first brush with the traveller's curse. Actually, it was probably more to do with my penchant for avoiding tourist restaurants. Wherever I travel I try to eat with the locals, in the tiny restaurants, not the tourist restaurants. In most countries that works very well but in Hong Kong it turned out to be a mistake. I ate the worst chinese food I've ever had in Hong Kong, and spent my first morning gaining an intimate knowledge of the small room in my hotel suite. Sorry if that's too much information for you - but it's an aspect of foreign travel that can't be ignored. I had the right tablets with me and all was well by lunchtime.

No trip to Hong Kong is complete without a trip to the Peak on the Peak Tram. It is quite an experience, both the ride there and back and the wonderful views from the Peak. Unfortunately the ever-present smog spoiled the far view, but the view towards Kowloon was still spectacular. And the grumpy look is the result of me thinking I had set the timer wrong. Of course that was the moment when the shutter clicked.

On the final afternoon I took the Star Ferry Harbour Tour. It takes about an hour around the harbour; the route is on the first photo. It's from the harbour that you really start to understand the energy of this city - the retreating vista of skyscraper apartments into the distance as soon as you leave the downtown districts, the industrial districts, the extremely busy port, both for container/cargo ships and cruise ships.

And it is constantly being remade - this is beside the ferry wharves. There did not seem to be many very old buildings downtown apart from a few with historical markers.

Later I will write a post on medical matters for travellers. Hong Kong brings that to mind, because I decided to get treatment for a leg problem. Without going into all the gory details, a tiny wound on my leg decided not to heal and had become steadily worse while I was in Thailand and Cambodia and was no longer tiny.

That's not a wise thing for a diabetic to ignore, so I rather nervously went to the doctor in a tiny surgery opposite the hotel. I felt a bit more comfortable when I noticed the Australian qualifications on his window. I wasn't quite as cheerful when he mentioned, while he had the scalpel doing it's work, that those were from a correspondence course. However, his treatment was excellent and the leg started healing again and was better within a few weeks. The price was good too - HK$400, about AU$56. That included his consultation, minor surgery, two packets of medication to take with me, a surgical dressing kit for me to use, a small bottle of antiseptic and some ointment. I'm glad I needed it there and not in New York City.

After my trials with Chinese cuisine I found a wonderful Thai restaurant near the hotel; the meals were as good as Bangkok, so I ate there for two dinners. This was dinner on the final night.

Despite the minor medical mishaps I thoroughly enjoyed my short stay in Hong Kong; but if I return to China I think it will probably be to the interior. I'd love to see the heartland. Maybe some day.

Next, to India

Cheers, Alan

Bayon and Angkor Thom

2008-05-29T02:38:00.000-07:00

Travel Date 9th March 2008
Click on any picture to see a large version.

I just realised that I had slipped back to Bangkok without mentioning my afternoon wanderings through Angkor Thom and the Bayon.

Possibly that's because, after all the walking I did in Angkor Wat I spent most of the afternoon in the back of the tuk-tuk, travelling the lazy way from site to site. To be honest, my feet were killing me; I had bought good walking shoes for the trip but I should have spent a little longer breaking them in before the trip.

However, I did get out to wander around the Bayon.

Have you ever felt you were being watched? The Khmers certainly must have back in the days of Jayavarman VII. Talk about Big Brother. I'll explain why in a minute, but first a brief history.

The Bayon is a Buddhist temple in the centre of Angkor Thom, next to Angkor Wat. Angkor Thom was the walled capital city of the Khmer Empire at one of it's peaks, from about 1181 AD when Jayavarman VII commenced building both the city and the Bayon. It is one of the latest structures built in the Angkor complex and one of the few Buddhist temples. Angkor Wat was built earlier and was originally a Hindu complex, although later Buddhist influences appeared.

The Bayon was built as a Mahayana Buddhist temple originally, and later became a Theravada Buddhist temple. However, the influences of the earlier Hindu sculptors also infiltrate the bas reliefs and parts of the structure. Even some Chinese faces appear as warriors in the bas reliefs.

The most fascinating aspect of the Bayon is the more than 200 giant faces watching you wherever you go. They even appear on outbuildings and near the great walls and gates. There are several theories about the faces. Some say they are a representation of the Mahayana bodhisattva Avalokitesvara. However, they bear a striking likeness to the images left of Jayavarman VII, so I tend to go along with those that believe he used his face to be the face of the bodhisattva deliberately to extend and reinforce the devaraja cult of the king as a god, first established by the past rulers who built Hindu Angkor Wat.

But, wherever you go, he is watching. The story is that every face sees some distant part of the Empire, so all of his subjects knew that the god-king was watching.

After I left Bayon with my sore feet, I stopped for photo opportunities at the outlying temples and structures, but I'm afraid I haven't got details for most of them. The large picture at the top and the final bas-reliefs below were from an interesting temple constructed from brick, north of Siem Reap and East of Angkor Thom. Interesting because of the quite different construction materials and methods.

A final note on the Khmer Empire. The size, complexity, spirituality, artistic merit, engineering and architectural brilliance of this lost civilisation was awesome to me. Repeatedly in my travels I have been staggered by the achievements of past civilisations, and also, sadly, reflected on the temporary nature of those civilisations. Angkor was literally lost to the jungle for centuries.

I also wonder on the implications that history holds for us. Who knows, some tourist in 3100 may be musing on the same things as he or she (or it) wonders what sort of temple the Sydney Opera House was and who was worshipped there. Or at the New York Stock Exchange, submerged under 100 meters of water.

Cheers, Alan

Bangkok Grand Palace

2008-05-21T21:24:00.000-07:00

Travel Date 11th March 2008.
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And, of course, I had to visit the Grand Palace.

This guy was keeping it safe. So were a lot of others, there were soldiers everywhere.

King Rama I established the Grand Palace in 1782 on his ascension to the throne. He initially built a throne hall and then it just grew, like topsy, over the years. It was used as the Royal Residence with associated government offices until well into the 20th Century.

The most important building is the Royal Monastery of the Emerald Buddha, which is still the most venerated site in Thailand. I was allowed in, after removing footwear, but no photos are allowed inside.

The Emerald Buddha is not actually Emerald But Jade. Still pretty impressive. It was carved some time prior to 1434, when it was first discovered in Chiang Rai, and has wandered then via Lampang and Laos until a conquering army brought it home in 1778.

The Grand Palace is a visual feast, almost overwhelming in the riot of colours, shapes, statues, temples, halls and weirdly grotesque amalgams of deities, animals and people.

To be honest, while I loved the place and enjoyed the incredible displays, in artistic terms it was way over the top to me. Extreme colour and extreme forms for their own sake. The workmanship was exquisite, the artistry in some individual aspects sublime - but it was just overwhelming.

But what do I know - remember that I am a philistine; in art terms I am probably tone-deaf - enjoy the photos.

Cheers, Alan

Bangkok

2008-05-14T01:47:00.000-07:00

Travel Dates 7th, 10th and 11th March 2008.

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There were several ports of call on this trip that were incidental, needed to comply with the One-World Explorer ticket limitations. Bangkok, Hong Kong, London, Washington and New York were all places I went through in order to get to my real goals of seeing some of the Wonders of the World, such as Angkor Wat, the Taj Mahal, Chichen Itza and so on. Where I had choices of intermediate destinations I tried to go to places I had never been before, such as the first two, or those where I could renew old friendships and meet new people, such as the final three.

Thus I went through Bangkok to get to and from Cambodia.

The flight to Bangkok from Sydney seemed to be designed to exacerbate jetlag, even though the time-zone change was trivial. I left the Gold Coast without problems at 11:15 am and arrived in Sydney in plenty of time to transfer across to the International Terminal via the free Qantas bus. I snapped this shot of the world's largest passenger airliner in service, the Singapore Airlines A380, as we crossed between terminals.

Then I found that I had lots more time as the flight was delayed for an unspecified time. We were originally scheduled to arrive in Bangkok at midnight; we eventually got there about 3 am. In the meantime I discovered the only padded seats you could stretch out on in the terminal, bought a novel at the newsagent and finished it before we left. It must have had a gripping plot because I’ve totally forgotten what it was.

I had been able to send an email to the 13 Coins Grand Airport Hotel from a kiosk in the terminal and I was very pleased to see that the hotel representatives were there to greet me despite the lateness of the arrival.

I made a mistake with that booking. The hotel is excellent, the price was low, the rooms are spacious, western style and air-conditioned, excellent (but not air-conditioned) restaurant and free shuttle to the airport. Despite the name the airport was a 15 minute drive; but the main problem was that the drive to the city in a cab was at least an hour in the constantly-clogged Bangkok traffic and smog. Next time I will book a hotel in the centre of town. But if you want a hotel closer to the airport, it’s not a bad choice.

Bangkok was as I expected; dirty, smelly, crowded, noisy and absolutely fascinating. Although I didn't realise until I got to India that Bangkok wasn't really dirty, smelly, crowded or noisy at all by Asian standards.

The food was, as I also expected, marvellous. And cheap. I think I ate more fish in my week in Thailand and Cambodia than I did in the other six weeks of the trip. I also decided to learn Thai cooking when I get home.

I spent most of my time around the Khao San Road, but I did make some side trips to other locales and took a couple of ferry rides on the river.

Many of the old canals have been turned into roads and freeways, but the river is still a major means of transport for the city and the upriver towns. This group of enormous barges were being towed upstream by this improbably small tugboat.

As an ex-cabby, I'm always interested in the cab system wherever I travel. Cabs in Bangkok are very cheap - but quality and security are a bit of a worry. For example, this is the photo of my driver on the cab dashboard - followed by my photo of the driver of that cab.

I only travelled in one cab in my entire time there where the driver bore even a passing resemblance to his photo.

The place is booming with major construction going on everywhere. This is the new Railroad being built to the brand-new airport. As I noticed in Cambodia, and later in Hong Kong, India and Egypt, "Occupational Health and Safety" does not appear to be a major subject in Asian and Middle Eastern Universities.

This is a view of part of the airport interior, and this is the view of surrounding districts as we took off. Drought does not appear to be a problem here; to Aussie eyes the water everywhere looks almost extravagant.

I should mention the Thai monarchy. Everywhere I went I saw pictures of the King or the Royal Family; some celebrating his long reign, some his birthday, some just "Long Live the King". Part of the Grand Palace was closed for memorial services for a beloved Princess who died two months before I arrived and one of the local TV channels seemed to be dedicated to the service and stories of her good works for the entire time I was there. Initially I thought it may be an enormous PR effort by the Palace, but I noticed that many private homes, no matter how humble, had pictures of the king or Queen.

Maybe the feeling of stability a Monarchy provides has become more important in a country where the government below that level doesn't always change peacefully at the ballot box. The group photo is in the gate lounge at the airport and I took the final shot as I sat in the Cathay Pacific 777 after boarding.

Cheers, Alan