Oh, how things change!

After 5 months in India something has rubbed off on me. I hate to say it, but I’ve had the cliché ‘come-to-India-and-have-a-life-altering-experience’ experience. It gets me mad, because I routinely make fun of the hippie back-packer types who come to India in search of an ashram, guru, and spiritual enlightenment or life-altering experience. For the 1st time ever I have no plan for the future other than going back to NY. For hours I think about what I want to do, but what keeps coming up is feeling that everything is bullshit and that nothing matters.

To illustrate this point: My friend Piali told me a story recently about seeing a dead human body in the middle of the street with its brains splattered all over the place like a puss from a popped pimple. What had happened is that the dude had fallen over his bike and a bus had run him over, causing enough pressure for his brains to explode out of his skull. You are forced to confront the reality that something can happen to fuck up your life or kill you at any second. In a place where a physical disability means that you will have to live your life begging on the streets, life takes on a whole new meaning. Even more frustrating and hard to deal with is that among this social context you have NGOs/non-profits who care more about getting donations and appeasing their donors than about the people they serve, and NGO employees who care more about their careers than the issues that they claim to work for. At this point everything seems like bullshit and as for what the hell I am going to do with myself when I get back to the US I’m just trying to figure out what I enjoy doing and will just work with that. Dont say that I didnt warn ‘ya If I end up being a garbage collector or corporate office worker.

The route from Delhi to Agra reveals a trail of steadily deteriorating habitations. The worst cluster around the railway stations at either end, this the refuge of the destitute who arrive from the countryside and settle down at their immediate point of arrival. The most recent consist of perhaps a sheet of plastic forming a lean-to, weighed down with stones. From here they advance towards relatively sophisticated hovels made of wood, wrapped in plastic as protection from the heat and the rain. This doesn’t work however, and as one the buildings can be seen dissolving in the monsoon downpour, the ground in which they sit churned to mud and evil-looking puddles.

What everyone comes to Agra for, of course, is the Taj Mahal. It’s overfamiliar from photographs, and at this point of my travels I’m suffering from advanced monument fatigue, but it’s still impressive. What the standard photographs don’t show you is what surrounds the main dome of the building, or the detail that exists both in the exterior and interior. The reason for this may be a sign that states No photographs beyond this point but everyone blithely ignores this, including myself. It’s a chance to a proper camera-clicking tourist without feeling self-conscious, and those opportunities are hard enough to come by in India.

Red-bricked buildings surround the main building, while up close the mausoleum has intricate details and what remains of inlays of precious stones. The interior is still and echoing. In the large and immaculately kept gardens, the grass is being mowed by oxen in harness. Tourists proliferate. There’s an archetypal family of American tourists complete with mewling brat of a son who gabbles a barely comprehensible monologue, gesturing at the Taj: “If it had mountains behind it, it would look so perfect…I mean, it’s so perfectly colour coded, the green, the blue, the yellow flowers, the white. Are you listening to daddy? Dad? Dad? Do you even understand?…It like nuclear warming, you know, the statue of liberty underwater, it seems like that, you know? I mean it’d look so much better with the blue…” Eventually a tout comes along to show them “The largest model of the Taj Mahal in the world.”. Just as well, or I’d have garrotted the little shit.

Agra’s other primary attraction is the Red Fort, and although it palls in comparison with the Taj, it’s interesting enough, although wearying, the sun’s heat accumulated between the high walls and courtyards to a deadly level. More entertaining is the trip to the fort via cycle rickshaw, courtesy of a wily chap who stops en route at various shops. I wander around for a couple of minutes, wander out, and he gets five rupees from each shop for bringing me and my non-existent custom. One carpet shop owner is a particularly slimy git, trying to get me to give him my address in the UK so that he can send carpets to my address without paying import duty. One of his friends would come along and pick them up later. Yeah, right. He shows impoverished weavers at work, boasting that he only pays them thirty rupees a day, “and they have to accept it, because “They are poor, and have no other work.” He’s the sort of person you’re glad to leave behind.

Delhi’s like an old school reunion. Faces I’ve encountered throughout India keep on popping up all over the place. Oh, Hi Danish couple from Calcutta. And my god, that’s the Belgians from Kerela. And that’s the Swiss couple I met in Aurangabad, isn’t it? In retrospect it’s not such a coincidence, because all roads lead to Delhi. It’s the hub of the north through which it’s necessary to reach all other destinations.

Other than the pleasure of meeting old friends, Delhi doesn’t hold many pleasures. Yes, it’s modern, and yes it’s got facilities that can’t be found anywhere else in the country, but that’s about the limit of its attractions. It’s a fairly common reaction among travellers, although this may be explained in part by the fact that for many it’s their first port of call, with all the culture shock that this entails. The old part of the city’s flooded and the new part’s heavily polluted, to the degree that it’s difficult to breathe at times. Janpath’s pleasant, the seat of government, all wide streets, grass and trees, the inhabitants resolutely upper class, apart from the rank-and-file workers who still effect a degree of prosperity that’s uncommon. Shops come provided with armed guards who sit by the doorways with an air of complete boredom, while the streets are populated with sellers of every type of goods imaginable, all primed to catch passing tourists.

Still, there’s good places to eat, to break up the monotony of the endless plates of dahl. In Nirulas there’s an all-you-can-eat salad buffet which is the cause of gluttony and purgatory both. Number one -rule in India – never eat any salads. The shits inevitably follow. It’s there I meet a girl from Edinburgh. She’s reached the end of her travels, spending the last few days buying presents before she returns home to start work as a barrister. She’s reading through mail that’s been sent to her, among which is the front page of The Sun newspaper which features a rather blurred photograph featuring one of her friends who has apparently been having an affair with an MP. This is the first clue that she’s well connected. The second comes when she reveals her astonishment that Tony Blair is now the labour leader. “He was in my class at school,” she reveals. “He’s a bit of Tory,” adding, after a pause, “But I liked him though.”.

Today is the first day back from fall break here. [Aside: I have serious issues with our "fall break."  First of all, every university with a good heart gives its students a fall break in October, right around midterms, when they're starting to go crazy.  Does my current university have a good heart?  No, they are cold-hearted bastards and they wish us to suffer straight through from August to late November without reprieve.  Second of all, even though we have technically yet to reach the winter solstice, there has been snow on the ground here now for a solid two weeks, and we have already had more than three feet total in accumulations (not all of that is still here, thankfully).  Is this fall?  No, it is not.  Grrrr.]

On this particular fall break, the partner, miscreant mutt, and I embarked upon an epic journey to the far reaches of New Mexico, hoping to go backpacking for a week without having to trudge through the snow.  Hence we avoided going anywhere in Colorado.  We are not well-versed in the art of snow travel, nor are we well-equipped for it.  Cold, yes; snow, no.  Anyhow, by going to southwestern New Mex, we hoped to outrun the snow and some of the cold as well.  We only succeeded on the first count.

We ended up spending 5 days on the trail, doing a loop route in the Gila Wilderness.  Here is a a map of where we started and ended up, courtesy of Google:

View Larger Map

The trip, overall, was a great one, though there were certainly some less-than-pleasant moments, and it’s a damn long drive.

Highlights include: absolutely amazing canyon scenery, gorgeous daytime weather, a few fantastic campsites, Thanksgiving dinner by the campfire, hot springs, slot canyons, incredibly diverse ecosystems with abrupt changes between them (i.e., going from desert to open ponderosa savanna to beaver marsh within roughly five miles of trail), complete solitude.

Lowlights include: endless hours of mindnumbingly boring driving through nowhere, being stopped by the border patrol, brutally cold nights, camping on seasonal permafrost, the partner’s hypothermia, more than fifty wading crossings of a partially frozen river in the bitter cold, a blister the same size as the toe that it was on.

More to come, with pictures, over the next few days.

Just 2 hours north of Bangkok by train, the ancient capital city of Ayutthaya sits in a hot, dusty valley with two major rivers flowing through it.  In fact the city proper is actually an island between these two rivers with only a handful of bridges and ferries crossing over them.  There’s almost 700 years of history in this city, Thailand’s old capital fortress, and the ruins and restored temples share this story with anyone curious enough to venture inside.  It was sacked and looted so many times by Burma and Laos that by the 18th century the king was fed up and moved shop down to Bangkok.   Thankfully there is still plenty left to look at and photograph, including some absolutely stunning wats and chedi’s (stupas).

We stayed here only 2 nights and 3 days, although as a tourist it isn’t really practical to spend much longer.  Temples and ruins, like I mentioned, are the prime attractions here and after looking at 20 or 30 it’s time to move on.  The city itself, however, is vibrant and bustling and has much to offer the traveler who’s interested in more than the history of the area.  Our first day we explored most of the city proper on foot, covering a dozen kilometers and a dozen temples in an afternoon.  Most of the temples here were built of brick and a mortar covering.  As we explored their ruins, the structures ranged from massive piles of brick to perfectly preserved steeples and arches and domes.  We wandered in and out of different crumbling landscapes, stumbling upon herds of grazing cattle, couples sleeping in the shade of the chedis, street dogs patrolling their territories, and other hidden treasures of the unknown.  Towards the end of the day we found ourselves walking into an elephant camp, where around two dozen elephants and their riders hung out, waiting to give rides to tourists through the city ruins.  Instead of riding them, we contented ourselves to loitering with them and taking photos.

The following day we rented bikes to take us to the outer reaches of the city and its most impressive temples.  Navigating the chaos of Thailand’s streets is daunting on a bicycle.  There is a distinct hierarchy in place on the road, with the most fragile and destructible at the bottom of the totem pole.  Essentially, the more vulnerable you are, the more attentive you must be (if you value your life).  Bikes are just pedestrians moving precariously closer to traffic in a seated position.  Nevertheless, we survived and had a blast.  One temple we visited on the outskirts of town was pretty in its own right, but what fascinated me the most by it was a tree out back.  It was a Bodhi tree, with a massive, twisting, tentacle-like trunk completely encompassing a small chedi and a statue on it.  All you can see of the statue is its face barely emerging from the roots.  Another temple even further from town was equally rewarding to visit.  The temple was a massive stone chedi about 60 meters tall with a small complex of ruins surrounding it.  Cows and horses were tied strategically to trees around the temple such that they could graze sections of the lawn, creating a living lawn mowing and fertilizing system.  Because of the strict value of all life in the Buddhist tradition, temples are often safe havens and refuges for all kinds of neglected animals, from horses to dogs to chickens and everything in between.  Whenever we visit a temple, there is inevitably some adorable puppy or kitten that claws at my heart strings when I see them.  This time there were 3 puppies, barely 6 weeks old, that decided my arm was interesting and all started licking it in unison.

One of the last temples we saw in Ayutthaya was unique in that it belonged to a sect of Buddhist nuns.  The order of monks in the Theravada Buddhist tradition is male oriented, and while women were explicitly included in the teachings of Buddha, they face many challenges as nuns such as funding for their temples.  This temple is specifically renowned for its hundreds of Buddha statues that are wrapped in saffron scarves, creating a mystical and colorful atmosphere throughout the complex.  We ditched our bike at the gate and spent the last slivers of daylight exploring the crumbling relics before making the trip back home to our guest house.  It was around this time that Jennifer got hit with her first dose of Delhi Belly, aka Montezuma’s Revenge, aka food poisoning, so we peddled home fast.  At one point we managed to get ourselves onto an expressway with barely any shoulder to bike on, then again we found ourselves on another major thoroughfare on the wrong side of the road.  It was a miracle we made it back alive through the dark, but all I had to do was keep up with Jennifer as she tore through the city like a bat out of hell.  Later that night her stomach was feeling better…

The last day in Ayutthaya was pleasantly lazy and spent mostly in the shade for a change.  We arranged an overnight sleeper train to the north of Thailand that night and loitered in one of the few backpacker cafes along a quiet side street in town.  Tony’s Place as it was called, was run by a flamboyantly gay Thai who was everywhere when you didn’t need anything and nowhere in sight when you did.  The slow service allowed us to take in some good people watching however.  Later in the afternoon, as our departure to Chiang Mai in the North was approaching, we moved all our gear to the train station and had some dinner.  After sitting down and ordering some food, we noticed a gentleman sitting next to us munching contentedly on a bag of indiscernible contents.  He noticed us watching him with inquisitive eyes, so he turned around and pulled out a monstrous barbequed grasshopper and offered one to each of us.  The taste was mild, like a dusty stale cracker, and the crunchy texture was like biting into a huge sunflower seed with the shell and all.  I’m sure I made a horrible face as I choked it down, yet he still offered me more.  After Jennifer nearly gagged eating hers, he understood.  It was worth trying, but never to be repeated.

The train pulled in about 30 minutes late, which is a miracle by Thai train standards.  We purchased a couple liters of cheap beer and a bag full of snacks for the 13 hour trip, hopped on, found our beds, and began the next leg of our journey through Thailand.

The peaks of Shenandoah National Park fade into a blue horizon. (Compass Points Media / flickr) http://www.flickr.com/photos/compasspointsmedia/ / CC BY-ND 2.0

Good morning, Pointers. How was Thanksgiving vacation?

I spent mine in Ohio visiting my parents, but my thoughts occasionally drifted back to the two-day backpack I completed with two friends in Shenandoah National Park, Va., last weekend. Look later today for a trip report that has an air of spookiness about it.

USA Today published Monday a piece about what threatens Rocky Mountain National Park in Colorado:

Just over five years before its 2015 centennial, Rocky Mountain National Park — nicknamed “Rocky” among park staff — is in a state of flux as climate change bears down on it, deferred maintenance projects rack up a price tag greater than $50 million in the down economy, and industry-tainted air quality becomes a primary concern among park biologists.

The chemical composition of both tundra soil and mountain lake water is becoming more toxic for plants and animals because agricultural and industrial pollution deposit nitrogen in sensitive areas, according to the Colorado Department of Public Health and Environment.

Populations of pika — tiny rabbitlike mammals — are disappearing in the park’s newly designated wilderness.

It’s a sobering article about one of the National Park Service’s icons. But I’ll do what I can to brighten the mood by suggesting this stunning 19-mile out-and-back hike to Lost Lake inside “Rocky.” Try it, fall for Rocky Mountain’s charms and get inspired to protect the park.

Peaks ornamented with snow rise in Rocky Mountain National Park, Co. (roadman22 / flickr) http://www.flickr.com/photos/roadman22/ / CC BY 2.0

For the last two years, I’ve been talking about going on my solo backpacking trip to Brazil. After falling in love with Argentina a few years ago, I am now ready to fall deeply in love with Brazil.  I was initially supposed to pack my backpack and leave last December but then the recession hit North America and I was jobless. One year later and with much excitement, I’m finally getting ready for my solo 3-week Brazilian adventure.

Itinerary:

1^st week: Jungle Tour in the Amazon, trekking, living with a tribe, camping, wildlife

2^nd week: Rio de Janeiro, sight-seeing, hand-gliding, nightlife

3^rd week: Bahia, beach, beach, beach! Surfing, Sand-surfing (if possible) and just chilling!

Although going on some Brazilian expedition sounds fun and only fun, there is some preparation involved. First off, Canadians need a tourist visa to enter the country. The cost is CDN $91. I have to admit that the process of obtaining one wasn’t too brutal. The next step is taking an appointment at the Travel Clinic to receive two shots: Yellow fever and Typhoid fever shots. Total cost of my visit was CDN $150. These vaccines are mandatory when going to the Amazon. You’ll need to provide an International Certificate proving that you received the yellow fever shot to enter the country. Although I don’t normally plan my tours prior to arriving in a country, I decided to select a tour operator for my adventure in the Brazilian Amazon. The main reason is because it’s an expensive tour and I want to make sure I’ll get my money’s worth. I want my experience to be maximized at its fullest potential! The second reason is that I want to be safe, regardless of the craziness involved in this adventure. More info to come on the tour operator after my trip.

I currently have my visa and vaccines. As I’m getting closer to the date, I’m starting to get nervous. I’ve never been to Brazil, I don’t speak Portuguese, I’m landing directly in the jungle and I won’t have access to a telephone for 6 days. Did I mention that I’ll be alone? It’s scary, yet exciting! I can’t wait to meet random people to share stories them, learn about a new culture, eat and obviously, explore!

Other than a high-level plan of where I’ll be for 3 weeks, I haven’t planned anything else. I don’t know when I’ll be flying out of Manaus or where I’ll be staying in Rio and Bahia.  I’m thinking of winging it once I’m there so I can save some $$ on flights… let the wind take me away!

I’m very excited today, I am IN FLOW, totally focussed on researching and planning my upcoming trip to India. My very wonderful friend Phi has once again astounded us with his generosity and, as an early 30th birthday present for the two of us, has funded (with his frequent flyer points) a very fabulous trip to India in April of next year. I think everyone needs a friend like Phi.. and not just because he’ll fly you to India for your 30th birthday!

I’m very very super excited about it, especially since I have had an imaginary India itinerary in my head since 2005 when our backpacking trip came to shuttering halt in Vietnam when we realised that we had run out of money and had to come home (I am way too much of a sucker to have ever learned how to successfully barter, and I kept giving all our money away to grubby children and poverty stricken schools!).

I am also excited because it means I will be able to cross two very big things off my list:

#29. Visit at least one new country
and
#65. Celebrate my 30th birthday by doing something fabulous

Technically my birthday is at the end of March, and we aren’t flying out until April 7th, but I’m still going to count it because it IS a birthday present, and we would have been in India for my actual birthday, except Luke has to work over the Easter long weekend.

So, now I am in the zone planning and researching and getting all excited about all the things we will see. I think I actually enjoy the planning of our holidays as much as I enjoy the actual holidays, I’m strange like that I guess. I’m very excited to be dusting off our backpacks and money wallets and heading back out into the big bad world. I only wish it could be longer than 3 weeks!

So, who among my beloved readers has been to India? Any?
If so, tell me all about it! Where should I go? What should I avoid? What did you love? Tell me everything!

PHOTO CREDITS TO LONELY PLANET

As soon as I had nailed down when and where I was going, I jumped on the horn and put out the invitation to virtually every friend I had to “drop what you are doing a come travel!”

There were no conditions placed on when you must arrive or how long you were allowed to stay. Nor was there any financial support requested. I was so excited about the trip and hopeful that this would be an important life experience that I wanted to be able to share it with anybody that was willing to go for it.

One thing that I did not count on was that a majority of my friends whom I had just graduated college with back in the spring had already begun “career jobs” and they were either unable or unwilling to put their career on hold to gallivant on a beach for even a week or two, regardless of how appealing it sounded. Most of them would respond, “Oh that sounds amazing! Let me know when your going.. maybe I’ll come down for a few days… Keep me posted!” I would tell them, “I just told you when I’m going! I’m telling you right now!”

I will admit, I thing a big reason I was inviting any and everyone I knew was that I was quite nervous about doing this alone… Soon after I settled in, I was utterly relieved that virtually every person I had asked had declined to come down. It was great having Meesh come down with me for the initial part of my journey because it helped me feel settled in a very new environment.. I think it would certainly have been a whole lot more difficult if I had started off by myself- probably a lot less relaxing and whimsical. But after she left, I really settled into a routine of recluse… It was nice for me to know that, if I wanted to interact with people, I could walk on into town; but my cottage was for me. I could spend all day there in quiet, and many days, I did just that.

Several weeks into my stay, I had another friend come down to visit me for a couple days… I remember how excited I was to have a friend coming to town. I could show him around, we’d whoop it up at the bars… it’ll be great! What was very surprising to me was that I quickly felt uneasy having other people with me in my cottage- it had become my safe house where I could escape the world. But with someone else in it, there was always noise. If I were still, I could feel the cottage floor wobble and waiver whenever the visitor would walk. I couldn’t spend hours in the hammock because we had to see the town.  We had to synchronize our time so that when he was ready to go, so must I be.

I will say though, that I was very lucky that one of the only friends who decided to visit me was one of the most extremely laid back that I had… He did not mind doing some things on his own, and did not seem bothered when I would part ways for a little while to do my own thing…

He had already planned a voyage to Panama before even setting out for Central America, so after a few days relaxing at the beach, he became a little restless, and decided to make the move to Panama for some excitement… I opted to remain in Puerto Viejo, but thanked him for the offer.

And so just as I did with Meesh, I walked him to town, and after a farewell beer, bade him adios and was once again alone.

Scared. Alone. Fear. Shy. These words cycled through my mind over and over again before I traveled as a solo- woman- backpacker. You may feel the same as a female backpacker, it’s only normal, plus there is really nothing to fear or be scared of, if you follow a few quick tips!

♦You got to have it, in you!!! If you really want to explore this world you need to be the type to have the heart, solo, love, passion, strength, and the WANT to discover and create your own adventure!

♦Travel without being afraid. You need to know your limits, take precautions and definitely use your common sense to make smart choices. As I say a lot in my experiences (see feature stories) “I had a GUT feeling”, in other words trust your instincts. As women we naturally feel more frightened.

♦People are naturally good at reading body language. Use your body language as a tool, but be intelligent/aware of your actions. Feel and look confident at all times, even when you feel scared as hell. Never make eye-to-eye contact with people on the street; you will place yourself as a target. Also at all times when alone, walk like you know where you are going, and try your best not to act like a tourist.

♦Know what is appropriate to wear in the countries you visit. Don’t wear your normal, fashionable clothing, it will mark you has a target. It is hard, but try to wear outfits that aren’t so appealing or revealing. You don’t necessary have to wear exactly what that country’s culture image is, but I would avoid short skirts! Trust me, I made that mistake and every guy that is young or old was pointing, and staring at me.

♦When it comes to exploring or doing anything at night, don’t take any risks. Make sure you are back safely at your hostel/lodging when it is dark, if you are alone. At night, cities transform and busy places are not so welcoming. So be double the times, more aware of your surroundings.

♦As for the last tip, HAVE FUN! Enjoy every minute of your adventures cause times rolls pretty quickly when you are having a fun!

So ya, I gave you a few tips, but really all this is just to tell you to be aware of your surroundings!!!! I gotta say, the craziest moments will happen to you  and trust me they will catch you right off guard. But they will make your stories a lot more interesting!

“Walking gets too boring
When you learn how to fly”

“Cuz I’m a gypsy

So when are you coming with me?”

I go to Calcutta prepared for the worst. I have visions of some sort of Industrial revolution scene from hell, full of smoke-grimed mills and impoverished inhabitants on bended knee supplicating before the figure of Mother Theresa as she shuffles past. The reality’s a city that’s brightly modern and in some ways cosmopolitan, with hellish areas inbetween. It’s also uncomfortably busy, the traffic log-jammed in an ongoing rush of cars, rickshaws, carts and people while trams crawl in amongst it all with a sparking scent of ozone. I like it. It’s a city full of energy, the people have attitude, and there’s a buzz to be had from the whole chaotic mess of it all.

Westerners are a plentiful commodity here. I stay in street where every second room seems to be occupied by backpackers or people doing voluntary work. The cafes and restaurants are full of us all, the voluntary workers identifiable by the way by the way they cluster together in little cliques discussing the shared horrors and satisfactions of their experiences. I speak with a Dutch teacher here to plunder the villages of Orissa for jewellery. “The trick is to go to the pawn merchants. The villagers sell their jewellery to them and all the merchants do is smelt it down. You get antique pendants and all sorts of that things that way. They don’t realise the value.” Which may be true, but it seems immoral to deprive people who have so little in this way.

The heart of the city is the Maidan, a large green area of parkland which is the host to the Victoria Monument, a building that still radiates an aura of imperialism. It’s not that it isn’t impressive – it is, but like the monarch it’s named after it’s sternly aloof., and isn’t the sort of building you can fall in love with. Early morning sees joggers pounding along the paths, and later in the day groups of people are out playing khadi, or taking pony rides, while elsewhere shepherds tend to goats and sheep that graze in the shade of the trees. Evidence of the city’s cosmopolitan aspirations comes with the sight of couples strolling hand in hand, kissing and hugging, a sight that’s commonplace in the west but virtually unknown in India.

In complete contrast are the howrah slums, made notorious by The City of Joy, a mawkish book turned into a film in which Patrick Swazy starred as an American doctor who Finds Himself while working in Calcutta. It’s a telling point that the slums had to be especially constructed for the film as the real ones weren’t considered to be suitably horrific. The worst are the shanties that are constructed beneath Howrah bridge, in a state of decrepitude in the monsoon rains, and their inhabitants wading knee deep in mud and shit. These genuinely are the worst I see in India. Those that live in buildings are well-off by comparison, which is not to say that I’d volunteer to live there.

Elsewhere are streets lined by prostitutes, garishly made up, calling out as I pass. As they’re shouting in Bengali, a language I don’t speak, who knows what they’re saying. Possibly “Hey big boy!”. Or more likely, “Hi there, tall lanky foreigner with an inadequate penis. We don’t actually want your trade, we’re just calling you names.” Whatever it is, it gives the opportunity for much hilarity on their part.

It rains a great deal. In the space of twenty minutes the streets are transformed from dry and dusty to thigh-high floods. Everyone hoists up trousers or saris to wade through the water while rats escape by climbing up the walls of buildings in a remarkably agile fashion. The very act of stepping forwards proves to be test of the imagination – what exactly is that soft and squelchy thing that you’re stepping on? Looking down offers no clues, the water stirred to a brown murk by the passage of traffic. There’s not much that can be done in these circumstances apart from retiring to my hotel room and watching the interminable flood of water running through the streets. In the hall, the hotel workers are transfixed by the television located there with its endless stream of Bollywood movies. It’s a fixation that many people share throughout the country, unhealthily so. They watch the screen with a rabbit-in-the-headlights helplessness, not as an ambient distraction.

In Calcutta I meet Kevin and Jackie. I’d seen them, far off, on first arriving in Madras. Somewhat uniquely for backpackers they’re rather on the largish side which tends to make them stand out in the crowd from a distance. They’re travelling the world, this being Jackie’s second trip to India. This may explain her good humour in the face of things that make me boil with rage. We go sightseeing together. There’s a planetarium, impressive in its scale, performances in English, which is somewhat let down by a pointer along the ceiling that’s moved by a clearly visible shadowed hand. We take a tram ride, which jolts and screeches through the street and threatens to judder apart into a rusting pile of metal plates. The other passengers gawp. Jackie takes photos of them gawping and they seem rather pleased by this. There’s a museum exhibiting Tagore’s belongings. His slippers are in a glass case. It displays the pen that he used, along with blank sheets of paper. It’s like a deification. At the day’s end, I’m stricken down with gardia, the sting in the tail to the day’s events. The toilets pipe’s broken and shit goes swimming onto the floor in a rush of water then it goes swimming out of a crack in the wall to flood the communal showers alongside my room. That’s India all over for you: no pleasure without some dirt and discomfort lurking in there somewhere.

Photographed by firehole

Interesting erosion formations, Paria River Canyon

– License

Well, after I read about ex pats and newbies in Argentina I decided to throw a little bit of insight on this matter. What did i discover? Boxes, taxes, tons of paperwork and useful links to made lighter your load of work if you finally decided to move to Argentina.

My first stop:

www.expatfocus.com

They provide a very useful forum to make easier to live and enjoy life overseas.

My second stop:

http://www.clickargentina.com

I think this is a real useful tool if you actually plan to live in Argentina for a while. And I mean it. This webpage runs through a great variety of topics. You can find the best places to eat empanadas, dealing with residency in Arg. , buying property to volunteer work.  Great mixed of interesting articles and forums.

My third stop:

Shipping!!!!!!!!!

www.globalrelogistics.com

According to expats members this is one of the most reliable companies at the moment of shipping your things to Arg. Please be sure to have your Argentinian residency before ship your items, unless you want to pay 50% of their value at the port of Buenos Aires (on top of what you already pay). Other thing to take into account is that no matter how much a freight company tell you about their experience packing items for your safety and the safety of your items: check the way that they package your items!!!

Fourth stop:

www.weixin.com.vn/Information/shippingguide.asp?id=556

A quick list of the things you must have before ship anything to Argentina.

Hope you have everything ready to go for your new adventure to Southamerican Pampas:)

Bulan November memang sangat menyenangkan. Meskipun jadwal kuliah mulai padet-padetnya n tugas yang menumpuk tapi masih bisa jalan-jalan. Dengan rencana yang cukup matang dan telah diramu di bulan September, akhirnya menetapkan tanggal 8 november untuk wisata ke waduk Jatiluhur. Hari H telah tiba. Tapi perasaanku mulai ga enak mulai bangun pagi. Dan benar saja semua rencana yang telah disusun menjadi berantakan. Dimulai dari jam berangkat yang molor. Sebelumnya direncanakan harus sampai di terminal Blok M jam 7.00 akhirnya molor sampe jam 7.30 padahal direncanakan naik Kereta Parahyangan jam 8.30 di Stasiun Gambir ;-(. Kesialan ini ditambah lagi lamanya perjalanan busway koridor blok M-Kota gara-gara demo mendukung KPK di bundaran HI dan demo memprotes penyerbuan Masjid Al Aqsa di persimpangan Bank Indonesia. Dengan asumsi lamanya perjalanan bila harus transit di halte Harmony yang kemudian dilanjutkan ke halte Gambir, maka kami turun di halte Bank Indonesia dan jalan kaki menuju Stasiun Gambir. Dengan semangat juang 45 akhirnya kami sampai di Stasiun Gambir jam 8.25 dan langsung menuju Aula Pembelian Tiket Langsung. Rupanya kesialan ini bertambah lagi. Loket Kereta Api Parahyangan jam 8.30 sudah ditutup dan loket hanya menerima pembelian Kereta Api Parahyangan jam 10.30 yang parahnya lagi kereta tersebut tidak berhenti di Stasiun Purwakarta (gedubrak!!!). kami berunding untuk memutuskan apakah masih tetap pengen menuju Purwakarta, jalan-jalan di sekitar Jakarta, atau pulang dengan tangan hampa tanpa pengalaman. Dengan aklamasi (padahal yg ikut cuma 3 orang termasuk aku) akhirnya diputuskan tetap menuju Purwakarta dengan Parahyangan jm 10.30, dengan plan B menuju Bandung. Untuk mengisi waktu yang kosong, kami jalan-jalan dulu menuju Monas….

Jam 10.30 kami langsung menuju kereta api Parahyangan di jalur 2. Menurut informasi yang didapat (kayak intel aja LOL) kereta ini berhenti di stasiun Jatinegara, Bekasi, Cikampek, dan terakhir di Stasiun Hall Bandung. Dengan optimisme yang sangat tinggi, kami yakin kereta api ini juga berhenti di Stasiun Purwakarta. Waktu terus berjalan dan kereta api melaju dengan cepat melewati Cibungur, Bungurasih, Wanasari, dan… Purwakarta… Akhirnya rencana wisata ke Waduk Jatiluhur gagal total dan terpaksa harus menjalankan plan B.

Jam 13.50 kami sampai di Stasiun Hall Bandung. Tujuan pertama adalah Dago, yang menurut berbagai sumber hasil googling merupakan pusat wisata kuliner di bumi priangan ini. Kami ke sana dengan naik angkot hijau rute St. Hall-Dago dan berhenti di Simpang Dago. Setelah mempilah-pilih warung dan rekomendasi teman di Bandung akhirnya kami memilih menu Nasi Bakar Spesial di salah satu warung dengan harga yang terbilang murah menurut kantong mahasiswa. Santapan ini sangat cocok dengan suasana bandung yang dingin. Setelah kenyang, kami melanjutkan perjalanan menuju Gedung Sate dan Monumen Perjuangan dengan angkot putih rute Dago-Riung Bandung. Setelah puas berfoto-foto, kami melanjutkan perjalanan ke Masjid Raya Bandung dengan angkot hijau untuk menunaikan shalat dan beristirahat sejenak. Jam 6.40 melanjutkan jalan-jalan malam ke Jalan Braga. Ga terasa malam udah semakin larut dan kami makin kalut karena ga tahu pulang ke Jakarta naik apa. Dengan bertanya pada hampir tiap orang di jalan, kami mendapat informasi bahwa ada bus Damri menuju Terminal Leuwipanjang. Seperti orang hilang, kami menunggu di dekat Kantor Pusat KAI dan hampir saja naik bis yang salah (mulai error). Setelah sekian lama menunggu, akhirnya bus Damri AC datang dan membawa kami ke terminal. Sesampainya di terminal, kami naik bus dengan tujuan akhir Lebak Bulus. Perjalanan ini begitu mengesankan…

Biaya:

Terminal Blok M-Gambir: Busway Koridor I= Rp 3500

Stasiun Gambir-Stasiun Hall: Kereta Api Parahyangan Kelas Bisnis= Rp 30.000

Stasiun Hall-Simpang Dago: Angkot Hijau= Rp 2500

Simpang Dago-Gedung Sate: Angkot Putih= Rp 2000

Gedung Sate-Masjid Raya Bandung: Angkot Hijau=Rp 2500

Jln Perintis Kemerdekaan-Terminal Leuwipanjang: Bus DAMRI AC= Rp 3000

Terminal Leuwipanjang-Lebak Bulus: Bus Primajasa AC Eksekutif= Rp 50000

After the cold of New York, walking outside of the airport and finding warm sunshine was really welcome! We took a taxi to our hostel with the taxi driver giving us a tour in broken English and Spanish, pointing out the president’s house, the main churches and the likes. It was really good and I think we instantly liked Panama. For want of a better way of describing it, we just got a good vibe from the place.

Our hostel wasn’t amazing but it was clean and had a fan in the room and staff who spoke no English. We felt like such idiots but I did become something of a pro at explaining myself without using words! The old town was beautiful, like what I imagine Cuba looks like. Half of the buildings were falling down but that only added to the charm. Richard and I spent a very pleasent afternoon strolling around, looking at the old town and sitting down and watching the ocean. All the locals were so laid back and music was blaring from everywhere. We made friends with a local niña and she cycled around our bench for about twenty minutes while we pratised our limited Spanish! We walked some more and could see all the big ships heading for the canal and then decided it was time for food. We ate in this fabulous restaurant near the water and had amazing dinners. I got some red fish and Richard had some sort of pasta dish that came out in tinfoil shaped as a swan. How very random. It’s three weeks since we left Panama now and looking back it seems crazy that we spent so much money on one dinner, around $50! Believe me, we haven’t been that silly since! The next day we had a massive lunch of chicken and rice from a little place where all the locals ate for about $2 each.

The Square in the Old Town

We had a lazy day the next day, reading, strolling around the old town and checking our emails. The locals were all friendly to us and always said hello so it was a bit strange when I read that area where we were staying was really dangerous. Just before we got a taxi to the airport, Richard spoke to a British guy in the hostel whose friends had been robbed at gunpoint the evening before. So many of these stories in Latin America. We got to the airport an hour and a half before our flight but still nearly missed it. The queues were massive and when we got to the desk, I wasn’t booked on the flight. Stupid STA. The Copa Airlines lady was really nice though and moved things around and got me a seat on the flight, thankfully. I ended up sitting beside a lovely Ecuadorian lady who was about seventy and although neither of us really spoke the other’s language, I still managed on filling out the forms to get into Ecuador for her.

View of the New Town, Panama City

Communicating with people through gestures is a new found talent of mine, I’m going to kick ass at charades from now on!

It’s only a week, give or take a few hours, since I left Ireland and yet we’ve managed on cramming in New York, Panama City and we are now in Quito, Ecuador. Even though it sounds like we’ve been really busy, we’ve spent quiet a lot of that time chilling. Good times!

New York was great. I was never really excited about going away for this trip but New York turned out to be a lot of fun so I’m hoping this bodes well for the rest of the trip. Richard was grumpy for some of it and I was trying my best to be good (i.e. not get cross, not moan which is hard for me!). I guess he was just wreaked from his lack of sleep when going from Leeds to London and from London to New York. He perked up the more Marie and Manny fed him and they really fed us lots!

Anyway, we were quiet good at being tourists. Went to the Metropolitan Art Museum, Central Park, down 5th Avenue and all the nice shops, Time Square, got the ferry to Statin Island to get some pictures of the Statue of Liberty, went to Ground Zero and just wandered around New York.

The Statue

It was freezing though; wind chill put it at 0 degrees Fahrenheit at one stage. We had some snow and those layers Richard said I should buy came in handy!

Spent New Year’s Eve in Joe’s pub (Tempest Bar) with Joe, Margaret, Pat and their friend Kitty. Was a really fun evening. Richard’s nerves showed though, he was downing pints of Stella and by 4am was trying to speak French to two French guys. We were going to head down to Time Square to see the ball drop but it really was too cold and the bar was warm and comfy and we were happy.

Other than that, we just relaxed in Marie’s. Marie and Manny and all the family were really kind to us. Lots of food including our first taste of rice and beans and they made a big family roast on New Year’s Day. Oh, when Richard came through the visa part in the airport, he had written down Marie’s address and the lady was like “Oh very fancy, the upper East Side.” Probably the

DowntownNY 

only fancy place we’ll stay for the next four to eleven months!

Early flight out of JFK to Panama on the 2nd – 5.17am. What a random time! STA messed up my flights and I was booked to go the whole way to Quito while Richard was going to Panama. If I hadn’t been so sleepy I would have been cross. Took ages to sort it all out and we had to run to make our flight.

Other than that, the bloody backpack weights a ton. It’s those damn hiking boots, self inflating mat and the likes. Definitely not the three cardigans that I’ve decided are necessary for me! Ha!

Trying to hitch a ride on the Otago peninsula, New Zealand.

I love the backpack. For many, it brings traumatising memorys of wet camping trips, soggy clothes and scratchy midgy bites (the buggers!), but for me, as soon as I have a weighty backpack full of all my possesions on my back, i have the hugest sense of adventure, and i can’t WAIT to get going down the road.

This year – 2009 – was the year i went on a 7 month adventure with my battered old blue backpack. The same one my brother used 8 years ago when he did his Duke of Edinburgh through Scotland, and the same one my dad used 3 years to go backpacking through Australia and New Zealand. It was getting pretty scruffy or, as I like to put it, getting more of a personality! 

When i was away I met hundreds of other backpackers, many swaggering about with the newest, flashiest “backpacks” with high-tech, futuristic, space technology material to ward off any wear and tear, rain or alien attacks. Ones which have 3 trillion locks to your underwear section, wheels when your too lazy and the ability to split up in to 27 handy smaller bags. At times i did envy these advanced forms of 21st century bag technology, suchas being caught out in a tropical rainstorm for over an hour to find the wetness reached the heart of my belongings, making sure every bit of clothing was at the least bit soggy, but i grew pretty fond of my tatty backpack. Its broken draw string, dodgy zips and musty wiff were endearing. It modestly carried all my belongings around the world, being thrown about by bag handlers in airports, hostels and by myself. Chucked into the back of the many cars I hitched a ride with in New Zealand, strapped to the top of trucks on the dusty roads in Thailand, and piled into small boats, whizzing over the clear waters in Fiji. The backpack, after long enough, becomes a part of you, and often you forget you are actually wearing it.

Unlike a suitcase, a backpack is extremely practical, and also rids you the label of ignorant tourist, and gives you the honourable title of worldy backpacker! Suddenly people trying to sell you this that and the next thing, become aware that you are not going to be swindled out of your well earnt pennies too soon. Other backpackers see the backpack and go ‘hey! another backpacker!’ and you meet some like-minded travellers, tell and hear scary/exciting/beautiful stories, share and take heed some very valuable advice and often, make life-long friends.

Package holidays are great for a week get-away, to relax, get a tan and take a time-out from real life. Hell i enjoy them as much as the next person! However, the hundreds of trips I am without a doubt going to embark on throughout the my life, i will definitely be partnering up with a backpack. Maybe not my old blue one, sadly coming to the end of its travelling life, sitting, slumped in the corner of my room with the marks, stains and scars of a good, well-travelled, life but another. One fit enough to carry all my life necessities safely, well, as safely as it can, one able handle some serious rough, tumble, and most importantly, one that can handle the adventure.

Near the town of Catalina, just north of Tucson, there is a network of trails at the base of the Catalina Mountains. Most are unsigned and not marked on the topo quads. I found some GPS tracks on mountain biking sites like www.mtbguru.com and a very helpful map at http://www.sdmb.org/TrailDesc/CatalinaSPMap.jpg. I also used Google Earth to help plot out my route. These trails are mostly used by mountain bikers and equestrians- I rarely see anyone on foot out here, and I have never seen anyone backpacking or camping. I’m not quite sure why, the scenery is amazing, albeit close to town.

My plan was to start at the parking area off Golder Ranch Road, take the 50-Year Trail, Middle Gate Trail, and Rattlesnake Trail to Sutherland Gap and proceed toward the 4wd road that goes to Cherry Spring, then pick up the road that goes to Charouleau Gap. I figured it at about 8-9 miles one way. I had to carry all my water for the time I would be out and I started with 7 liters of water. I shouldered my heavy pack and started on the 50-Year Trail. This part I had hiked before, and in 1.5 miles, I made it to the junction with the Middle Gate Trail right before Sutherland Wash. I crossed the wash and went through the gate, and was surprised to find a well-maintained, very obvious trail that had seen quite a bit of recent use. There were footprints, horse prints, and tire tracks, and this was the part of the trail when 3 bikers whooshed past me, the only people I would see for the rest of the trip. This is when the trail entered the boulder and slickrock fields. I think there is nothing more beautiful than a bouldery landscape, dotted with tall saguaros. About one mile in on the Middle Gate Tr. there was a cairned junction for the tantalizingly named Slickrock Lollipop Tr. That would have to wait for another time. I reached the junction with the Rattlesnake Trail, which was obvious even though it was not marked.

The Rattlesnake Trail weaves in and out of Sutherland Wash climbing towards Sutherland Gap, an obvious break in the bouldery ridge coming south from the Mule Ears on Samaniego Ridge. At the last crossing of the wash, there is an area of large oaks which made a great shady spot for lunch. Most of this hike is quite exposed, so I was using my umbrella while hiking for shade. I was really surprised at how good the trail maintenance was out here, I had expected it to be too brushy to use my umbrella. My lunch spot was 5 miles from the trailhead. While I was taking a break, 3 red-tailed hawks circled overhead, screeching and weaving in and out of each other’s paths.

After lunch, I continued on the Rattlesnake Trail, climbing out of Sutherland Wash and turning right to follow a ridge. The views from here were spectacular- I could see the moon coming over Samaniego Ridge, Charouleau Gap, and in the distance Pusch Ridge, the Tucson Mountains, and Baboquivari Peak. I had found my home for the night, 6 miles away from the trailhead. There were these great rock formations to lean up against and I set up my camp. I decided that it would be best to hike to Charouleau Gap tomorrow in the cool of the morning, instead of this afternoon, especially since I had a limited supply of water.

I love sleeping under the stars!

I went on an exploratory hike from camp in the late afternoon, just taking my water, GPS, and maps. I wanted to find the 4wd road to Cherry Spring that would take me to the road to Charouleau Gap. The trail comes close to a wash, and I crossed it and bushwhacked up the hill and easily found the road. It was only about ½ mile away from my camp, but as I was coming back I made a wrong turn and was going the wrong way for a little bit before I realized it. Oops. Thankfully, it seems that I am soon aware that I am going the wrong way and I can usually correct myself before getting too off-course. This happened several times on this hike, where there were numerous paths that branched off.

Dark came early, and I had a long, cold night ahead to keep myself entertained. I had a fire, cooked up some dinner, and spent a long time writing in my journal. When I am at home, I don’t journal nearly as much as I do when I am outside. There is something so inspiring about the outdoors that makes the words just flow from the pen. My camp was nice as it was on the backside of a ridge, so I couldn’t see the lights and sprawl of Saddlebrooke butting up against the mountain. I don’t use a tent in good weather, and the stars were unbelievable. I saw 5 shooting stars throughout the night.

I woke up in the middle of the night, as I usually do when camping, and read my book Warriors Don’t Cry by Melba Pattillo Beals until I fell back asleep. She was one of the Little Rock Nine that integrated the school system in the late 1950s. It is unthinkable to me the hatred and violence she sustained in order to be a pioneer of integration.

It was a long, cold night, and even once it got light out it took the sun until almost 9am to come over the ridge. I cooked breakfast from my sleeping bag and read the rest of my book. Melba’s story touched me so much that I was crying by the end of the book. Being a brown person myself, I am so thankful that I don’t have to deal with that kind of overt discrimination. I didn’t have enough water to make the climb to Charouleau Gap and get back to the car, so that would have to wait for another time. As I hiked back to my car, I was already plotting my return to this wonderful maze of trails at the base of the Catalinas.

Looking back at Sutherland Gap

You can see the rest of the pictures from this trip here:

50-Year to Sutherland Gap

Here’s Hiking Lady’s resource list of  great websites and blogs with tremendous amounts of information on hiking, backpacking, camping, trekking, you name it. You’re sure to find something new of interest if you follow these links.

We went for a day skate over into Humphrey’s basin the other day. Beautiful ice and classic, stunning Sierra fall scenery. Check out the video here

Gangapurna Tal and Thorung La Pass covered in snow in the distance.

Today was our mandatory acclimatisation day in Manang. Manang is at a3,540 meters and the Thorung La Pass is another 2,000 meters up. In order to reach the pass in 3 days, as planned, we need to give our bodies a chance to catch up to our current altitude. One of the best ways to do that is to climb high, sleep low, as I mentioned earlier. So we opted to hike up about 1200 feet to the Gangapurna viewpoint–a lookout that offers views of Annapurna III (7,555 m), Gangapurna (7,454 meters), glacier, and lake (which is fed by the glacier). It was nice to hike without packs on our backs, and we had a little rest at a viewpoint and then walked down.

We grabbed a little mac & cheese for lunch (yak cheese is much better than the parmesan-type cheese we had earlier in the hike!), but I was doomed to an afternoon of hotsy coldsies. While I was detained, Rick attended a free lecture on Acute Mountain Sickness (a catch-all for the many altitude-related illnesses) offered by the Himalayan Rescue Association, a group of western volunteer doctors. He got a lot of good info and confirmed that we are faring well (aside from my tummy troubles, which aren’t related to altitude). We had another early dinner of spaghetti and chess and called it a night.

Hmmmm... didn't see any mule steak on the menu???