I did it! I’m less than 45 minutes from touchdown in Vancouver and I’m so many emotions right now. I’m beyond excited to see my dad who’s picking me up, I’m anxious to get through baggage collection and customs because they never go speedily enough, and I’m so ready to be home.
What home will bring is a little uncertain, so I’m approaching that with a touch of trepidation. I’m gearing up for what is hopefully a very temporary stint in unemployment and being incomeless, and as soon as new work is found my next up task is to (finally) move out of mom and dad’s. Big changes ahead!
The biggest thing this journey has taught me is that in the grand scheme of life, I’ve won the fucking lottery. To be born Canadian, to speak English, to be upper middle class with a million opportunities at my feet, to be able to quit my job to go travel with parents who are beyond supportive, to have an education, to be what we take for granted as completely average in North America is the 99th percentile to the rest of the planet.
And I hope that when I’m home, that is the lesson that stays with me most. I hope I’m as kind to people as possible, to reflect the kindness that’s been displayed to me for the past 80 days. I hope that I complain less, because I’ve seen what real poverty looks like, what real problems are. I hope that I continue to be able to travel, and that I capitalize on those opportunities. I definitely didn’t earn this trip – it fell in my lap like everything else I’ve been given, like every other trip I’ve been on – but I am still so grateful. The next trip will be one that I scrimp and save for, and earn the hard way.
This planet is so amazing. How incredible is it that we can hurl ourselves through the air in a metal tube going 900km an hour and end up on the other side of the world in less than half a day. We owe the Wright brothers big time.
Time to prep for landing, which means this is cut short. Probably a good thing, because I’m getting teary on a plane. Never a good thing.
I wish I could tell Dan about my trip. He’d be so stoked.
Showing posts with label Sam's Epic Adventure. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sam's Epic Adventure. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
100 things I learned on my trip
1. Smiling will get you everywhere.
2. I am worth 4,000,000 camels, 100 pashminas and a shop, or two blocks of the pyramids.
3. India is insane.
4. The Eiffel Tower really is all it's cracked up to be.
5. A good book means you never eat dinner alone.
6. Expect to pay as much for tea in Europe as you would for a sandwich in Canada.
7. The best samosas in the world are halfway between Varanasi and the Nepal border, on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, and cost Rs 2 (approximately 5¢ CDN).
8. The Greek islands are best visited in the summer.
9. The Champs-Elysees is everything that's wrong with humanity.
10. Water purifcation tablets, drops and your own water bottle are completely unnecessary.
11. Going by the meter in a taxi in India means the driver will circle the city repeatedly to make more money.
12. It is fiscally irresponsible not to attend happy hour.
13. Canadians go travelling for a gap year, or take time off work. Americans study abroad for a semester.
14. Europe treats the Euro exactly like the dollar. $3.75 for a hot chocolate at home, €3.75 for a hot chocolate in Amsterdam.
15. France needs a lesson or two in silver quality and pricing from Egypt and India.
16. Dutch is the most hilariously ridiculous language, both on paper and when spoken.
17. Top Deck is a terrible tour company.
18. Gap Adventures is an awesome tour company.
19. India: just as stinky as you'd expect.
20. Never backpack without a sleeping bag.
21. The French love English accents.
22. Blonde hair equals celebrity status in India.
23. Athens' stray dogs are collectively cared for by everyone, and even get regular vet checkups.
24. 9/10 Americans don't deserve their reputation as rude, arrogant, ignorant travellers. But that 1/10, they couldn't deserve it more.
25. 9/10 Canadians do deserve our reputation as kind, grateful, polite travellers. The 1/10 should be exiled to America.
26. Missing your best friend's wedding sucks. It sucks really, really bad.
27. Greece is hoarding the world's supply of tall, dark and handsome.
28. Watching a cremation on the banks of the Ganges isn't creepy at all. In fact, it's beautiful.
29. The French call the Netherlands "Pays-Bas."
30. In the Cairo airport, smiling nicely means they'll let you board a plane with contraband.
31. When presented with a squatter toilet and a western toilet, the squatter will be less disgusting.
32. Every single dog, no matter its breed, colour, size or disposition, reminds me of Jack and how much I miss him.
33. It's not if you'll get sick, it's when, and for how long, and how badly.
34. Scarves make excellent packing material. That's how I justify purchasing more than a dozen.
35. In India, you can spend as much time haggling the price as the actual taxi ride takes.
36. The pyramids really are all they're cracked up to be.
37. Check your tickets. You may have already paid for a ferry ticket when you bought your bus ticket, and don't need to buy another.
38. It is easier to read Greek than to speak it.
39. If you're confused, and someone else also looks confused, they speak English.
40. Apparently "Je ne parle Francais" is code for "I speak French."
41. Losing your camera makes an expensive night out drastically more expensive.
42. Cameras are cheaper at home than abroad. By about $250.
43. The security at the Kathmandu airport is both the most stringent and the most lax on the planet.
44. In some countries, staring isn't considered rude. That doesn't make it any less creepy though.
45. No matter how little English someone speaks, they'll still know how to ask "Boyfriend? Husband?"
46. A leader can make or break a tour.
47. Elephants love love love oranges and bananas.
48. The French actually dress like their stereotype: navy and white stripes and berets abound.
49. Greeks don't understand lineups.
50. A load of laundry costs more than dinner in a nice restaurant.
51. The Mona Lisa is way smaller than you'd expect it to be.
52. Paris' free wifi doesn't work for non-locals.
53. A $300 netbook more than pays for itself in internet café savings.
54. That same netbook proves priceless when it houses a backup of all your photos and you've lost your camera.
55. The Acropolis really is all it's cracked up to be.
56. Haggling something down to one-sixth of its original price isn't unheard of.
57. Canada has the best tasting vegetables.
58. Athens has more history than they know what to do with. Case in point: H&M has a glass floor so you can see the ruins below.
59. The air pollution in New Delhi is equivalent to smoking 20 cigarettes a day.
60. Starbucks tastes exactly the same everywhere.
61. The Euromullet: not just for dudes anymore.
62. A $10 tube of mascara at home is €15 in France.
63. If North America is a year behind European fashion, 2011 will be the year of the really ugly jean.
64. Flea markets at home: great deals abound. Flea markets in Paris: €575 for two chairs, €190 for a non-precious metal necklace, €80 for an ad from an old magazine.
65. The Red Light District in Amsterdam isn't as seedy, dirty, disgusting, dangerous or immoral as some say. In fact, it's none of those things. It's just business.
66. In the Catacombes, being nice to the security guard means he'll take pictures of you with flash.
67. Ferries in Greece are on time about a third of the time.
68. Bollywood films are fantastic.
69. Getting sprayed by an elephant's trunk is the coolest waterfight ever.
70. Six days worth of clean clothes can easily last you two weeks.
71. India is the only country whose airports have reasonable prices for food.
72. Accordions will drown out your headphones, no matter how loud you turn up your music. So will clarinets.
73. 50ml of astringent will last you exactly 80 days!
74. The Taj Mahal really is all it's cracked up to be.
75. Cows causing traffic jams in India is not a myth.
76. Paris has a miniature version of the Statue of Liberty.
77. People are entirely too generous to me.
78. NOFX didn't write Aux Champs-Elysees.
79. Buses in India have air conditioners, but no heaters.
80. Egyptians are crazy for blue eyes.
81. YVR is the nicest airport.
82. A seven hour bus ride is half the price of a three hour train ride.
83. I am incapable of travelling without a purse, and should never again attempt such a feat.
84. Outside of North America, I am taller than many men. In India, I am taller than most men.
85. It is possible to mispronounce "Sam."
86. Being in Greece while your parents are in Chile after a massive earthquake is the lonliest feeling in the world.
87. Woolly mammoth skeletons are just as cool as dinosaur skeletons. Possibly moreso.
88. The Pink Palace is not all it's cracked up to be.
89. Daylight savings time does not happen on the same day in every country.
90. Many of the oil paintings available in touristy areas are actually made in China.
91. Rhinos snort with displeasure when you wake them up.
92. Dining in restaurants for every meal sounds glamorous until you try it. Eating out loses its appeal when it's a necessity, not a luxury.
93. The best tasting meals are the ones put together out of €20 worth of groceries. Saving money is delicious.
94. Lonely Planet books are worth their weight in gold.
95. Paris is home to both the best and worst French fries on the planet.
96. I am incapable of not buying additional luggage to cart around my souvenirs.
97. People really are generally good, and really want to help you.
98. The more you travel, the more you realize you haven't seen even a shred of what there is to see.
99. The world is unbelievably amazing.
100. There really is no place like home.
2. I am worth 4,000,000 camels, 100 pashminas and a shop, or two blocks of the pyramids.
3. India is insane.
4. The Eiffel Tower really is all it's cracked up to be.
5. A good book means you never eat dinner alone.
6. Expect to pay as much for tea in Europe as you would for a sandwich in Canada.
7. The best samosas in the world are halfway between Varanasi and the Nepal border, on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, and cost Rs 2 (approximately 5¢ CDN).
8. The Greek islands are best visited in the summer.
9. The Champs-Elysees is everything that's wrong with humanity.
10. Water purifcation tablets, drops and your own water bottle are completely unnecessary.
11. Going by the meter in a taxi in India means the driver will circle the city repeatedly to make more money.
12. It is fiscally irresponsible not to attend happy hour.
13. Canadians go travelling for a gap year, or take time off work. Americans study abroad for a semester.
14. Europe treats the Euro exactly like the dollar. $3.75 for a hot chocolate at home, €3.75 for a hot chocolate in Amsterdam.
15. France needs a lesson or two in silver quality and pricing from Egypt and India.
16. Dutch is the most hilariously ridiculous language, both on paper and when spoken.
17. Top Deck is a terrible tour company.
18. Gap Adventures is an awesome tour company.
19. India: just as stinky as you'd expect.
20. Never backpack without a sleeping bag.
21. The French love English accents.
22. Blonde hair equals celebrity status in India.
23. Athens' stray dogs are collectively cared for by everyone, and even get regular vet checkups.
24. 9/10 Americans don't deserve their reputation as rude, arrogant, ignorant travellers. But that 1/10, they couldn't deserve it more.
25. 9/10 Canadians do deserve our reputation as kind, grateful, polite travellers. The 1/10 should be exiled to America.
26. Missing your best friend's wedding sucks. It sucks really, really bad.
27. Greece is hoarding the world's supply of tall, dark and handsome.
28. Watching a cremation on the banks of the Ganges isn't creepy at all. In fact, it's beautiful.
29. The French call the Netherlands "Pays-Bas."
30. In the Cairo airport, smiling nicely means they'll let you board a plane with contraband.
31. When presented with a squatter toilet and a western toilet, the squatter will be less disgusting.
32. Every single dog, no matter its breed, colour, size or disposition, reminds me of Jack and how much I miss him.
33. It's not if you'll get sick, it's when, and for how long, and how badly.
34. Scarves make excellent packing material. That's how I justify purchasing more than a dozen.
35. In India, you can spend as much time haggling the price as the actual taxi ride takes.
36. The pyramids really are all they're cracked up to be.
37. Check your tickets. You may have already paid for a ferry ticket when you bought your bus ticket, and don't need to buy another.
38. It is easier to read Greek than to speak it.
39. If you're confused, and someone else also looks confused, they speak English.
40. Apparently "Je ne parle Francais" is code for "I speak French."
41. Losing your camera makes an expensive night out drastically more expensive.
42. Cameras are cheaper at home than abroad. By about $250.
43. The security at the Kathmandu airport is both the most stringent and the most lax on the planet.
44. In some countries, staring isn't considered rude. That doesn't make it any less creepy though.
45. No matter how little English someone speaks, they'll still know how to ask "Boyfriend? Husband?"
46. A leader can make or break a tour.
47. Elephants love love love oranges and bananas.
48. The French actually dress like their stereotype: navy and white stripes and berets abound.
49. Greeks don't understand lineups.
50. A load of laundry costs more than dinner in a nice restaurant.
51. The Mona Lisa is way smaller than you'd expect it to be.
52. Paris' free wifi doesn't work for non-locals.
53. A $300 netbook more than pays for itself in internet café savings.
54. That same netbook proves priceless when it houses a backup of all your photos and you've lost your camera.
55. The Acropolis really is all it's cracked up to be.
56. Haggling something down to one-sixth of its original price isn't unheard of.
57. Canada has the best tasting vegetables.
58. Athens has more history than they know what to do with. Case in point: H&M has a glass floor so you can see the ruins below.
59. The air pollution in New Delhi is equivalent to smoking 20 cigarettes a day.
60. Starbucks tastes exactly the same everywhere.
61. The Euromullet: not just for dudes anymore.
62. A $10 tube of mascara at home is €15 in France.
63. If North America is a year behind European fashion, 2011 will be the year of the really ugly jean.
64. Flea markets at home: great deals abound. Flea markets in Paris: €575 for two chairs, €190 for a non-precious metal necklace, €80 for an ad from an old magazine.
65. The Red Light District in Amsterdam isn't as seedy, dirty, disgusting, dangerous or immoral as some say. In fact, it's none of those things. It's just business.
66. In the Catacombes, being nice to the security guard means he'll take pictures of you with flash.
67. Ferries in Greece are on time about a third of the time.
68. Bollywood films are fantastic.
69. Getting sprayed by an elephant's trunk is the coolest waterfight ever.
70. Six days worth of clean clothes can easily last you two weeks.
71. India is the only country whose airports have reasonable prices for food.
72. Accordions will drown out your headphones, no matter how loud you turn up your music. So will clarinets.
73. 50ml of astringent will last you exactly 80 days!
74. The Taj Mahal really is all it's cracked up to be.
75. Cows causing traffic jams in India is not a myth.
76. Paris has a miniature version of the Statue of Liberty.
77. People are entirely too generous to me.
78. NOFX didn't write Aux Champs-Elysees.
79. Buses in India have air conditioners, but no heaters.
80. Egyptians are crazy for blue eyes.
81. YVR is the nicest airport.
82. A seven hour bus ride is half the price of a three hour train ride.
83. I am incapable of travelling without a purse, and should never again attempt such a feat.
84. Outside of North America, I am taller than many men. In India, I am taller than most men.
85. It is possible to mispronounce "Sam."
86. Being in Greece while your parents are in Chile after a massive earthquake is the lonliest feeling in the world.
87. Woolly mammoth skeletons are just as cool as dinosaur skeletons. Possibly moreso.
88. The Pink Palace is not all it's cracked up to be.
89. Daylight savings time does not happen on the same day in every country.
90. Many of the oil paintings available in touristy areas are actually made in China.
91. Rhinos snort with displeasure when you wake them up.
92. Dining in restaurants for every meal sounds glamorous until you try it. Eating out loses its appeal when it's a necessity, not a luxury.
93. The best tasting meals are the ones put together out of €20 worth of groceries. Saving money is delicious.
94. Lonely Planet books are worth their weight in gold.
95. Paris is home to both the best and worst French fries on the planet.
96. I am incapable of not buying additional luggage to cart around my souvenirs.
97. People really are generally good, and really want to help you.
98. The more you travel, the more you realize you haven't seen even a shred of what there is to see.
99. The world is unbelievably amazing.
100. There really is no place like home.
Friday, March 26, 2010
J'adore Paris!
It has been a crazy busy few days, so I'll just hammer out the Cliffsnotes version, as the days are beginning to blur.
On Tuesday, Sandy and I set out to explore Paris. We walked along the Seine, and then went into Notre Dame. Later, he headed to the gym and I headed back to Montmarte, as the book I bought from the Dali museum giftshop was French, and I needed to exchange it for the English version. The return trip worked out well because I really like the Montmarte area, despite its hustle and bustle of tourists, and I found a beautiful little original painting. A lot of the cheap art for sale is actually produced in China (The painting I bought in Greece is probably not made in Greece. So sad.), so I was happy to find something original and authentically French. I also got to see more of the breakdancers that make the steps their stage, and I stayed to watch a couple of their shows. If ever in Paris, go to Montmarte!
Later, I met up again with Sandy for dinner. We walked to the Moulin Rouge, and as we couldn't possibly afford to go in (apparently entry fees are around $150), we did the next best thing: ate dinner right across the street with the Moulin Rouge in sight!
On Wednesday we went to the amazing Chateau de Versailles, home of a dozen or so Louis-es, and their wives, including Marie Antionette. It is ridiculous! The level of luxury that they lived in was unbelievable, and to think that this massive palace was constructed without the use of cranes or modern tools, or that its ceilings were painstakingly painted without the use of scissor lifts (and sometimes entire ceilings were painting by only one person), is amazing. The building itself is a work of art, and its interior is a museum in itself. Dozens upon dozens of massive eerily-lifelike portraits hang throughout its rooms and halls, and many of its rooms are still fully furnished.
My favourite room is the hall of mirrors. 17 huge windows facing the garden on one wall are matched with 17 giant mirrors on the opposite wall. About a hundred million massive chandeliers hang from the ceiling, and I can only imagine what the room would have been like when set with gargantuan dining tables to receive loads of guests. (I think it was a banquet room, but I may be wrong. Regardless, it would be quite the setting for a party.)
Afterwards, Sandy and I split up as he needed to head back to Paris sooner than expected, and I wanted to further explore the gardens. My knee's been bugging me, and as it was a 2km+ walk to Marie Antionette's estate, I opted for the little train that tours the grounds.
Marie Antionette's estate was a little less than thrilling, as the opulence and decadence that she's so widely known for didn't come through in its buildings or furnishings. She was one of the few wives that abandoned the common rules and insisted things be done her way (it was usually the king's job to decide how things should look), so her influence is widely seen throughout the main palace. Plus her over-the-top costumes aren't displayed anywhere in Versailles. I was expecting to see more from her, but that's ok; I certainly wasn't disappointed.
I took the train back to Paris, and then the metro back to Sandy's, and soon was fast asleep as the day had tuckered me right out.
Yesterday I got up with the intentions of seeing the Eiffel Tower at 12:30pm, with time afterwards for the Catacombes. As nice as it's been having Sandy as a tour guide, I was happy to venture off on my own. I like going at my own pace without worrying about what others want to see or do, and it gives me time to soak in everything Paris.
Despite having a reservation for 12:30, I didn't actually reach the summit until 1:30. The lines and rain and wait were so so worth it though, as the view from the top is beyond amazing. Even the views from the lower floors are astounding, and there's a good reason hundreds (if not thousands) of people stand in hours-long lineups to ascend it.
While at the top, the rain subsided and glimpses of blue sky began to peek through the clouds. After wandering its perimeter several times, I descended to the second level. Paris has done a good job in including lots of information and displays throughout all the tower's levels, so if you get tired of seeing the view (yeah right), you can get your education on instead.
After two hours or so on the tower (I'm not going to be back anytime soon, may as well get my money's worth!), I finally descended back to ground level. It was too late to hit up the Catacombes as I had originally planned, so I set off to find Paris' Statue of Liberty, three bridges away.
France gave the US a giant Statue of Liberty to commemorate the States' 100 year anniversary of its declaration of independence. Three years later, as a thank-you, the US gives France a miniature bronze version of the same statue.
Way to be generous and original, America.
The Parisian statue is facing west, towards her American sister, and while it certainly can't compare to the Staten Island version, it was still pretty neat to see a Statue of Liberty in person. No lines or crowds either! But that's probably just because it's too tiny to even consider climbing.
Post-faux New Yorkness I headed to the Champs-Elysees to Fnac, as I wanted to find a copy of the cookbook that was for sale in the Eiffel Tower giftshop, but hopefully at a non-giftshop price. The book is called a Little Taste of France, and it was French recipes in English. If I can't find it in Paris I'll have to look for it at home, because its recipes looked deeeelicious! The first Fnac proved bookless, so I was sent to a different location, this time with books, but still no luck. After admitting defeat (for now), I metro-ed back to Sandy's for the night.
If anyone's looking for a birthday gift for me (because I know my birthday is the most important day of your collective lives), get me this! I promise I won't cook you frogs legs.
On Tuesday, Sandy and I set out to explore Paris. We walked along the Seine, and then went into Notre Dame. Later, he headed to the gym and I headed back to Montmarte, as the book I bought from the Dali museum giftshop was French, and I needed to exchange it for the English version. The return trip worked out well because I really like the Montmarte area, despite its hustle and bustle of tourists, and I found a beautiful little original painting. A lot of the cheap art for sale is actually produced in China (The painting I bought in Greece is probably not made in Greece. So sad.), so I was happy to find something original and authentically French. I also got to see more of the breakdancers that make the steps their stage, and I stayed to watch a couple of their shows. If ever in Paris, go to Montmarte!
Later, I met up again with Sandy for dinner. We walked to the Moulin Rouge, and as we couldn't possibly afford to go in (apparently entry fees are around $150), we did the next best thing: ate dinner right across the street with the Moulin Rouge in sight!
On Wednesday we went to the amazing Chateau de Versailles, home of a dozen or so Louis-es, and their wives, including Marie Antionette. It is ridiculous! The level of luxury that they lived in was unbelievable, and to think that this massive palace was constructed without the use of cranes or modern tools, or that its ceilings were painstakingly painted without the use of scissor lifts (and sometimes entire ceilings were painting by only one person), is amazing. The building itself is a work of art, and its interior is a museum in itself. Dozens upon dozens of massive eerily-lifelike portraits hang throughout its rooms and halls, and many of its rooms are still fully furnished.
My favourite room is the hall of mirrors. 17 huge windows facing the garden on one wall are matched with 17 giant mirrors on the opposite wall. About a hundred million massive chandeliers hang from the ceiling, and I can only imagine what the room would have been like when set with gargantuan dining tables to receive loads of guests. (I think it was a banquet room, but I may be wrong. Regardless, it would be quite the setting for a party.)
Afterwards, Sandy and I split up as he needed to head back to Paris sooner than expected, and I wanted to further explore the gardens. My knee's been bugging me, and as it was a 2km+ walk to Marie Antionette's estate, I opted for the little train that tours the grounds.
Marie Antionette's estate was a little less than thrilling, as the opulence and decadence that she's so widely known for didn't come through in its buildings or furnishings. She was one of the few wives that abandoned the common rules and insisted things be done her way (it was usually the king's job to decide how things should look), so her influence is widely seen throughout the main palace. Plus her over-the-top costumes aren't displayed anywhere in Versailles. I was expecting to see more from her, but that's ok; I certainly wasn't disappointed.
I took the train back to Paris, and then the metro back to Sandy's, and soon was fast asleep as the day had tuckered me right out.
Yesterday I got up with the intentions of seeing the Eiffel Tower at 12:30pm, with time afterwards for the Catacombes. As nice as it's been having Sandy as a tour guide, I was happy to venture off on my own. I like going at my own pace without worrying about what others want to see or do, and it gives me time to soak in everything Paris.
Despite having a reservation for 12:30, I didn't actually reach the summit until 1:30. The lines and rain and wait were so so worth it though, as the view from the top is beyond amazing. Even the views from the lower floors are astounding, and there's a good reason hundreds (if not thousands) of people stand in hours-long lineups to ascend it.
While at the top, the rain subsided and glimpses of blue sky began to peek through the clouds. After wandering its perimeter several times, I descended to the second level. Paris has done a good job in including lots of information and displays throughout all the tower's levels, so if you get tired of seeing the view (yeah right), you can get your education on instead.
After two hours or so on the tower (I'm not going to be back anytime soon, may as well get my money's worth!), I finally descended back to ground level. It was too late to hit up the Catacombes as I had originally planned, so I set off to find Paris' Statue of Liberty, three bridges away.
France gave the US a giant Statue of Liberty to commemorate the States' 100 year anniversary of its declaration of independence. Three years later, as a thank-you, the US gives France a miniature bronze version of the same statue.
Way to be generous and original, America.
The Parisian statue is facing west, towards her American sister, and while it certainly can't compare to the Staten Island version, it was still pretty neat to see a Statue of Liberty in person. No lines or crowds either! But that's probably just because it's too tiny to even consider climbing.
Post-faux New Yorkness I headed to the Champs-Elysees to Fnac, as I wanted to find a copy of the cookbook that was for sale in the Eiffel Tower giftshop, but hopefully at a non-giftshop price. The book is called a Little Taste of France, and it was French recipes in English. If I can't find it in Paris I'll have to look for it at home, because its recipes looked deeeelicious! The first Fnac proved bookless, so I was sent to a different location, this time with books, but still no luck. After admitting defeat (for now), I metro-ed back to Sandy's for the night.
If anyone's looking for a birthday gift for me (because I know my birthday is the most important day of your collective lives), get me this! I promise I won't cook you frogs legs.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Paris! And a whole lotta awesome!
For some reason I always use the phrase "With my luck..." and go on to forecast some unfortunate result, but I really should stop, because I seem to have amazing luck. (Anyone who knows my history with radio contests can attest to this.)
I am in Paris! And what was shaping to be a week of disaster (travel tip: do not save the most expensive part of your trip until the very end) has ended up being absolutely fantastic. So far anyway, and we'll cross our fingers it stays that way.
As I've been travelling in the off-season, I've had the luxury of leaving bookings til the last minute, sometimes booking stuff the day-of and still having all options available to me. But as it's now spring break season, which marks the beginning of high-season, things have changed.
Cue knight in shining armour to rescue damsel in distress! (Minus the romance.)
On Wednesday, back in Athens ("Back in Athens." How often do you get to say that?!), I met Sandy, who lives in Paris and was visiting Athens just for a handful of days during his holidays. On Thursday morning we went exploring around Athens before he had to leave for his plane, and he mentioned that if I had an trouble finding a hostel in Paris that I could crash at his place if need be. I thanked him for the offer, but didn't plan on taking him up on it as I didn't want to impose.
Later that afternoon I started planning my week in Paris, and was horrified to see that all of my top choices, and all of my second choices, and all of my last resorts were booked for Saturday night. Basically nothing near anything was available, and the hostels far away from everything with horrible ratings were still at least €25. After paying only €20/night for my super lovely, super equipped, super central hostel in Athens for which there was loads of availability, this made my heart sink.
I picked two nights in one room at St Christopher's Inn for Sunday and Monday, then a different room for Tuesday and Wednesday (I had to pick and choose to get the best rates. Not fun.), and made my reservation.
Then I fired off a Facebook message to Sandy asking him if I could take him up on his offer to crash at his apartment, as there wasn't anything reasonable available for Saturday night.
I posted my frustration on Facebook. Cue more heroes!
Mom says that she'll spring for a nice hotel for me for the weekend (Thanks mom!), Nicole finds a far-from-terrible offering on Hostelworld (when I looked they were full, so there must have been a cancellation), and Michael offers me a place to stay if I don't mind sharing a bed with him at Franck & Martine's place. (More about that later!)
If you want to feel loved, just make your status update that you're possibly homeless for a night.
Sandy gets back to me and tells me that I'm more than welcome. He even offers to meet me at the airport, which I assure him he doesn't need to do. He gives me directions to his place and I breathe a massive sigh of relief. I was joking that the worst case scenario* was me in my sleeping bag under the Eiffel Tower, and for a moment it seemed like that might actually be a reality.
*If the worst case scenario my life presents me is sleeping beneath the Eiffel Tower, I'll take it!
My last day in Athens was great. Mandy, who is from North Carolina but studying in Prague, and I spent the day touring the National Archaeological Museum, eating gelato, shopping for souvenirs and having an amazing Greek dinner. Then I was up dark and early at 5am on Saturday morning to head out for the airport, and Paris!
Michael, whom I met on the India/Nepal tour, and whom I spent the first two days of my trip travelling with as we were the first to arrive at the hotel in New Delhi, lives in Denmark. He was in Paris this weekend for a semi-business visit, and our timing just happened to work out perfectly that we could meet! He invited me to lunch at the apartment of his friends' on Sunday, with a plan to do a little exploring before and after.
The flight was fine, I slept much of the way as I was so tired from getting less than four hours of sleep. (Pesky takeoff interrupted my nap. Life is hard.) Then I collected my bags and set off for Sandy's.
The Paris metro system is INSANE! 14 lines, crisscrossing all over the city. Athens had three lines, and I thought it was huge. From Charles de Gaulle airport to Sandy's is a shuttle, a train, and then two metro lines. But I made it, and with no problems!
Sandy's best friend Emilie (who I might add is the most adorable thing ever) was over, and Sandy had cooked up some super delicious chicken and coconut rice. (Note to self: learn how to make coconut rice.) Later, Sandy and I are talking about my reservations for the week and he says that I'm more than welcome to stay the entire week, and that he likes having company.
So I can a) move my super heavy bags (you'd think I bought a chunk of marble column or something) to St Christopher's on Sunday night, sleep in one room for two nights, then switch rooms for another two nights, then move to wherever there's availability after that which might not even be in the same hostel, and be cranky every time I have to repack my bags.
Or I can b) cancel my reservations and stay at Sandy's all week, saving me at least €200 on accommodation, plus extra savings in not having to eat out every meal.
B it is! So now I've got the keys to an apartment in Paris for the week. Sandy also insisted I take his bedroom (I put up a big fight over this one but he's more stubborn than I am so he won) and he'd take the pullout couch in the living room so that he can stay up and watch TV or whatever, and he claims he sleeps in the living room all the time anyway. I feel like a jerk about it, but the last few nights have been the best sleep I've had this whole trip, so I won't complain too much.
Later on Saturday afternoon, Sandy, Emilie and I ventured out to meet up with their friend Sebastian, and we ran errands. I was careening my head every which way whenever we came out of the metro, because I had yet to see the Eiffel Tower or l'Arc de Triomphe, and I was hoping to spot them. (No dice.) Sandy and I parted ways with them later to meet up with Rashid and his super adorable four-year-old daughter Aida for Indian food. Then back to the apartment and I hit the hay.
Sunday morning I headed out to meet Michael. We'd planned to meet at Rue Mac Mahon, which is one of the streets branching out from the roundabout at l'Arc de Triomphe. As I came up the escalator out of the metro, there it was! I actually got a little teary when I saw it; all I could think was, "NOW I'm in Paris!"
Michael's been to Paris a handful of times before, but had never been to the top. We bought our tickets and began the 284 spiral steps to the top. The view was gorgeous! Despite it being overcast, it was an amazing view of the city. Then I turned around and saw...
the Eiffel Tower!!
Pretty cool that the first time I saw the Eiffel Tower was from atop l'Arc de Triomphe.
It is even more stunning in person. It's rivalled in height only by a couple of office towers, none of which are even in the same direction, so it stands tall and proud in the middle of Paris. I can't believe that it was originally only a temporary installation, but I can understand why its popularity made it a permanent fixture on the Paris horizon.
When we were done arcing, Micheal and I walked to the Eiffel Tower. He's been up it several times already and didn't want to go around, so we just wandered its vicinity before heading to Franck and Martine's.
Franck has been a business partner / friend of Michael's for seven or so years now, despite Franck being enough Michael's senior that he could have been his father. Franck and Martine live in the most beautiful apartment I've ever been in. The building was built around 1890, and the apartment has wood floors, a marble fireplace, and the most gorgeous mouldings I've ever seen. It's on the sixth floor of the building, which is the top floor, so the huge windows let in tonnes of light. They've kept much of the paint and furniture light or white, so the place feels airy. I loved it! Unfortunately, it's probably a few million out of my price range. Apartments like that don't come cheap.
They were the sweetest couple and made me feel so welcome. It's not often that you get to go to a city and see what a typical (well, this apartment probably isn't typical for the average Parisian, but you know what I mean) home is like. We had a very Parisian lunch, that began with pate, baguette and sausage in at the coffee table, and then we sat down for the main meal.
The main was roast chicken and the best French fries I've had in my life (or frites, if I want to be French about it). Martine is an excellent cook! Apparently, good fries are cooked more than once, with "rest" periods in between to let the oil drain off the fries. She used sea salt on them and they were delicious.
The second course is typically a salad or cheese, but we were spoiled with both. The man is supposed to turn the salad (the dressing sits in the bottom of the bowl), but Franck was spilling lettuce everywhere so Martine did it for him. The cheese was amazing; a super creamy brie that spilled out onto your plate as soon as you cut it, and a hard chevre (I thought chevre was only ever creamy, but I was wrong!). Then for dessert we had Martine's marvelous apple tart. I think I should pick up a French cookbook while I'm here, because the food was to die for.
Michael and I got to the apartment a little before 2, and lunch wasn't done until 3:40. They definitely take their time eating!
While Franck and Martine were incredibly lovely, I have to say my favourite character at their place was their dog Cookie, a Griffon. I fell in love with her (and she with me too, dare I say), and I had this cute brown head on my lap for much of my visit. She reminded me so much of Jack in appearance, but she didn't have any terrier in her. If all Griffons are as sweet and as cute as Cookie then I'd definitely consider adopting one one day. Love love love Cookie!
After our lovely lunch, Michael and I set off for the afternoon. We went to Montmarte and the Salvador Dali museum. Espace de Salvador Dali is pretty tiny by typical museum standards (and absolutely miniature compared to the Louvre), but it was still pretty interesting. The melting clocks are hands-down his most famous works, but I didn't know that he carried that and other themes into different styles of art, including lost-was sculptures. My favourite two pieces are ones that look like one thing on paper, but when viewed on a mirrored column they are something completely different. The first looked like abstract rocks on paper, but in the mirror it was s skull, and the second transformed from cute butterfly to creepy face.
Other recurring themes are women with drawers all over their bodies, and elephants with long spindly spider-esque legs. One things for sure: Dali was absolutely insane.
As infamous as his melting clocks is Dali's moustache, and I couldn't help but buy a book aptly titled Dali's Mustache from the giftshop. As the back of the book reads WARNING! This book is preposterous! there wasn't any way I couldn't bring it home with me.
I also discovered that a photograph that I've always really liked was by Dali, as I had no idea who the person responsible was previously.
Then we took the metro to the Latin Quarter, and saw the gorgeous Notre Dame at night. Then we found a little Spanish-ish (Maybe it was Colombian?) restaurant for dinner, and wrapped up our visit with crepes and hot chocolate.
I didn't think I'd ever see Michael again unless I went to Copenhagen, or unless he came to Vancouver, so it's awesome that our paths crossed in Paris. He's a sweetheart and it was nice to have someone to explore the city with.
Yesterday I set off with the intentions of going up the Eiffel Tower. When I got to the tower, I was awestruck. It seems the closer you get to it, the more amazing it becomes. It's no surprise that it's huge, but after only ever seeing it on TV or in miniature form, seeing its actual size is incredible.
Also incredible? The lines. To buy tickets, to get to the stairs, to get to the elevator. They were insane. I was out of cash, and the ATMs under the tower didn't accept my card, so I admitted defeat for the day and set off for the Champs-Elysees instead. I checked online, and you can buy tickets to the tower for a specific time and day, so I'm definitely going to do that instead later this week.
The Champs-Elysees is a sight to see. It's loaded with flagship stores of the most expensive brands (Louis Vuitton, Chanel, Hermes, etc) and department-sized versions of stores we even have at home, like Sephora. (Interestingly, the Sephora store had a Mac counter within it. I previously thought they were competitors, but I guess not!). The stores are more like museums, with giant light displays, items hanging from the ceilings as though they are art and not for sale, and security guards everywhere ensuring you don't touch their precious goods.
I indulged in the only two things I could afford on Champs-Elysees: McDonalds and its free wifi. Post-Big Mac, I headed back to Sandy's for the night, as I was spent.
I am in Paris! And what was shaping to be a week of disaster (travel tip: do not save the most expensive part of your trip until the very end) has ended up being absolutely fantastic. So far anyway, and we'll cross our fingers it stays that way.
As I've been travelling in the off-season, I've had the luxury of leaving bookings til the last minute, sometimes booking stuff the day-of and still having all options available to me. But as it's now spring break season, which marks the beginning of high-season, things have changed.
Cue knight in shining armour to rescue damsel in distress! (Minus the romance.)
On Wednesday, back in Athens ("Back in Athens." How often do you get to say that?!), I met Sandy, who lives in Paris and was visiting Athens just for a handful of days during his holidays. On Thursday morning we went exploring around Athens before he had to leave for his plane, and he mentioned that if I had an trouble finding a hostel in Paris that I could crash at his place if need be. I thanked him for the offer, but didn't plan on taking him up on it as I didn't want to impose.
Later that afternoon I started planning my week in Paris, and was horrified to see that all of my top choices, and all of my second choices, and all of my last resorts were booked for Saturday night. Basically nothing near anything was available, and the hostels far away from everything with horrible ratings were still at least €25. After paying only €20/night for my super lovely, super equipped, super central hostel in Athens for which there was loads of availability, this made my heart sink.
I picked two nights in one room at St Christopher's Inn for Sunday and Monday, then a different room for Tuesday and Wednesday (I had to pick and choose to get the best rates. Not fun.), and made my reservation.
Then I fired off a Facebook message to Sandy asking him if I could take him up on his offer to crash at his apartment, as there wasn't anything reasonable available for Saturday night.
I posted my frustration on Facebook. Cue more heroes!
Mom says that she'll spring for a nice hotel for me for the weekend (Thanks mom!), Nicole finds a far-from-terrible offering on Hostelworld (when I looked they were full, so there must have been a cancellation), and Michael offers me a place to stay if I don't mind sharing a bed with him at Franck & Martine's place. (More about that later!)
If you want to feel loved, just make your status update that you're possibly homeless for a night.
Sandy gets back to me and tells me that I'm more than welcome. He even offers to meet me at the airport, which I assure him he doesn't need to do. He gives me directions to his place and I breathe a massive sigh of relief. I was joking that the worst case scenario* was me in my sleeping bag under the Eiffel Tower, and for a moment it seemed like that might actually be a reality.
*If the worst case scenario my life presents me is sleeping beneath the Eiffel Tower, I'll take it!
My last day in Athens was great. Mandy, who is from North Carolina but studying in Prague, and I spent the day touring the National Archaeological Museum, eating gelato, shopping for souvenirs and having an amazing Greek dinner. Then I was up dark and early at 5am on Saturday morning to head out for the airport, and Paris!
Michael, whom I met on the India/Nepal tour, and whom I spent the first two days of my trip travelling with as we were the first to arrive at the hotel in New Delhi, lives in Denmark. He was in Paris this weekend for a semi-business visit, and our timing just happened to work out perfectly that we could meet! He invited me to lunch at the apartment of his friends' on Sunday, with a plan to do a little exploring before and after.
The flight was fine, I slept much of the way as I was so tired from getting less than four hours of sleep. (Pesky takeoff interrupted my nap. Life is hard.) Then I collected my bags and set off for Sandy's.
The Paris metro system is INSANE! 14 lines, crisscrossing all over the city. Athens had three lines, and I thought it was huge. From Charles de Gaulle airport to Sandy's is a shuttle, a train, and then two metro lines. But I made it, and with no problems!
Sandy's best friend Emilie (who I might add is the most adorable thing ever) was over, and Sandy had cooked up some super delicious chicken and coconut rice. (Note to self: learn how to make coconut rice.) Later, Sandy and I are talking about my reservations for the week and he says that I'm more than welcome to stay the entire week, and that he likes having company.
So I can a) move my super heavy bags (you'd think I bought a chunk of marble column or something) to St Christopher's on Sunday night, sleep in one room for two nights, then switch rooms for another two nights, then move to wherever there's availability after that which might not even be in the same hostel, and be cranky every time I have to repack my bags.
Or I can b) cancel my reservations and stay at Sandy's all week, saving me at least €200 on accommodation, plus extra savings in not having to eat out every meal.
B it is! So now I've got the keys to an apartment in Paris for the week. Sandy also insisted I take his bedroom (I put up a big fight over this one but he's more stubborn than I am so he won) and he'd take the pullout couch in the living room so that he can stay up and watch TV or whatever, and he claims he sleeps in the living room all the time anyway. I feel like a jerk about it, but the last few nights have been the best sleep I've had this whole trip, so I won't complain too much.
Later on Saturday afternoon, Sandy, Emilie and I ventured out to meet up with their friend Sebastian, and we ran errands. I was careening my head every which way whenever we came out of the metro, because I had yet to see the Eiffel Tower or l'Arc de Triomphe, and I was hoping to spot them. (No dice.) Sandy and I parted ways with them later to meet up with Rashid and his super adorable four-year-old daughter Aida for Indian food. Then back to the apartment and I hit the hay.
Sunday morning I headed out to meet Michael. We'd planned to meet at Rue Mac Mahon, which is one of the streets branching out from the roundabout at l'Arc de Triomphe. As I came up the escalator out of the metro, there it was! I actually got a little teary when I saw it; all I could think was, "NOW I'm in Paris!"
Michael's been to Paris a handful of times before, but had never been to the top. We bought our tickets and began the 284 spiral steps to the top. The view was gorgeous! Despite it being overcast, it was an amazing view of the city. Then I turned around and saw...
the Eiffel Tower!!
Pretty cool that the first time I saw the Eiffel Tower was from atop l'Arc de Triomphe.
It is even more stunning in person. It's rivalled in height only by a couple of office towers, none of which are even in the same direction, so it stands tall and proud in the middle of Paris. I can't believe that it was originally only a temporary installation, but I can understand why its popularity made it a permanent fixture on the Paris horizon.
When we were done arcing, Micheal and I walked to the Eiffel Tower. He's been up it several times already and didn't want to go around, so we just wandered its vicinity before heading to Franck and Martine's.
Franck has been a business partner / friend of Michael's for seven or so years now, despite Franck being enough Michael's senior that he could have been his father. Franck and Martine live in the most beautiful apartment I've ever been in. The building was built around 1890, and the apartment has wood floors, a marble fireplace, and the most gorgeous mouldings I've ever seen. It's on the sixth floor of the building, which is the top floor, so the huge windows let in tonnes of light. They've kept much of the paint and furniture light or white, so the place feels airy. I loved it! Unfortunately, it's probably a few million out of my price range. Apartments like that don't come cheap.
They were the sweetest couple and made me feel so welcome. It's not often that you get to go to a city and see what a typical (well, this apartment probably isn't typical for the average Parisian, but you know what I mean) home is like. We had a very Parisian lunch, that began with pate, baguette and sausage in at the coffee table, and then we sat down for the main meal.
The main was roast chicken and the best French fries I've had in my life (or frites, if I want to be French about it). Martine is an excellent cook! Apparently, good fries are cooked more than once, with "rest" periods in between to let the oil drain off the fries. She used sea salt on them and they were delicious.
The second course is typically a salad or cheese, but we were spoiled with both. The man is supposed to turn the salad (the dressing sits in the bottom of the bowl), but Franck was spilling lettuce everywhere so Martine did it for him. The cheese was amazing; a super creamy brie that spilled out onto your plate as soon as you cut it, and a hard chevre (I thought chevre was only ever creamy, but I was wrong!). Then for dessert we had Martine's marvelous apple tart. I think I should pick up a French cookbook while I'm here, because the food was to die for.
Michael and I got to the apartment a little before 2, and lunch wasn't done until 3:40. They definitely take their time eating!
While Franck and Martine were incredibly lovely, I have to say my favourite character at their place was their dog Cookie, a Griffon. I fell in love with her (and she with me too, dare I say), and I had this cute brown head on my lap for much of my visit. She reminded me so much of Jack in appearance, but she didn't have any terrier in her. If all Griffons are as sweet and as cute as Cookie then I'd definitely consider adopting one one day. Love love love Cookie!
After our lovely lunch, Michael and I set off for the afternoon. We went to Montmarte and the Salvador Dali museum. Espace de Salvador Dali is pretty tiny by typical museum standards (and absolutely miniature compared to the Louvre), but it was still pretty interesting. The melting clocks are hands-down his most famous works, but I didn't know that he carried that and other themes into different styles of art, including lost-was sculptures. My favourite two pieces are ones that look like one thing on paper, but when viewed on a mirrored column they are something completely different. The first looked like abstract rocks on paper, but in the mirror it was s skull, and the second transformed from cute butterfly to creepy face.
Other recurring themes are women with drawers all over their bodies, and elephants with long spindly spider-esque legs. One things for sure: Dali was absolutely insane.
As infamous as his melting clocks is Dali's moustache, and I couldn't help but buy a book aptly titled Dali's Mustache from the giftshop. As the back of the book reads WARNING! This book is preposterous! there wasn't any way I couldn't bring it home with me.
I also discovered that a photograph that I've always really liked was by Dali, as I had no idea who the person responsible was previously.
Then we took the metro to the Latin Quarter, and saw the gorgeous Notre Dame at night. Then we found a little Spanish-ish (Maybe it was Colombian?) restaurant for dinner, and wrapped up our visit with crepes and hot chocolate.I didn't think I'd ever see Michael again unless I went to Copenhagen, or unless he came to Vancouver, so it's awesome that our paths crossed in Paris. He's a sweetheart and it was nice to have someone to explore the city with.
Yesterday I set off with the intentions of going up the Eiffel Tower. When I got to the tower, I was awestruck. It seems the closer you get to it, the more amazing it becomes. It's no surprise that it's huge, but after only ever seeing it on TV or in miniature form, seeing its actual size is incredible.
Also incredible? The lines. To buy tickets, to get to the stairs, to get to the elevator. They were insane. I was out of cash, and the ATMs under the tower didn't accept my card, so I admitted defeat for the day and set off for the Champs-Elysees instead. I checked online, and you can buy tickets to the tower for a specific time and day, so I'm definitely going to do that instead later this week.
The Champs-Elysees is a sight to see. It's loaded with flagship stores of the most expensive brands (Louis Vuitton, Chanel, Hermes, etc) and department-sized versions of stores we even have at home, like Sephora. (Interestingly, the Sephora store had a Mac counter within it. I previously thought they were competitors, but I guess not!). The stores are more like museums, with giant light displays, items hanging from the ceilings as though they are art and not for sale, and security guards everywhere ensuring you don't touch their precious goods.
I indulged in the only two things I could afford on Champs-Elysees: McDonalds and its free wifi. Post-Big Mac, I headed back to Sandy's for the night, as I was spent.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Back to Athens... again!
I'm killing time before getting shuttled out to the local bus station, to catch a bus from Sinarades to Corfu Town, so I can catch the overnight bus to Athens. It'll be another long night, as I did the same trek last Wednesday and I know just how exhausting it is, and I'm already regretting the four cups of black tea I downed at breakfast, as they're sure to keep me up all night. It's been an interesting few days, but nothing worth writing tonnes about. (Cliff's notes: lots of drinking.)
The Pink Palace has been an utter disappointment. I knew this would be a slower time of year than the summer, but I didn't think that when I checked in that I'd be the only guest in the entire hotel. They have beds for over 800, and in the summer it gets full. Athens had been quiet up until the last week, as spring breaks have begun to kick in, and the US students doing their years abroad in Italy have come to Greece for a week.
Few guests is fine, but there is basically nothing to do here. It's too cold to swim or tan (that didn't stop us from trying anyway though!), and none of the activities (quad safaris, cliff jumping, booze cruise, toga parties, island bus tours, etc) are running. They've even closed the Jacuzzi down for the winter, which is utter bullshit. If you're going to advertise it on Hostelworld, then leave it open all year round. Especially in the winter, when the only warm place to be is indoors.
Oh, and said Jacuzzi? Opens TOMORROW. Not impressed.
We made the best of it though, and for two nights the six of us still had a good time. V (short for Visilika), Sam and Meg from the US but studying in Florence were here for their vacation. They were trying to get to Albania, but crappy weather and a government strike kept them here an extra two nights. While it thwarted their vacation plans, it worked in my favour. There was also Meghan and Melissa, studying in Florence and Dublin respectively, and the six of us were a perfect match for the six stools at the bar.
And then, when the girls finally got to Albania, there were three. Half the hotel's guests gone, in just one ferry departure.
Megan and Melissa and I ventured into Corfu Town and explored one of two two fortresses (or fortri, as we deemed them), and again made the most of an otherwise less-than-stellar situation.
I've been here five nights now though, and I'm eager to get away from it. While I think that the Palace could be an amazing time in the summer, when they're rocking a full house, it's a waste of time in the winter. And what's worse is that the staff and owners don't seem to care that the guests are bored out of their minds.
I'll probably never be back to the Pink Palace, as I doubt I'll be returning to Greece anytime soon, and by the time I do I'll have outgrown the raucous partying phase of my life (that I can already feel myself growing out of).
I feel like this is my last chance to really be irresponsible, to blame my youth for my indiscretions, to get drunk and dance on a table and yell Woooo!! without having others (or myself) think that I'm too old for it. It's sad, because it was one of the things I was most looking forward to this trip, or at least in Greece anyway. And Greece in general has been a bit of a disappointment, primarily because of my timing, and I was hoping this would be a slice of redemption.
I'm going home to a daunting list of tasks: looking for employment, (finally) moving out of mom and dad's, and starting to think about scary long-term things, like figuring out where I want to live and buying a house there. I turn 25 in only a few months, and 25 seems so... adult. Halfway to thirty means I actually have to get my shit together. I was hoping the Palace would act as a farewell of sorts to the youthful freedom that I have to reluctantly say goodbye to too soon.
I still have a few good memories coming out of here though, so it's not a complete bust, but it's not at all what I expected. I guess I just need to lower my expectations here on out!
The Pink Palace has been an utter disappointment. I knew this would be a slower time of year than the summer, but I didn't think that when I checked in that I'd be the only guest in the entire hotel. They have beds for over 800, and in the summer it gets full. Athens had been quiet up until the last week, as spring breaks have begun to kick in, and the US students doing their years abroad in Italy have come to Greece for a week.
Few guests is fine, but there is basically nothing to do here. It's too cold to swim or tan (that didn't stop us from trying anyway though!), and none of the activities (quad safaris, cliff jumping, booze cruise, toga parties, island bus tours, etc) are running. They've even closed the Jacuzzi down for the winter, which is utter bullshit. If you're going to advertise it on Hostelworld, then leave it open all year round. Especially in the winter, when the only warm place to be is indoors.
Oh, and said Jacuzzi? Opens TOMORROW. Not impressed.
We made the best of it though, and for two nights the six of us still had a good time. V (short for Visilika), Sam and Meg from the US but studying in Florence were here for their vacation. They were trying to get to Albania, but crappy weather and a government strike kept them here an extra two nights. While it thwarted their vacation plans, it worked in my favour. There was also Meghan and Melissa, studying in Florence and Dublin respectively, and the six of us were a perfect match for the six stools at the bar.
And then, when the girls finally got to Albania, there were three. Half the hotel's guests gone, in just one ferry departure.
Megan and Melissa and I ventured into Corfu Town and explored one of two two fortresses (or fortri, as we deemed them), and again made the most of an otherwise less-than-stellar situation.
I've been here five nights now though, and I'm eager to get away from it. While I think that the Palace could be an amazing time in the summer, when they're rocking a full house, it's a waste of time in the winter. And what's worse is that the staff and owners don't seem to care that the guests are bored out of their minds.
I'll probably never be back to the Pink Palace, as I doubt I'll be returning to Greece anytime soon, and by the time I do I'll have outgrown the raucous partying phase of my life (that I can already feel myself growing out of).
I feel like this is my last chance to really be irresponsible, to blame my youth for my indiscretions, to get drunk and dance on a table and yell Woooo!! without having others (or myself) think that I'm too old for it. It's sad, because it was one of the things I was most looking forward to this trip, or at least in Greece anyway. And Greece in general has been a bit of a disappointment, primarily because of my timing, and I was hoping this would be a slice of redemption.
I'm going home to a daunting list of tasks: looking for employment, (finally) moving out of mom and dad's, and starting to think about scary long-term things, like figuring out where I want to live and buying a house there. I turn 25 in only a few months, and 25 seems so... adult. Halfway to thirty means I actually have to get my shit together. I was hoping the Palace would act as a farewell of sorts to the youthful freedom that I have to reluctantly say goodbye to too soon.
I still have a few good memories coming out of here though, so it's not a complete bust, but it's not at all what I expected. I guess I just need to lower my expectations here on out!
Friday, March 5, 2010
Back in Athens!
And I couldn't be happier about it. I was so done with Santorini a few days ago, but due to ridiculous ferry scheduling I wasn't able to escape until last night. Athens definitely feels like my home base for this trip, or at least the Greece part, and it's nice to know that as soon as I get back here there's an awesome place to stay (Athens Backpackers - highly recommend!).
Despite Santorini being home to 13,000+ people, I managed to get a clinger that would not leave me alone. He was harmless enough, but wouldn't get the hint until I snapped at him last night, telling him to stop following me around. It was frustrating because he was preventing me from striking up conversation with any of the other locals, and I'm sad to say that a good chunk of the last couple of days was spent being a recluse. Between Santorini's cold, windy weather, and the stupid desperate clinger that wouldn't take a hint even when I was blatantly ignoring him, I had few reasons to venture out. Factor in how expensive everything was (€3.50 for tea. TEA!) and I was perfectly content with laying low and eating cheap food.
This won't come as news to anyone, but holy wow Greece is expensive. €20/night for a hostel seems like a perfectly good deal, except that my budget is only about €65/day, and I'd like it to be even lower than that. Groceries for lunch, dinner out, and a drink during the evening add up quickly. Toss in a metro fare, a load of laundry and a bottle of water and that €65 is all but maxed out. I wish more of the hostels had kitchen facilities, because paying €11 for a chicken souvlaki dinner gets tiring. I miss cooking for myself!
I've managed to save on accommodation by taking ferries at night twice so far, and I plan to do the same with the bus to/from Corfu, if everything works out. At €46 for the bus and ferry to get there, I definitely do not want to add a stay in a hostel on top.
And that's the end of me ranting about how expensive everything is!
In other news, it sounds like the package I mailed home from Athens made it in its entirety to home! This is exciting for several reasons, the first being that the two bottles of amazing perfume oil that I picked up in Egypt have not broken! They were packed up pretty snuggly but still, I was concerned.
It also means that I've successfully imported contraband into Canada! In the package were two camel puffs (Coley will know exactly what I'm talking about), and when I mailed it off the woman at the post office looked up what Canada allows and doesn't allow, and for some reason leather was on the not allowed list. I figured I had no choice but to try my luck, as the worst case scenario was they'd confiscate it. I was not about to continue packing them around.
I also mailed home a bag of coral. Coral is so confusing; it's supposedly not allowed, as it's protected and yadda yadda yadda, but it washes up on shores everywhere. I can understand not allowing people to go and harvest it, but if dead coral shows up on a beach? I don't see the harm in taking it home.
When I went to board the plane from Cairo to Athens, I had the coral in my carry-on. When my bag when through the scanner, the security guard flagged it and tried telling me, in very broken English, that it wasn't allowed. It seemed as though he was pointing to one specific colour of coral too. Then? He waved me through with it anyway.
It's not the first time I've been allowed on a plane with contraband.
I'm happy to say that's the last package I'll be mailing home this trip. Mainly because I have very little money to spend on souvenirs here on out (which I'm fine with; it was India that I primarily wanted to stock up on treasures from), and because I can manage carrying an extra bag if it comes down to it. There were so many things I wish I could have bought, as they were dirt cheap, but they were heavy and wouldn't have been worth it to ship home. Oh well!
The next time I travel I'm going to hire a shipping container.
Despite Santorini being home to 13,000+ people, I managed to get a clinger that would not leave me alone. He was harmless enough, but wouldn't get the hint until I snapped at him last night, telling him to stop following me around. It was frustrating because he was preventing me from striking up conversation with any of the other locals, and I'm sad to say that a good chunk of the last couple of days was spent being a recluse. Between Santorini's cold, windy weather, and the stupid desperate clinger that wouldn't take a hint even when I was blatantly ignoring him, I had few reasons to venture out. Factor in how expensive everything was (€3.50 for tea. TEA!) and I was perfectly content with laying low and eating cheap food.
This won't come as news to anyone, but holy wow Greece is expensive. €20/night for a hostel seems like a perfectly good deal, except that my budget is only about €65/day, and I'd like it to be even lower than that. Groceries for lunch, dinner out, and a drink during the evening add up quickly. Toss in a metro fare, a load of laundry and a bottle of water and that €65 is all but maxed out. I wish more of the hostels had kitchen facilities, because paying €11 for a chicken souvlaki dinner gets tiring. I miss cooking for myself!
I've managed to save on accommodation by taking ferries at night twice so far, and I plan to do the same with the bus to/from Corfu, if everything works out. At €46 for the bus and ferry to get there, I definitely do not want to add a stay in a hostel on top.
And that's the end of me ranting about how expensive everything is!
In other news, it sounds like the package I mailed home from Athens made it in its entirety to home! This is exciting for several reasons, the first being that the two bottles of amazing perfume oil that I picked up in Egypt have not broken! They were packed up pretty snuggly but still, I was concerned.
It also means that I've successfully imported contraband into Canada! In the package were two camel puffs (Coley will know exactly what I'm talking about), and when I mailed it off the woman at the post office looked up what Canada allows and doesn't allow, and for some reason leather was on the not allowed list. I figured I had no choice but to try my luck, as the worst case scenario was they'd confiscate it. I was not about to continue packing them around.
I also mailed home a bag of coral. Coral is so confusing; it's supposedly not allowed, as it's protected and yadda yadda yadda, but it washes up on shores everywhere. I can understand not allowing people to go and harvest it, but if dead coral shows up on a beach? I don't see the harm in taking it home.
When I went to board the plane from Cairo to Athens, I had the coral in my carry-on. When my bag when through the scanner, the security guard flagged it and tried telling me, in very broken English, that it wasn't allowed. It seemed as though he was pointing to one specific colour of coral too. Then? He waved me through with it anyway.
It's not the first time I've been allowed on a plane with contraband.
I'm happy to say that's the last package I'll be mailing home this trip. Mainly because I have very little money to spend on souvenirs here on out (which I'm fine with; it was India that I primarily wanted to stock up on treasures from), and because I can manage carrying an extra bag if it comes down to it. There were so many things I wish I could have bought, as they were dirt cheap, but they were heavy and wouldn't have been worth it to ship home. Oh well!
The next time I travel I'm going to hire a shipping container.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Only in India.
I forgot to include a funny moment that happened during the tour in India, and as I don’t know which day it happened on, I’ll just write about it now.
We were waiting in the train station for our train, and we had yet to witness the chaos that is the Indians boarding trains. Train doors typically don’t close, so people are boarding and disembarking long before the train comes to a complete stop. Seats are few, so there’s a mad scramble to get to them before everyone else, and it was typically the younger men without loads of stuff that managed to get seats. (Don’t give them to the tired old women carrying gargantuan packs and baskets atop their heads or anything. May the best man win!) Chaos is in full swing with the train still rolling along at a dangerous pace, and within moments the emergency windows are also open and being used as doors. People are fighting and pushing at the doors to get on, with people on the train fighting and pushing to get off the train.
Unlike at home, where we (mostly) understand that to make room for new people on the train, you must first let the old passengers off. In India, there’s no time for logic or manners! And I can’t really blame them; the trains will often leave before their scheduled departure time, and without any warning. But still, it’s a sight to see.
And then, in the midst of all this madness, what happens?
A cow walks by.
In the middle of a train station, among the hysterical passengers scrambling to get on the train. Slowly lumbering by, looking for food, ignoring the madness that surrounded it.
Only in India.
We were waiting in the train station for our train, and we had yet to witness the chaos that is the Indians boarding trains. Train doors typically don’t close, so people are boarding and disembarking long before the train comes to a complete stop. Seats are few, so there’s a mad scramble to get to them before everyone else, and it was typically the younger men without loads of stuff that managed to get seats. (Don’t give them to the tired old women carrying gargantuan packs and baskets atop their heads or anything. May the best man win!) Chaos is in full swing with the train still rolling along at a dangerous pace, and within moments the emergency windows are also open and being used as doors. People are fighting and pushing at the doors to get on, with people on the train fighting and pushing to get off the train.
Unlike at home, where we (mostly) understand that to make room for new people on the train, you must first let the old passengers off. In India, there’s no time for logic or manners! And I can’t really blame them; the trains will often leave before their scheduled departure time, and without any warning. But still, it’s a sight to see.
And then, in the midst of all this madness, what happens?
A cow walks by.
In the middle of a train station, among the hysterical passengers scrambling to get on the train. Slowly lumbering by, looking for food, ignoring the madness that surrounded it.
Only in India.
Kicking ass and taking names. Or getting refunds. Whichever really.
I’m not the kind of girl you tell “no refunds” to. Not when the ticket I’ve paid €32 for doesn’t say “no refunds” on it. And not when I wasn’t warned before buying it that refunds aren’t an option. And not when I’ve previously had a ticket refunded for another ferry. And especially not when I wasn’t warned that the ferry I was buying a ticket for was running late. So you can take your “no refunds” and shove it.
I was planning on boarding the 3:30pm ferry from Santorini to Piraeus, which, had it been on time, should have got me into port at around 11:25pm. This was cutting it close, as I knew the metro would probably stop running around midnight, but I figured even if I got halfway to Athens I could bus it the rest of the way, or worst case scenario, take a taxi the remaining distance. A taxi from right from port into Athens would have cost way way too much for my traveller’s budget though.
So cut to 3:30pm, when the ferry should be leaving but has yet to even get into port. I check the schedule, and there are two options for tomorrow. I go back to the Blue Star Ferry ticket office and ask to change my ticket.
The guy snickers and then tells me it’s impossible.
I let him know how I feel about this.
Long story short, a different employee cuts in, probably fearful that his coworker was about to lose his head, and calls the head office. He tries telling me that they never ever give refunds, but he’ll look into it anyway. I tell him I don’t even need a refund, just a change of date, and eventually he makes it happen.
Meanwhile, I’m reading the posted information about passengers’ rights when sailing with Blue Star, and it specifically says that passengers are entitled to compensation in case of delayed or cancelled ferries.
On my way out I tell Helpful Guy that he’s much nicer than his coworker. In earshot of the coworker. Coworker looks hurt and I tell him on my way out “Yes, I’m talking about you. You’re not very nice.” Because when Canadian girls don’t like you, they let you know.
Stavros, the owner of the hotel who drove me to port, laughed and told me that they don’t care if the ferry is on time or not, all they care about is getting their money.
Thanks a lot, Greece. Jerks.
Anywho, I’m now signed up for the 12:40am ferry tomorrow night/Saturday morning. It’s a superfast ferry too, so I’ll be into Athens at the lovely time of… 5:40am. Gross. And Stavros has been super awesome about it; for only €25 I can have the room until I leave tomorrow night. I’ve otherwise been paying €19.50/night, so an extra €5.50 to stay an extra 12 hours is a pretty good bargain. And he’ll drive me back to port tomorrow night. Perfect! Well, as perfect as staying in Santorini another night could be.
This trip has exaggerated two things about me: 1, I’m way more calm and laid back than I was before I left, and I hope I continue to be this way because it’s nice being so relaxed and 2, but when shit needs to be taken care of, shit gets taken care of.
I should have been a lawyer.
I was planning on boarding the 3:30pm ferry from Santorini to Piraeus, which, had it been on time, should have got me into port at around 11:25pm. This was cutting it close, as I knew the metro would probably stop running around midnight, but I figured even if I got halfway to Athens I could bus it the rest of the way, or worst case scenario, take a taxi the remaining distance. A taxi from right from port into Athens would have cost way way too much for my traveller’s budget though.
So cut to 3:30pm, when the ferry should be leaving but has yet to even get into port. I check the schedule, and there are two options for tomorrow. I go back to the Blue Star Ferry ticket office and ask to change my ticket.
The guy snickers and then tells me it’s impossible.
I let him know how I feel about this.
Long story short, a different employee cuts in, probably fearful that his coworker was about to lose his head, and calls the head office. He tries telling me that they never ever give refunds, but he’ll look into it anyway. I tell him I don’t even need a refund, just a change of date, and eventually he makes it happen.
Meanwhile, I’m reading the posted information about passengers’ rights when sailing with Blue Star, and it specifically says that passengers are entitled to compensation in case of delayed or cancelled ferries.
On my way out I tell Helpful Guy that he’s much nicer than his coworker. In earshot of the coworker. Coworker looks hurt and I tell him on my way out “Yes, I’m talking about you. You’re not very nice.” Because when Canadian girls don’t like you, they let you know.
Stavros, the owner of the hotel who drove me to port, laughed and told me that they don’t care if the ferry is on time or not, all they care about is getting their money.
Thanks a lot, Greece. Jerks.
Anywho, I’m now signed up for the 12:40am ferry tomorrow night/Saturday morning. It’s a superfast ferry too, so I’ll be into Athens at the lovely time of… 5:40am. Gross. And Stavros has been super awesome about it; for only €25 I can have the room until I leave tomorrow night. I’ve otherwise been paying €19.50/night, so an extra €5.50 to stay an extra 12 hours is a pretty good bargain. And he’ll drive me back to port tomorrow night. Perfect! Well, as perfect as staying in Santorini another night could be.
This trip has exaggerated two things about me: 1, I’m way more calm and laid back than I was before I left, and I hope I continue to be this way because it’s nice being so relaxed and 2, but when shit needs to be taken care of, shit gets taken care of.
I should have been a lawyer.
What to pack!
What you should pack on a trip if you are exactly like me. I’ve been keeping track of what’s been useful and what’s been useless so that when I venture off again I’m better prepared, but I figured I may as well post this so that others can possibly learn from my mistakes and wins.
Or I’m bored with talking about my day-to-day adventures and I’m opting to post this instead.
All of this advice is given on the basis that the trip will:
-be longer than two weeks
-involve varying methods of transportation, like ferries and trains
-involve stays at multiple places, with varying levels of accommodation (hostels, hotels, B&Bs, etc)
-not be somewhere tropical. Packing for somewhere tropical is basically “Fill suitcase with bikinis. Board plane.”
Packing tips:
This one was courtesy of Ella, and it’s been great. Pack your clothes in ziplock freezer bags, and sit on them to squish all the air out. It keeps everything small and separate, and makes packing super easy.
Extend that to everything else you can. Makeup cases are too bulky, so leave the case at home and use just a freezer bag. Use another for all the little things that will clutter up your pack (first aid kit, wet wipes, hand sani, etc).
Things that you won’t think you’ll need that you’ll be eternally grateful to have when you need them:
Sleeping bag.
I bought mine in Nepal thinking that I’d have to use it for two nights on a felucca sailboat in Egypt. Turns out I had confused the trip I opted against with the one I opted for and didn't officially need it, but this mistake turned out to be great. I’ve used it multiple times and I’d never take a similar trip without one now. But I’d be smart and buy one at home that’s much better quality (and much smaller in size) than the North Face knockoff I picked up in Kathmandu.
And sleeping bags protect you from cockroaches.
Slippers/warm cozy socks.
Hotel floors are often cold. Freezing cold. Freeeeeeezing cold.
Jewelry.
People recommend not wearing any jewelry when you travel. DON’T HEED THIS ADVICE. If you regularly wear jewelry at home, you will feel naked on your trip. Feeling naked is weird, and it also causes little miniature panic attacks of "omg where's my ring I don't know where my ring is why is my finger naked oh god oh god... oh right it's in Canada PHEW"
Obviously if you’re normally dripping with diamonds you’ll look like an asshole if you’re wandering the slums of India, but if you regularly wear a necklace, earrings and a ring, bring those items, or at least travel-appropriate versions.
I didn’t bring any of the jewelry I normally wear, save for two rings, for fear of pickpocketers ripping it off me. (Someone told me that in India, people will rip necklaces right off you. While I’m sure this has happened to someone at some point in time, I saw nothing that even hinted at this happening regularly enough to warrant not wearing a necklace.)
I’m using my jewelry-nakedness as an excuse for why I’ve bought so much silver on this trip.
Clothes that you normally wear.
This may seem obvious to some/all/everyone but me, but as soon as you start to shop for the trip you’re drawn to polyester quick-dry everything, which is foolish.
You’ll feel like a scrub. And if TLC taught me anything, it’s that no, we don’t want no scrubs. Scrubs get no love.
If you’re going into the jungle and actually need quick-dry stuff, then fine. But if you’re mostly just going city to city, in mostly dry environments, you’ll want all your regular clothes. You’ll be washing them at laundromats anyway, so you needn’t worry about their quickdryness, as it’s a moot point.
Clothes that you normally wear should also include one dressy outfit. I didn't bring anything suitable for a nice night out, and I regret it. Even if it's just a pretty tank and cute flats, do it.
Cutlery.
I made the stupid decision to toss my spork in the package I mailed home from Athens, thinking I wouldn’t need it. Bad idea, especially since it was so tiny and weighs nearly nothing. I still have my Swiss Army knife, so I can do fun things like cut fruits and veggies, but it’s no good for eating yogurt.
So now I’m on a mission to steal a spoon and fork at the next opportunity. International fugitive status, here I come!
Swiss Army knife.
You may not need it often, but when you do, it’s a lifesaver. Get one with scissors and a serrated blade and a sunglass screw screwdriver, and remember to put it back in your checked luggage when trying to board a plane. Oops.
A computer.
My netbook is the best $300 I spent in prep for this trip. If I were going somewhere for only a couple of weeks, I wouldn’t have bothered. But on a long trip where free wifi is readily available, it’s probably half paid for itself in money I would have spent at internet cafes and in the convenience. Plus, it’s little enough that it fits in my purse. Or rather, my purse is huge enough that it can house a netbook. Look at that however you want.
[Post-trip update: it's more than paid for itself in internet cafe savings, and was a lifesaver when I lost my camera as I didn't lose any pictures]
Speaking of purses...
A purse.
I got the bright idea that I could travel without one. I can't, and as a result I bought three on my trip. As practical as a daypack is, sometimes you won't want to look like a tourist (and a backpack looks ridiculous at dinner). Get a big one with lots of internal pockets, and make sure the whole shebang zips up to keep it pickpocket proof.
Lots of extra ziplock bags, in big and little sizes.
If you’re heeding my packing tip, you’ll wear out the bags and need new ones when they get holes.
Ziplock bags are also supremely useful when stealing food from the breakfast buffet. Trust me, you will do it. You are not better than a squished croissant and warm cheese for lunch.
Divacup.
If you are pre-menopausal and have a vagina, you need to go buy this right now. You're welcome.
Other stuff:
-a spare travel lock in case one goes missing (which they can and will)
-a microfiber travel towel (try brand Adventure Towl)
-diarrhoea meds like Immodium (you will get sick and need this)
-yeast infection meds (haven't needed this, and knock on wood I won't, but I'm grateful to have it just in case)
-any other meds you might occasionally need at home (e.g. sinus congestion meds)
-a compass
Other travel tips:
Budget money to mail stuff home.
You will buy stuff. Even if you don’t buy much, you’ll hate packing it around. Two more pounds of stuff doesn’t sound like much until you’re wearing it on your back for an hour hunting for a hotel at night.
A five kilo package from Mumbai to home cost about $70 to ship. It was more (60 Euros I think) to mail a 7kg package from Athens to home. So, not cheap. But worth every penny when you’re suddenly not carrying an extra ten pounds around.
Keep in mind that you’ll sometimes carry around all your luggage plus another four or five pounds (or more) of stuff. You’ll buy stuff along the way, you’ll sometimes have groceries, and you’ll almost always have a litre-plus bottle of water to tote around.
Things that MEC/similar stores sell that look like great ideas but are actually pretty pointless on a typical backpacking journey:
Dry bag.
If you want to carry around a half pound roll of vinyl that isn't even completely waterproof if it gets submerged, hey, be my guest. I saw no use for it.
Freshette / similar "outdoor plumbing" for women.
While great in theory, putting it into practice proved pathetic. I may try it again for camping/snowshoeing, but it wasn't the lifesaver I expected it to be.
Hangin out the passenger side, of his best friend’s ride…
Or I’m bored with talking about my day-to-day adventures and I’m opting to post this instead.
All of this advice is given on the basis that the trip will:
-be longer than two weeks
-involve varying methods of transportation, like ferries and trains
-involve stays at multiple places, with varying levels of accommodation (hostels, hotels, B&Bs, etc)
-not be somewhere tropical. Packing for somewhere tropical is basically “Fill suitcase with bikinis. Board plane.”
Packing tips:
This one was courtesy of Ella, and it’s been great. Pack your clothes in ziplock freezer bags, and sit on them to squish all the air out. It keeps everything small and separate, and makes packing super easy.
Extend that to everything else you can. Makeup cases are too bulky, so leave the case at home and use just a freezer bag. Use another for all the little things that will clutter up your pack (first aid kit, wet wipes, hand sani, etc).
Things that you won’t think you’ll need that you’ll be eternally grateful to have when you need them:
Sleeping bag.
I bought mine in Nepal thinking that I’d have to use it for two nights on a felucca sailboat in Egypt. Turns out I had confused the trip I opted against with the one I opted for and didn't officially need it, but this mistake turned out to be great. I’ve used it multiple times and I’d never take a similar trip without one now. But I’d be smart and buy one at home that’s much better quality (and much smaller in size) than the North Face knockoff I picked up in Kathmandu.
And sleeping bags protect you from cockroaches.
Slippers/warm cozy socks.
Hotel floors are often cold. Freezing cold. Freeeeeeezing cold.
Jewelry.
People recommend not wearing any jewelry when you travel. DON’T HEED THIS ADVICE. If you regularly wear jewelry at home, you will feel naked on your trip. Feeling naked is weird, and it also causes little miniature panic attacks of "omg where's my ring I don't know where my ring is why is my finger naked oh god oh god... oh right it's in Canada PHEW"
Obviously if you’re normally dripping with diamonds you’ll look like an asshole if you’re wandering the slums of India, but if you regularly wear a necklace, earrings and a ring, bring those items, or at least travel-appropriate versions.
I didn’t bring any of the jewelry I normally wear, save for two rings, for fear of pickpocketers ripping it off me. (Someone told me that in India, people will rip necklaces right off you. While I’m sure this has happened to someone at some point in time, I saw nothing that even hinted at this happening regularly enough to warrant not wearing a necklace.)
I’m using my jewelry-nakedness as an excuse for why I’ve bought so much silver on this trip.
Clothes that you normally wear.
This may seem obvious to some/all/everyone but me, but as soon as you start to shop for the trip you’re drawn to polyester quick-dry everything, which is foolish.
You’ll feel like a scrub. And if TLC taught me anything, it’s that no, we don’t want no scrubs. Scrubs get no love.
If you’re going into the jungle and actually need quick-dry stuff, then fine. But if you’re mostly just going city to city, in mostly dry environments, you’ll want all your regular clothes. You’ll be washing them at laundromats anyway, so you needn’t worry about their quickdryness, as it’s a moot point.
Clothes that you normally wear should also include one dressy outfit. I didn't bring anything suitable for a nice night out, and I regret it. Even if it's just a pretty tank and cute flats, do it.
Cutlery.
I made the stupid decision to toss my spork in the package I mailed home from Athens, thinking I wouldn’t need it. Bad idea, especially since it was so tiny and weighs nearly nothing. I still have my Swiss Army knife, so I can do fun things like cut fruits and veggies, but it’s no good for eating yogurt.
So now I’m on a mission to steal a spoon and fork at the next opportunity. International fugitive status, here I come!
Swiss Army knife.
You may not need it often, but when you do, it’s a lifesaver. Get one with scissors and a serrated blade and a sunglass screw screwdriver, and remember to put it back in your checked luggage when trying to board a plane. Oops.
A computer.
My netbook is the best $300 I spent in prep for this trip. If I were going somewhere for only a couple of weeks, I wouldn’t have bothered. But on a long trip where free wifi is readily available, it’s probably half paid for itself in money I would have spent at internet cafes and in the convenience. Plus, it’s little enough that it fits in my purse. Or rather, my purse is huge enough that it can house a netbook. Look at that however you want.
[Post-trip update: it's more than paid for itself in internet cafe savings, and was a lifesaver when I lost my camera as I didn't lose any pictures]
Speaking of purses...
A purse.
I got the bright idea that I could travel without one. I can't, and as a result I bought three on my trip. As practical as a daypack is, sometimes you won't want to look like a tourist (and a backpack looks ridiculous at dinner). Get a big one with lots of internal pockets, and make sure the whole shebang zips up to keep it pickpocket proof.
Lots of extra ziplock bags, in big and little sizes.
If you’re heeding my packing tip, you’ll wear out the bags and need new ones when they get holes.
Ziplock bags are also supremely useful when stealing food from the breakfast buffet. Trust me, you will do it. You are not better than a squished croissant and warm cheese for lunch.
Divacup.
If you are pre-menopausal and have a vagina, you need to go buy this right now. You're welcome.
Other stuff:
-a spare travel lock in case one goes missing (which they can and will)
-a microfiber travel towel (try brand Adventure Towl)
-diarrhoea meds like Immodium (you will get sick and need this)
-yeast infection meds (haven't needed this, and knock on wood I won't, but I'm grateful to have it just in case)
-any other meds you might occasionally need at home (e.g. sinus congestion meds)
-a compass
Other travel tips:
Budget money to mail stuff home.
You will buy stuff. Even if you don’t buy much, you’ll hate packing it around. Two more pounds of stuff doesn’t sound like much until you’re wearing it on your back for an hour hunting for a hotel at night.
A five kilo package from Mumbai to home cost about $70 to ship. It was more (60 Euros I think) to mail a 7kg package from Athens to home. So, not cheap. But worth every penny when you’re suddenly not carrying an extra ten pounds around.
Keep in mind that you’ll sometimes carry around all your luggage plus another four or five pounds (or more) of stuff. You’ll buy stuff along the way, you’ll sometimes have groceries, and you’ll almost always have a litre-plus bottle of water to tote around.
Things that MEC/similar stores sell that look like great ideas but are actually pretty pointless on a typical backpacking journey:
Dry bag.
If you want to carry around a half pound roll of vinyl that isn't even completely waterproof if it gets submerged, hey, be my guest. I saw no use for it.
Freshette / similar "outdoor plumbing" for women.
While great in theory, putting it into practice proved pathetic. I may try it again for camping/snowshoeing, but it wasn't the lifesaver I expected it to be.
Hangin out the passenger side, of his best friend’s ride…
Monday, March 1, 2010
More homesickness. But this time, the regular kind.
It’s ok, it’s not as bad as the title makes it out to be. I just think I’d trade this lonely hotel room in Iraklio for some home time right now. And I know that in a couple of days I’ll be back to living it up abroad, but for now I’m going to be a little homesick. And I’m ok with that.
Yesterday was quite possibly the hardest day of my life. Looking at it now, I’m pretty happy that I’ve never had to deal with worse, as everything turned out to be ok. I set off from the hostel in Rethymno just after 10 to catch the bus to Iraklio, where I planned on visiting Knossos. Mom gave me her iPod Touch before I left, and on it I’ve got my Twitter stream. There isn’t any wifi at the bus station, but I had a glance at the cached stream as I boarded the bus and I saw something that made my heart skip a beat.
SamirInVancity: Huge earthquake in Chile. Trying to look up more info.
Mom and dad are in Chile. I immediately think the worst. But the bus is leaving, and I don’t what to do, so I sit frozen in my seat as it departs. It’s an hour and a half to Rethymno, but it felt like an eternity. I’m going back and forth between calm and cool and collected, and choking on tears. Finally we get to the bus station and I get an internet connection. No messages from mom or dad or Will, but there’s plenty about it in the news.
8.8 magnitude on the Richter scale.
That is unbelievable.
Some people don’t know how the Richter scale works, so here’s some background:
Each point on the scale (e.g. 4.0 or 5.0 or 6.0) is TEN TIMES more powerful than the point before. So imagine that in miles: if a 7.0 were worth 70 miles an hour, an 8.0 would be 700mph. You go from average highway speeds to NEARLY BREAKING THE SOUND BARRIER in just a single point.
That’s why lots of 4 and 5 Richter quakes are reported with minimal to no damage, and sometimes no one even feels them. Get to a 6 or a 7 and you start to hear horror stories about bridges collapsing, buildings toppling over, and ridiculous tsunamis. And people dying.
8.8.
I get my shit together enough to convey to the poor woman working at the kiosk that I’d like a phone card. I call mom’s cell. Voicemail. Dad’s cell. Voicemail. It’s around 7am in Santiago at this point, so I somehow interpret this to mean it’s 7am in Vancouver. It was actually 2am. Oops. Call the house. No answer. Call Will’s cell. No answer. Leave a myriad of teary desperate voicemails asking everyone to email me as soon as they hear anything.
So now it’s noon and I’m standing in a parking lot freaking out. I obviously can’t go look at old shit for two hours so I reluctantly board the return bus to Rethymno. The iPod’s running out of juice and I know it might be hours/days until I hear something from mom and dad. Cue another 1.5 hour sobbing bus ride.
The next ten+ hours are me keeping vigil at my computer in the hostel, religiously refreshing my email in the hopes that there is news. I venture out a few times to try making calls but still no answer all around. Finally I get to talk to Will, who sounds as concerned as I am but did a wonderful job of calming me down a bit. He promises to email me as soon as he hears anything (as there’s no phone to call me at), and I reluctantly hang up.
The hostel managers, Ivan and Elena, were so sweet in trying to calm my nerves, and they invited me to a second dinner. (Seriously, best value hostel ever! 10 Euros a night and twice they fed me amazing dinners that would have cost at least that much had I eaten at a restaurant instead.) Afterwards, it’s tea and chocolate and more constant refreshing. I’m also worsening my worst fears by reading all the news, watching the death toll rise, and looking at all the pictures. Not the best situation to be in.
After dinner I hear from Hilary, and her and auntie Dar are on the case.
[I wisely stopped writing at this point to venture out of the lonely hotel room to find a bar that would air the gold medal men’s hockey game, and the rest of the night was spent drinking and cheering with my six Greek husbands – more about that later. I’m now wrapping this up the next day, Monday, in Santorini.]
Sometime around midnight I see the Best News Ever on Facebook. Mom posted:
We r on way to Lima. Whole of Chile shut down.
So after crying all day out of worry, I’m now bawling my eyes out, this time out of relief. The whole ordeal made me realize just how much I love and admire and adore my parents, and that I’m not going to be ready to say goodbye to them for at least another hundred and fifty years or so.
I finally get to bed well after 1am after 14 of the most emotionally exhaustive hours of my life. I felt like I had run a marathon, or at least I guess that’s a comparable feeling, as I will never be foolish enough to run one.
I probably should have slept all day after all that emotional turmoil, but I was up at 8 to shower, pack and head to the bus station, this time with all my stuff as I was planning on catching the ferry to Santorini last night.
I leave my bags at luggage storage and catch the local bus to Knossos. I was in a crappy mood going in, redeemed only slightly by the lack of entry fee as I was there on a Sunday, and Knossos was an epic disappointment. I almost wish I had paid the entrance fee so that I could have demanded a refund.
Knossos’ mantra should basically be “We had some really cool stuff here dating as far back as 1900BC, but then around 1908AD this dude named Arthur Evan came here with way too much money and ambition, and overhauled the entire site, claiming it was a restoration when it was really a creation of what his vivid imagination could come up with, and although we don’t really agree with his view and the work that he did we can’t really be bothered to undo it, so this is what you get, and by the way, everything that was actually original is now living elsewhere in museums so here are a bunch of replicas in their place.”
Sometimes I love run-on sentences.
So now we’ve got a day of emotional turmoil, a late night, an early morning, and the only thing I was looking forward to all day was a disappointment.
I salvage some of the remaining afternoon though, as I had a few hours to kill until my ferry was to depart, and I manage to find the 400-plus-year-old lion found in Iraklio’s town square. I also went to Fyllos…Sofies, as recommended by my Lonely Planet book, and tried their delicious bougatsa. Bougatsa is a cheese and pastry dish, and the version I had was topped with honey and cinnamon. An impressive, and probably not that difficult to make, dessert that I need to learn how to recreate when I get home.
Venture back down to the bus station, collect my bags from luggage storage, and I walk over to the port to board my ferry to Santorini. It was scheduled to leave at 6:20, and I’m there nearly an hour early. I don’t see the vessel. Head to the ticket counter to inquire and I find out that the ferry is stuck in Rhodes due to inclement weather and won’t be in port til at least the morning. He gives me 8am as a general timeframe for expected departure.
I’m now stuck in Iraklio, and my lovely €10 a night hostel is an hour and a half away by bus. A return trip ticket will cost me over €12, not to mention three hours of my time, and I have no idea if I’d make it back in time in the morning to catch the ferry.
I consult my LP guidebook and find a hotel that offers rooms with shared bathrooms for as low as €35/night. Perfect! Try calling them via payphone but I keep getting some weird disconnected noise. It’s not that far, so I set off, bags and backpack in tow, for the hotel.
It’s closed. That would explain the weird disconnected noise I got when I tried calling them. There’s a hotel next door, and I venture in. There’s room, but it’s €50/night. Ouch.
I venture back out, and have a look at what else is recommended by LP. There are other options as cheap as €40/night, but for the most part everything in Iraklio is expensive, which is why I wasn’t staying there in the first place. Nothing is nearby on the map, and it’s not uncommon for places to close in the offseason (I guess that they don’t realize that if they lowered their prices to something reasonable for backpackers that they’d have a full house all winter long), so I give up and go back to the €50/night place.
I’m still averaging well below the $100/day that so many people suggest as a backpacking budget, so it’s not as bad of a gouge as I’m making it out to be. I was tired and cranky and didn’t want to spend an hour and a half on a bus to save €20.
Cue sadness. I miss my parents after worrying so much, and even though they aren’t there, I was still thinking it would have been so nice to deal with all the worry at home, where I had Jack and Will and a phone to use at my disposal. Everyone at home is enjoying what is probably the biggest party that Vancouver will ever see, and I’ve started to regret being away for the Olympics. I know I’ll never ever ever regret travelling, and I couldn’t really have waited until post-Olympics, nor could I have cut my trip short. But couple all the craziness back home that I’m missing out on with my slight regret at being in Greece now (it would have been a million times more amazing in the summer), and I admit it: I miss home.
I’m missing a lot more than the Olympics, too. I’m missing my best friend’s wedding. Now I don’t in any way fault myself for that, as I’d already booked my tickets and she moved the date to when I was gone, but it’s still a little heartbreaking. This would have been the first time I’d have been a bridesmaid, and I was so pumped to help with bachelorette party and bridal shower planning. But hey, it’s Reyna’s big day, not mine, and she’s entitled to have it whatever day she wants. If I can’t be there, well, c’est la vie.
I’m missing the birthdays of three of my favourite people: dad, Nicole and Jenn. And Jenn’s birthday is St Patrick’s Day, so I’m missing that too. To be fair, had I been home I’d have missed her birthday celebration anyway, as she’s having her fete the same day as Reyna’s wedding, but it still sucks being away for all this.
Travel is (mostly) carefree, but the fact that I’ll be home in less than a month (30 days exactly) is starting to loom in the back of my head. And while I do miss lots of stuff about home, being home means responsibility, starting with jobhunting, which is my least favourite thing to do on the planet. I’ll be excited about whatever new job I land when I get it, but the interim is the worst part.
Regardless of my semi-homesickness, this is still nothing like how homesick I was when I was in Italy in 2006. I’m proud of how stable and independent I’ve been. Travelling solo is not nearly as terrifying as I’d have ever expected, and I think it’s something I’d do again if I can’t find a travel buddy the next time I want to go somewhere.
Big thanks to Dan for making my travel dream a reality. I wish you were here to see my photos and hear my stories. Miss you.
Yesterday was quite possibly the hardest day of my life. Looking at it now, I’m pretty happy that I’ve never had to deal with worse, as everything turned out to be ok. I set off from the hostel in Rethymno just after 10 to catch the bus to Iraklio, where I planned on visiting Knossos. Mom gave me her iPod Touch before I left, and on it I’ve got my Twitter stream. There isn’t any wifi at the bus station, but I had a glance at the cached stream as I boarded the bus and I saw something that made my heart skip a beat.
SamirInVancity: Huge earthquake in Chile. Trying to look up more info.
Mom and dad are in Chile. I immediately think the worst. But the bus is leaving, and I don’t what to do, so I sit frozen in my seat as it departs. It’s an hour and a half to Rethymno, but it felt like an eternity. I’m going back and forth between calm and cool and collected, and choking on tears. Finally we get to the bus station and I get an internet connection. No messages from mom or dad or Will, but there’s plenty about it in the news.
8.8 magnitude on the Richter scale.
That is unbelievable.
Some people don’t know how the Richter scale works, so here’s some background:
Each point on the scale (e.g. 4.0 or 5.0 or 6.0) is TEN TIMES more powerful than the point before. So imagine that in miles: if a 7.0 were worth 70 miles an hour, an 8.0 would be 700mph. You go from average highway speeds to NEARLY BREAKING THE SOUND BARRIER in just a single point.
That’s why lots of 4 and 5 Richter quakes are reported with minimal to no damage, and sometimes no one even feels them. Get to a 6 or a 7 and you start to hear horror stories about bridges collapsing, buildings toppling over, and ridiculous tsunamis. And people dying.
8.8.
I get my shit together enough to convey to the poor woman working at the kiosk that I’d like a phone card. I call mom’s cell. Voicemail. Dad’s cell. Voicemail. It’s around 7am in Santiago at this point, so I somehow interpret this to mean it’s 7am in Vancouver. It was actually 2am. Oops. Call the house. No answer. Call Will’s cell. No answer. Leave a myriad of teary desperate voicemails asking everyone to email me as soon as they hear anything.
So now it’s noon and I’m standing in a parking lot freaking out. I obviously can’t go look at old shit for two hours so I reluctantly board the return bus to Rethymno. The iPod’s running out of juice and I know it might be hours/days until I hear something from mom and dad. Cue another 1.5 hour sobbing bus ride.
The next ten+ hours are me keeping vigil at my computer in the hostel, religiously refreshing my email in the hopes that there is news. I venture out a few times to try making calls but still no answer all around. Finally I get to talk to Will, who sounds as concerned as I am but did a wonderful job of calming me down a bit. He promises to email me as soon as he hears anything (as there’s no phone to call me at), and I reluctantly hang up.
The hostel managers, Ivan and Elena, were so sweet in trying to calm my nerves, and they invited me to a second dinner. (Seriously, best value hostel ever! 10 Euros a night and twice they fed me amazing dinners that would have cost at least that much had I eaten at a restaurant instead.) Afterwards, it’s tea and chocolate and more constant refreshing. I’m also worsening my worst fears by reading all the news, watching the death toll rise, and looking at all the pictures. Not the best situation to be in.
After dinner I hear from Hilary, and her and auntie Dar are on the case.
[I wisely stopped writing at this point to venture out of the lonely hotel room to find a bar that would air the gold medal men’s hockey game, and the rest of the night was spent drinking and cheering with my six Greek husbands – more about that later. I’m now wrapping this up the next day, Monday, in Santorini.]
Sometime around midnight I see the Best News Ever on Facebook. Mom posted:
We r on way to Lima. Whole of Chile shut down.
So after crying all day out of worry, I’m now bawling my eyes out, this time out of relief. The whole ordeal made me realize just how much I love and admire and adore my parents, and that I’m not going to be ready to say goodbye to them for at least another hundred and fifty years or so.
I finally get to bed well after 1am after 14 of the most emotionally exhaustive hours of my life. I felt like I had run a marathon, or at least I guess that’s a comparable feeling, as I will never be foolish enough to run one.
I probably should have slept all day after all that emotional turmoil, but I was up at 8 to shower, pack and head to the bus station, this time with all my stuff as I was planning on catching the ferry to Santorini last night.
I leave my bags at luggage storage and catch the local bus to Knossos. I was in a crappy mood going in, redeemed only slightly by the lack of entry fee as I was there on a Sunday, and Knossos was an epic disappointment. I almost wish I had paid the entrance fee so that I could have demanded a refund.
Knossos’ mantra should basically be “We had some really cool stuff here dating as far back as 1900BC, but then around 1908AD this dude named Arthur Evan came here with way too much money and ambition, and overhauled the entire site, claiming it was a restoration when it was really a creation of what his vivid imagination could come up with, and although we don’t really agree with his view and the work that he did we can’t really be bothered to undo it, so this is what you get, and by the way, everything that was actually original is now living elsewhere in museums so here are a bunch of replicas in their place.”
Sometimes I love run-on sentences.
So now we’ve got a day of emotional turmoil, a late night, an early morning, and the only thing I was looking forward to all day was a disappointment.
I salvage some of the remaining afternoon though, as I had a few hours to kill until my ferry was to depart, and I manage to find the 400-plus-year-old lion found in Iraklio’s town square. I also went to Fyllos…Sofies, as recommended by my Lonely Planet book, and tried their delicious bougatsa. Bougatsa is a cheese and pastry dish, and the version I had was topped with honey and cinnamon. An impressive, and probably not that difficult to make, dessert that I need to learn how to recreate when I get home.
Venture back down to the bus station, collect my bags from luggage storage, and I walk over to the port to board my ferry to Santorini. It was scheduled to leave at 6:20, and I’m there nearly an hour early. I don’t see the vessel. Head to the ticket counter to inquire and I find out that the ferry is stuck in Rhodes due to inclement weather and won’t be in port til at least the morning. He gives me 8am as a general timeframe for expected departure.
I’m now stuck in Iraklio, and my lovely €10 a night hostel is an hour and a half away by bus. A return trip ticket will cost me over €12, not to mention three hours of my time, and I have no idea if I’d make it back in time in the morning to catch the ferry.
I consult my LP guidebook and find a hotel that offers rooms with shared bathrooms for as low as €35/night. Perfect! Try calling them via payphone but I keep getting some weird disconnected noise. It’s not that far, so I set off, bags and backpack in tow, for the hotel.
It’s closed. That would explain the weird disconnected noise I got when I tried calling them. There’s a hotel next door, and I venture in. There’s room, but it’s €50/night. Ouch.
I venture back out, and have a look at what else is recommended by LP. There are other options as cheap as €40/night, but for the most part everything in Iraklio is expensive, which is why I wasn’t staying there in the first place. Nothing is nearby on the map, and it’s not uncommon for places to close in the offseason (I guess that they don’t realize that if they lowered their prices to something reasonable for backpackers that they’d have a full house all winter long), so I give up and go back to the €50/night place.
I’m still averaging well below the $100/day that so many people suggest as a backpacking budget, so it’s not as bad of a gouge as I’m making it out to be. I was tired and cranky and didn’t want to spend an hour and a half on a bus to save €20.
Cue sadness. I miss my parents after worrying so much, and even though they aren’t there, I was still thinking it would have been so nice to deal with all the worry at home, where I had Jack and Will and a phone to use at my disposal. Everyone at home is enjoying what is probably the biggest party that Vancouver will ever see, and I’ve started to regret being away for the Olympics. I know I’ll never ever ever regret travelling, and I couldn’t really have waited until post-Olympics, nor could I have cut my trip short. But couple all the craziness back home that I’m missing out on with my slight regret at being in Greece now (it would have been a million times more amazing in the summer), and I admit it: I miss home.
I’m missing a lot more than the Olympics, too. I’m missing my best friend’s wedding. Now I don’t in any way fault myself for that, as I’d already booked my tickets and she moved the date to when I was gone, but it’s still a little heartbreaking. This would have been the first time I’d have been a bridesmaid, and I was so pumped to help with bachelorette party and bridal shower planning. But hey, it’s Reyna’s big day, not mine, and she’s entitled to have it whatever day she wants. If I can’t be there, well, c’est la vie.
I’m missing the birthdays of three of my favourite people: dad, Nicole and Jenn. And Jenn’s birthday is St Patrick’s Day, so I’m missing that too. To be fair, had I been home I’d have missed her birthday celebration anyway, as she’s having her fete the same day as Reyna’s wedding, but it still sucks being away for all this.
Travel is (mostly) carefree, but the fact that I’ll be home in less than a month (30 days exactly) is starting to loom in the back of my head. And while I do miss lots of stuff about home, being home means responsibility, starting with jobhunting, which is my least favourite thing to do on the planet. I’ll be excited about whatever new job I land when I get it, but the interim is the worst part.
Regardless of my semi-homesickness, this is still nothing like how homesick I was when I was in Italy in 2006. I’m proud of how stable and independent I’ve been. Travelling solo is not nearly as terrifying as I’d have ever expected, and I think it’s something I’d do again if I can’t find a travel buddy the next time I want to go somewhere.
Big thanks to Dan for making my travel dream a reality. I wish you were here to see my photos and hear my stories. Miss you.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Day 40-something maybe. Crete! And a different kind of homesickness.
Soooo… I’m bad at updating. That’s well established. My dreams of being a travel writer are slowly dying with the realization that good travel adventures are not conducive to regular updates. Or I just have commitment issues and an inclination to sleep away my downtime.
I’m in Greece! Specifically in Crete (more specifically in Iraklio, even more specifically in a bus station waiting for the 7:30am bus to Rythmno), having just disembarked an overnight ferry from Athens. I arrived in Greece Saturday afternoon after a sad goodbye to Egypt and the tour crew, and the last few days have been some much-needed sleep, a walking tour around Athens including the Acropolis and Parthenon, an adventure to the post office, and lots of wandering around markets and eating delicious souvlaki.
I suppose I should go back to the places I’ve left off (Dammit I think I’m still working on the tail end of Nepal. Feels like years ago now!), but I think I might go off on a different tangent. Besides, my feet are killing me from all the walking we (me plus Cat from Brooklyn/Paris) did yesterday and I think I might spend much of today laying low, so hopefully I can hash out some of the dates and details of the trip then.
The more I travel the more I feel like Vancouver isn’t home. It’s not a nice feeling, not knowing where home is. And I know it’s home for now, but it’s starting to feel like it’s not home /;’’’’’’’’’’’’’.iuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu]\[
That last paragraph was courtesy of the cute white and orange cat that’s clamoured up onto my lap for some snuggles (and then onto my keyboard for some messages of her own). Two other people tried to pick her up with no luck, and instead she came over and climbed up on me. Cute! Less cute is my cardigan now covered with cat hair, but I needed to do laundry anyway. C’est la vie!
Maybe home is just wherever there’s a cat or dog that loves you. Which brings me back to Vancouver (well, Mission) being my “now” home, as it’s where all the things I identify with home (friends, family, Jack, house, work opportunities, car, etc etc) are. But the more I think about it, the less it feels like somewhere I could or would want to live forever.
So what I’m left with is a weird kind of homelessness. I don’t know where home is supposed to be, but I think it involves sun and sand and saltwater, and I think I’ll have to keep looking.
I’ve never understood why people don’t live at the places they dream to vacation. If you work hard all year to save up enough money to go somewhere beautiful, you’re doing it wrong. Granted, many beachy places are in developing countries with fewer opportunities than those that we have at home, but what’s the price of happiness? I’d happily take a paycut if it meant I could dig my toes into sand everyday.
I’ve been feeling very un-Canadian, in that Vancouver is the nicest, warmest place in Vancouver and it’s still too rainy and cold for my taste. I can’t imagine living in a place that’s cold and dark and rainy for 3/4 of the year. And I don’t think I’d live in the US. So what I’m left with is somewhere far away from all the things I currently identify as home. And it’s scary to think that if I moved to say, Australia, I wouldn’t be regularly seeing all the people I love.
K now the cat is biting me. She just got a lot more playful and a lot more annoying. But she’s still cute.
But it’s cool to think I’d be living in the future.
K the cat just farted. That’s my cue to pack this up and head to my bus.
I’m in Greece! Specifically in Crete (more specifically in Iraklio, even more specifically in a bus station waiting for the 7:30am bus to Rythmno), having just disembarked an overnight ferry from Athens. I arrived in Greece Saturday afternoon after a sad goodbye to Egypt and the tour crew, and the last few days have been some much-needed sleep, a walking tour around Athens including the Acropolis and Parthenon, an adventure to the post office, and lots of wandering around markets and eating delicious souvlaki.
I suppose I should go back to the places I’ve left off (Dammit I think I’m still working on the tail end of Nepal. Feels like years ago now!), but I think I might go off on a different tangent. Besides, my feet are killing me from all the walking we (me plus Cat from Brooklyn/Paris) did yesterday and I think I might spend much of today laying low, so hopefully I can hash out some of the dates and details of the trip then.
The more I travel the more I feel like Vancouver isn’t home. It’s not a nice feeling, not knowing where home is. And I know it’s home for now, but it’s starting to feel like it’s not home /;’’’’’’’’’’’’’.iuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu]\[
That last paragraph was courtesy of the cute white and orange cat that’s clamoured up onto my lap for some snuggles (and then onto my keyboard for some messages of her own). Two other people tried to pick her up with no luck, and instead she came over and climbed up on me. Cute! Less cute is my cardigan now covered with cat hair, but I needed to do laundry anyway. C’est la vie!
Maybe home is just wherever there’s a cat or dog that loves you. Which brings me back to Vancouver (well, Mission) being my “now” home, as it’s where all the things I identify with home (friends, family, Jack, house, work opportunities, car, etc etc) are. But the more I think about it, the less it feels like somewhere I could or would want to live forever.
So what I’m left with is a weird kind of homelessness. I don’t know where home is supposed to be, but I think it involves sun and sand and saltwater, and I think I’ll have to keep looking.
I’ve never understood why people don’t live at the places they dream to vacation. If you work hard all year to save up enough money to go somewhere beautiful, you’re doing it wrong. Granted, many beachy places are in developing countries with fewer opportunities than those that we have at home, but what’s the price of happiness? I’d happily take a paycut if it meant I could dig my toes into sand everyday.
I’ve been feeling very un-Canadian, in that Vancouver is the nicest, warmest place in Vancouver and it’s still too rainy and cold for my taste. I can’t imagine living in a place that’s cold and dark and rainy for 3/4 of the year. And I don’t think I’d live in the US. So what I’m left with is somewhere far away from all the things I currently identify as home. And it’s scary to think that if I moved to say, Australia, I wouldn’t be regularly seeing all the people I love.
K now the cat is biting me. She just got a lot more playful and a lot more annoying. But she’s still cute.
But it’s cool to think I’d be living in the future.
K the cat just farted. That’s my cue to pack this up and head to my bus.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Logistic shiz
Hi readers (aka mom),
The following two posts
Day 15 – Road to Nepal
Day 19 – From Pokhara to Kathmandu
are now up, but backdated prior to the most recent post to keep them chronological. Feel free to go back and have a look if you're interested. :)
Cheers!
The following two posts
Day 15 – Road to Nepal
Day 19 – From Pokhara to Kathmandu
are now up, but backdated prior to the most recent post to keep them chronological. Feel free to go back and have a look if you're interested. :)
Cheers!
Monday, February 1, 2010
Day 21 – Things could always be worse…
Please note: I've got some posts that will be backdated before this one that aren't yet posted. I'm happy to be doing something in realtime, so I opted to post this now. In the next day or two the in-betweens should be up, so if you're trying to read them all you'll need to look back before this one. :)
“In India, sometimes you have to surrender before you win.” - Shantaram
You know, I’m pretty proud of myself. Yeah I might be a little teary, and I sure could go for some Canada right now, but all things considered I’m doing ok. This very well could have been the night from hell, but I (mostly) kept my cool, and considering this is the first time I’m actually alone in India (the first two days in Delhi don’t count as “alone,” as I had a direct transfer to my hotel and then I buddied up with Michael immediately), I’m not so bad at this after all.
Dinesh gave me recommendations on places to stay in Mumbai, namely the Colaba section of Mumbai, and I did an online search for hotels in Colaba. Found a three star place called the Hotel Pearl Residency in Colaba for only Rs 1695 (about $41 CDN), that included breakfast and an airport transfer, and made a booking just for tonight. Saved a screenshot of the receipt to Evernote, copied the confirmation number and hotel address into my iPod, and then looked for a phone number. Nada. Google for ten minutes looking for a phone number. Still nada. Oh well.
Got into Mumbai shortly after 10pm and it’s hot and sticky (28 degrees C). I’m hauling around all my luggage looking for the prepay taxi booth, and I’m already getting pestered by cab drivers. Luckily I know how to handle this now, thanks to Delhi and Kathmandu, and basically every other city I’ve been to on this trip, and I stick to my gut rather than follow the pesky cab driver that won’t leave me alone.
I prepay for my cab (Rs 180) and head to the line of taxis. In India, the answer to “Do you know where this hotel is?” is always “Yes,” regardless of whether or not this is remotely true. A guy that looks way too young to be driving legally is behind the wheel, and for some reason there’s another dude in the front seat. Driver Guy doesn’t speak any English, and Other Dude is hammering on about Rs 1000. I probably should have been on the ball enough to not get into a cab with two dudes, but I just wanted to get to the hotel.
“Do you have 1000 rupees?”
“No. I prepaid.”
“Yes I know but do you have 1000 rupees?”
“No. Why are you asking me for 1000 rupees? I prepaid.”
“Yes I know but do you have change for 1000 rupees? My driver he need fuel.”
“What? No, I don’t have 1000 rupees or change for 1000 rupees.”
“Yes you do.”
“Uhhh no I don’t.”
“Please check.”
“NO. I DON’T HAVE CHANGE FOR 1000 RUPEES. STOP ASKING ME.”
“Ok ok ok. But do you have change for 1000 rupees?”
Meanwhile, Driver Guy is repeatedly asking in super broken English where the hotel is, despite having already shown him the address several times. I show him the address again. “I no speak English, I don’t know.” Oh! Sorry, just let me translate that into Hindi sanskrit for you, silly me.
Driver Guy pulls over and Other Guy finally gives up the 1000 rupee battle and gets out of the cab, telling me that Driver Guy will take me there. I don’t know whether he legitimately needed change for a 1000 bill (because people are fussy about taking them, even though they’re only worth about $25 CDN), or if he was going to swap me for a fake bill, or if he was going to try to rob me, but I’m glad I stuck to my guns.
Then Driver Guy asks again where the hotel is. I tell him to take me back to the airport. After some protesting, he drives back to the cab stand, where a group of security guards and taxi drivers gather around to yell at each other in Hindi about where I’m supposed to be going. One guard is trying to get me back in the same cab, but I argue and demand a different driver, because this one’s already sketched me out and he has absolutely no idea where I’m supposed to be going. I get a new driver, this time with a fairly good grasp on English, and he tells me he knows exactly where the hotel is. I know this is an outrageous lie, but I think he’ll get me there, and it’s better than the other driver.
New Driver stops to ask for directions several times along the way, which I’ve become used to. The streets are poorly marked, addresses include things like “near ICICI Bank ATM,” and there are hundreds of hotels. If I were going to a big name hotel it’d be no problem, but when it’s little hole-in-the-wall joints you can’t expect them to know right away where you need to be. He starts getting frustrated and tells me to call them. I remind him that he’s the taxi driver and it’s his responsibility to find the place I need to be, especially since he told me he knew where it was.
Finally we find Pearl Residency, and I drag my stuff into the muggy lobby. I give my confirmation number and the guy has nothing for me. Awesome. Pull out the laptop and show him the screenshot confirmation page. Nope, I don’t have a reservation there. And I paid in full. And there’s no room in the hotel. Just great.
Reception Guy calls some woman and eventually hands me his cellphone to talk to her. She doesn’t have any room for me there, but I can go to some other hotel for Rs 2200. I have no idea if these people are scamming me or not, so I ask Reception Guy to call me a cab to take me back to the airport where there were hotel counters on my way out. Then he tells me that he does have a room and I can have it for Rs 1500. No thanks, cab please.
Outside, there’s more kafuffle over where I’m supposed to be and whether or not I have a reservation. Then someone suggests that there’s another Pearl Residency in Colaba. What? I’m not in Colaba? I specifically booked from a site advertising hotels in Colaba and looked at the Colaba hotels. Ohhhhhh fantastic.
There’s a younger (and pretty cute!) Indian guy with a weird accent who steps in to help. I find out he’s from Australia but here on holidays, and he makes a couple of phone calls. He can’t tell if there’s another Pearl Residency in Colaba, and he agrees with me that my best bet is to just go back to the airport and start again. The cab driver wants Rs 250 to take me back to the airport, even though I only paid 180 to get to the hotel, and Aussie Guy barters him down to 150 for me. So grateful to that guy (and the cute little benny – benny/beni/benni / however it’s spelt is Nepali for “sister,” but is used to address any younger girl, like a waitress – with him). Definitely nice to have a helping hand when I needed one.
Get in the cab and the driver is offering to show me hotels. They get a commission from the hotels, so they’re more than happy to wait outside for free in case it nets them a sale. He takes me to the Travellers Inn, which we had passed on the way in and I was going to investigate tomorrow anyway, and I go in to check rates.
The lobby is clean enough, but somehow I still have the foresight to ask to see the room first. Gold star for me on that one! He shows me the room and at first glance it’s ok, but there’s something on the bed near where the blanket folds over. I lift the blanket and it starts to move. A cockroach. On the bed. Yeeeeeaaaaaah no, no thanks.
Then I bend down to tie my shoe and I see two more cockroaches in the sheets. I haven’t even been in the room for 15 seconds. Bellboy is looking at me like I’m crazy for suggesting that there’s something wrong with bugs being in the room.
Back in the cab and back to the airport we go.
At the airport, I’m trying to weave my way back into Arrivals to get to the hotel counters. A dude stops me and offers me a hotel for like Rs 4500 (over $100 CDN). Noooooo I want cheap cheap cheap, especially since I’m already out $40 for my non-existent hotel reservation. He says that all the hotel counters inside the airport are for expensive hotels, which is probably true, and he offers me a cheaper one. Rs 2200 total, including free wifi and taxi. Done deal.
Get here to Le Grande, check the room (cockroach free!!), and pay to stay. It’s definitely nothing special, but it’s amazing how quickly you lower your standards when abroad. At home you couldn’t pay me to sleep in a room like this, but when in India, and especially when you drive past the slums to get somewhere, you start to think that things like a clean safe bed are all you need. Things like wifi and hot water and free breakfast are bonuses!
I’m sick with a runny nose and a bad cough, my ears haven’t cleared from the flight and I can barely hear anything, but today was definitely a success. Leaving Kathmandu this morning was an experience all on its own.
Three security checkpoints, all with x-ray scanners and pat-downs! At the second checkpoint, the most thorough of the three, the cute Nepali security woman discovered a kilt pin in my jewelry bag, which I hadn’t even considered to be contraband. Expecting her to throw it out, which would have been completely fair as it’s a three-inch-long safety pin, she giggles, leans in close to me, and pins in through my scarf and shirt. Then she tucks my scarf over it, puts her fingers to her lips and says “Shhhh!”
When I get to the gate for our flight, the security guard shyly starts striking up a conversation with me. I say that Nepal is beautiful, and he turns bright red and whispers “You are beautiful.” Awww! Love Nepal. Not Kathmandu, mind you, but Pokhara is all sorts of awesome and I’d definitely go back. And the people are so sweet and genuine, in every city.
Then when I got into Delhi, I said goodbye to Steen and Louise, picked up my bag and went back through security. The Delhi airport is actually really nice, and ridiculously clean. I didn’t see much of it when I first arrived here, but as I have a six or so hour layover on Friday night in the airport I’m not dreading it at all. Found my gate and took a seat next to a middle-aged man and we struck up a conversation. He’s from South Africa and was in Delhi for a conference. He’s the CEO for all of Africa for the charity Focus on the Family, and his job lets him travel a lot. Super interesting guy, and we swapped cards so I’ll shoot him an email later on. Dr. Amon Kasambala. Fancy!
Checked my email and there's a message saying that my attempted reservation for Pearl Residency was cancelled and my money was refunded, which was a treat to find. While I planned to dispute the charge, I didn't think I'd see a refund, so it's nice that it's already done!
I’m behind on entries for the past few days, but I should probably hit the hay. I’m hoping to get over this cold soon, so I think I’ll be taking it really easy tomorrow. Two weeks of rushrushrush touring in big, dirty, dusty cities has taken its toll, and while Mumbai is as big, dirty and dusty as the others, at least I can slow down my pace, even if the city is whirring by.
“In India, sometimes you have to surrender before you win.” - Shantaram
You know, I’m pretty proud of myself. Yeah I might be a little teary, and I sure could go for some Canada right now, but all things considered I’m doing ok. This very well could have been the night from hell, but I (mostly) kept my cool, and considering this is the first time I’m actually alone in India (the first two days in Delhi don’t count as “alone,” as I had a direct transfer to my hotel and then I buddied up with Michael immediately), I’m not so bad at this after all.
Dinesh gave me recommendations on places to stay in Mumbai, namely the Colaba section of Mumbai, and I did an online search for hotels in Colaba. Found a three star place called the Hotel Pearl Residency in Colaba for only Rs 1695 (about $41 CDN), that included breakfast and an airport transfer, and made a booking just for tonight. Saved a screenshot of the receipt to Evernote, copied the confirmation number and hotel address into my iPod, and then looked for a phone number. Nada. Google for ten minutes looking for a phone number. Still nada. Oh well.
Got into Mumbai shortly after 10pm and it’s hot and sticky (28 degrees C). I’m hauling around all my luggage looking for the prepay taxi booth, and I’m already getting pestered by cab drivers. Luckily I know how to handle this now, thanks to Delhi and Kathmandu, and basically every other city I’ve been to on this trip, and I stick to my gut rather than follow the pesky cab driver that won’t leave me alone.
I prepay for my cab (Rs 180) and head to the line of taxis. In India, the answer to “Do you know where this hotel is?” is always “Yes,” regardless of whether or not this is remotely true. A guy that looks way too young to be driving legally is behind the wheel, and for some reason there’s another dude in the front seat. Driver Guy doesn’t speak any English, and Other Dude is hammering on about Rs 1000. I probably should have been on the ball enough to not get into a cab with two dudes, but I just wanted to get to the hotel.
“Do you have 1000 rupees?”
“No. I prepaid.”
“Yes I know but do you have 1000 rupees?”
“No. Why are you asking me for 1000 rupees? I prepaid.”
“Yes I know but do you have change for 1000 rupees? My driver he need fuel.”
“What? No, I don’t have 1000 rupees or change for 1000 rupees.”
“Yes you do.”
“Uhhh no I don’t.”
“Please check.”
“NO. I DON’T HAVE CHANGE FOR 1000 RUPEES. STOP ASKING ME.”
“Ok ok ok. But do you have change for 1000 rupees?”
Meanwhile, Driver Guy is repeatedly asking in super broken English where the hotel is, despite having already shown him the address several times. I show him the address again. “I no speak English, I don’t know.” Oh! Sorry, just let me translate that into Hindi sanskrit for you, silly me.
Driver Guy pulls over and Other Guy finally gives up the 1000 rupee battle and gets out of the cab, telling me that Driver Guy will take me there. I don’t know whether he legitimately needed change for a 1000 bill (because people are fussy about taking them, even though they’re only worth about $25 CDN), or if he was going to swap me for a fake bill, or if he was going to try to rob me, but I’m glad I stuck to my guns.
Then Driver Guy asks again where the hotel is. I tell him to take me back to the airport. After some protesting, he drives back to the cab stand, where a group of security guards and taxi drivers gather around to yell at each other in Hindi about where I’m supposed to be going. One guard is trying to get me back in the same cab, but I argue and demand a different driver, because this one’s already sketched me out and he has absolutely no idea where I’m supposed to be going. I get a new driver, this time with a fairly good grasp on English, and he tells me he knows exactly where the hotel is. I know this is an outrageous lie, but I think he’ll get me there, and it’s better than the other driver.
New Driver stops to ask for directions several times along the way, which I’ve become used to. The streets are poorly marked, addresses include things like “near ICICI Bank ATM,” and there are hundreds of hotels. If I were going to a big name hotel it’d be no problem, but when it’s little hole-in-the-wall joints you can’t expect them to know right away where you need to be. He starts getting frustrated and tells me to call them. I remind him that he’s the taxi driver and it’s his responsibility to find the place I need to be, especially since he told me he knew where it was.
Finally we find Pearl Residency, and I drag my stuff into the muggy lobby. I give my confirmation number and the guy has nothing for me. Awesome. Pull out the laptop and show him the screenshot confirmation page. Nope, I don’t have a reservation there. And I paid in full. And there’s no room in the hotel. Just great.
Reception Guy calls some woman and eventually hands me his cellphone to talk to her. She doesn’t have any room for me there, but I can go to some other hotel for Rs 2200. I have no idea if these people are scamming me or not, so I ask Reception Guy to call me a cab to take me back to the airport where there were hotel counters on my way out. Then he tells me that he does have a room and I can have it for Rs 1500. No thanks, cab please.
Outside, there’s more kafuffle over where I’m supposed to be and whether or not I have a reservation. Then someone suggests that there’s another Pearl Residency in Colaba. What? I’m not in Colaba? I specifically booked from a site advertising hotels in Colaba and looked at the Colaba hotels. Ohhhhhh fantastic.
There’s a younger (and pretty cute!) Indian guy with a weird accent who steps in to help. I find out he’s from Australia but here on holidays, and he makes a couple of phone calls. He can’t tell if there’s another Pearl Residency in Colaba, and he agrees with me that my best bet is to just go back to the airport and start again. The cab driver wants Rs 250 to take me back to the airport, even though I only paid 180 to get to the hotel, and Aussie Guy barters him down to 150 for me. So grateful to that guy (and the cute little benny – benny/beni/benni / however it’s spelt is Nepali for “sister,” but is used to address any younger girl, like a waitress – with him). Definitely nice to have a helping hand when I needed one.
Get in the cab and the driver is offering to show me hotels. They get a commission from the hotels, so they’re more than happy to wait outside for free in case it nets them a sale. He takes me to the Travellers Inn, which we had passed on the way in and I was going to investigate tomorrow anyway, and I go in to check rates.
The lobby is clean enough, but somehow I still have the foresight to ask to see the room first. Gold star for me on that one! He shows me the room and at first glance it’s ok, but there’s something on the bed near where the blanket folds over. I lift the blanket and it starts to move. A cockroach. On the bed. Yeeeeeaaaaaah no, no thanks.
Then I bend down to tie my shoe and I see two more cockroaches in the sheets. I haven’t even been in the room for 15 seconds. Bellboy is looking at me like I’m crazy for suggesting that there’s something wrong with bugs being in the room.
Back in the cab and back to the airport we go.
At the airport, I’m trying to weave my way back into Arrivals to get to the hotel counters. A dude stops me and offers me a hotel for like Rs 4500 (over $100 CDN). Noooooo I want cheap cheap cheap, especially since I’m already out $40 for my non-existent hotel reservation. He says that all the hotel counters inside the airport are for expensive hotels, which is probably true, and he offers me a cheaper one. Rs 2200 total, including free wifi and taxi. Done deal.
Get here to Le Grande, check the room (cockroach free!!), and pay to stay. It’s definitely nothing special, but it’s amazing how quickly you lower your standards when abroad. At home you couldn’t pay me to sleep in a room like this, but when in India, and especially when you drive past the slums to get somewhere, you start to think that things like a clean safe bed are all you need. Things like wifi and hot water and free breakfast are bonuses!
I’m sick with a runny nose and a bad cough, my ears haven’t cleared from the flight and I can barely hear anything, but today was definitely a success. Leaving Kathmandu this morning was an experience all on its own.
Three security checkpoints, all with x-ray scanners and pat-downs! At the second checkpoint, the most thorough of the three, the cute Nepali security woman discovered a kilt pin in my jewelry bag, which I hadn’t even considered to be contraband. Expecting her to throw it out, which would have been completely fair as it’s a three-inch-long safety pin, she giggles, leans in close to me, and pins in through my scarf and shirt. Then she tucks my scarf over it, puts her fingers to her lips and says “Shhhh!”
When I get to the gate for our flight, the security guard shyly starts striking up a conversation with me. I say that Nepal is beautiful, and he turns bright red and whispers “You are beautiful.” Awww! Love Nepal. Not Kathmandu, mind you, but Pokhara is all sorts of awesome and I’d definitely go back. And the people are so sweet and genuine, in every city.
Then when I got into Delhi, I said goodbye to Steen and Louise, picked up my bag and went back through security. The Delhi airport is actually really nice, and ridiculously clean. I didn’t see much of it when I first arrived here, but as I have a six or so hour layover on Friday night in the airport I’m not dreading it at all. Found my gate and took a seat next to a middle-aged man and we struck up a conversation. He’s from South Africa and was in Delhi for a conference. He’s the CEO for all of Africa for the charity Focus on the Family, and his job lets him travel a lot. Super interesting guy, and we swapped cards so I’ll shoot him an email later on. Dr. Amon Kasambala. Fancy!
Checked my email and there's a message saying that my attempted reservation for Pearl Residency was cancelled and my money was refunded, which was a treat to find. While I planned to dispute the charge, I didn't think I'd see a refund, so it's nice that it's already done!
I’m behind on entries for the past few days, but I should probably hit the hay. I’m hoping to get over this cold soon, so I think I’ll be taking it really easy tomorrow. Two weeks of rushrushrush touring in big, dirty, dusty cities has taken its toll, and while Mumbai is as big, dirty and dusty as the others, at least I can slow down my pace, even if the city is whirring by.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Day 19 – From Pokhara to Kathmandu
I’m overdue in writing and have so much to tell. Where to start?!
On Monday, when we first got to Nepal, we stayed at the Nirvana Hotel. Tuesday morning, I woke up first, and Shauna awoke shortly after. She shrieks as she was the first to notice that we had a visitor in our room. On the wall above her bed was a huge disgusting spider. Thankfully it didn’t move once while we were getting ready, but it was still creepy to think this thing had been in our room all night.
We board the bus and start out towards Chitwan. In the morning we stopped at Lumbini, which is the birthplace of Buddha and now a holy site for Buddhists. They have the exact location of his birth marked down to a single stone, which is impressive considering it’s been something like 2600 years since his birth. The area is mostly gardens and ruins of temples, many from 3 and 4BC.
After we exited the site, we had time to peruse the mini market set up on the road that leads into the temple. Lots of prayer beads and prayer bowls and jewelry for sale. After ten minutes, Dan, the gratingly annoying, horribly self-centered, typical American* traveller, starts losing his shit because his passport and money are missing.
*I should note that there was another group of Americans with us, Bob and Melanie and their thirteen-year-old daughter Montana, and they were a pretty cool bunch. Not the typical yankee tourists you see elsewhere.
Despite being at a holy site surrounded by Buddhist monks, he starts screaming and swearing at the top of his lungs, causing this massively embarrassing scene. When swearing wasn’t quite cutting it, he starts accusing the merchants of stealing his stuff. Then that escalates into him actually saying “If I don’t get my stuff back I’m going to start punching people.” Everyone’s standing around helplessly, and I feel so horrible for Dinesh, who has no idea what to do.
We’re asking him to check his pockets, telling him to double-check hat he didn’t accidentally set it down somewhere, and he’s adamant that it’s gone, that someone stole it, and that he’s “stuck in this fucking country.” He insists that the pocket that everything was in was empty, and he’s storming around like a lunatic.
I get fed up and tell him to stop yelling and swearing because it’s not helping anything. He gets right in my face and screams as loud as possible “SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP!!” The guy is losing his mind, and I went from trying to help to walking away, because I wanted nothing to do with the situation.
And five minutes later? Turns out Dan was wearing two pairs of pants that day, and his passport and money were in the inner pair. When I get back to where the group is, he does manage to throw an apology my way, but only because half the group had seen him yell in my face. I could care less whether or not he apologized to me, but did he go back and apologize to all the merchants whom he accused and threatened physically? No, of course not. So now it reflects poorly on our entire group, and poor Dinesh has to go back there repeatedly, and will undoubtedly be embarrassed about this for some time.
Post-dramatic outburst, we headed on to our hotel at Chitwan National Park and it is an absolute slice of heaven. The deck has a bunch of outdoor couches with cushions and pillows, and this was our first real dose of sunshine. The view is of fields and a stream and a little bridge, and the locals are out letting their goats graze.
After getting into our rooms, we headed to the elephant breeding centre, which I wasn’t much of a fan of, but I won’t go into that now.
The hotel is located on the grounds of Chitwan National Park, which is a government-owned park that is 932 square kilometers. It’s home to elephants, rhinoceroses, snakes, crocodiles, deer, wild boar, countless birds, monkeys, and the elusive tiger.
We ate dinner at the hotel and then sat around the fire until it was well into the night. The next morning (Tuesday), we met up at 8:30 for elephant safaris! After visiting the elephant breeding center, I was really conflicted on whether or not to go on the elephant safari, because I wasn’t thrilled with how they were caging the animals, but I’m so glad I decided to go.
For the safari, four people climb into a wooden frame, mounted on top of the saddle. The “driver” sits on the elephant’s neck, and uses his bare feet to prod and steer the elephant. The passengers each sit with their backs to one another, with one of the four corner posts between their legs. Less than ten minutes into our trek, we come across two rhinos sleeping in the bushes, a male and a female. So awesome!
The safari was about an hour and a half, and included walking through the grasslands, which have the tallest grass in the world, and crossing a stream. So awesome to see elephants drinking and eating up close. In the stream were three crocodiles, and perched on a branch was a brilliant blue kingfisher. In the grasslands, we found another rhino, and the herd of elephants and tourists surrounding him was enough to make him groan and snort. So cute!
We meandered back into the forest where we saw deer and three more rhinos, for a total of six. It’s pretty amazing to be able to say that I’ve seen rhinos in real life, and not at a zoo.
(Right now we’re on a bus, leaving Pokhara and headed to Kathmandu. Dinesh is explaining the entire arranged marriage situation. While interesting, and there are definitely success stories, I’m so glad I can pick my own husband-to-be without concerns for astrological diaries and clans and parental selection. When his mom finds a suitable prospect, she gives Dinesh a spec sheet. It’s like shopping for a car. It includes her picture, her family history, detailed information about her father and brothers, her astrological diary and more. Dinesh then can choose whether or not he wants to meet her. Once he agrees to meet her, he has to give his family a yes or no answer almost immediately, like within a week at most, as to whether or not he’ll marry her. Those Indians don’t mess around!
It’s still a sad situation for many though; Dinesh said that while people can divorce, it’s still looked down upon, and the divorcees will likely never remarry as there’s too much stigma. Women feel trapped in relationships because the alternative is a lifetime of loneliness, plus the threat of shaming their families. When your parents choose your partner for you, it’s difficult to tell them they made a poor choice and that you want out.)
After the safaris, we had the whole afternoon for optional activities. Options included a jungle walk, an elephant ride into the village, henna tattoos, cooking classes in the Tharu style, elephant washing and more. I initially decided against elephant washing, but quickly changed my mind when I saw the first group go.
Two saddle-less elephants were walked up to where we were at the restaurant, and the first group climbed up onto them, Lene and Kristine on one, and Julian, Montana and Steen on the other. The elephants walked down to the river and right into the water. They started spraying the people on top of them with their trucks, and the first elephant laid down in the water, tossing all its riders into the water. So much fun to watch! The elephants were rolling onto their sides and spraying water everywhere, and dunking their heads underwater with just their trunks peeking out. The riders could sit on the backs or bellies, depending on which way they were sitting in the water, and were continually getting tossed off into the water. Then they climbed back on, soaking wet, and the elephants stood up and walked out of the river and back up to where they started.
Then Rose and I climbed on, with Montana, who decided to go for round 2, and it was awesome. Not much more I can say about it! We were able to stand right on its belly at one point, and it’s the animal version of logrolling. We kept getting thrown into the water, and we had Dinesh, David and Michael taking tonnes of pictures of the three (well, four, including the elephant) of us.
Then I hussled back to the room for a shower (despite being elephant “washing,” you come out of it pretty dirty), and then got henna tattoos from a local girl. I’m not sure if there’s anything traditional about them, or if she was just doodling whatever she wanted, but they’re pretty and temporary.
I was originally planning on doing the jungle walk in the afternoon, but it was for four hours and I just wasn’t feeling up to it. Instead, Lene, Kristine, Rose, Dinesh, Montana and I walked into the local market. We stopped at every baby animal, which started with puppies right at the beginning of our venture. There are puppies everywhere and they’re all so sweet. These ones were so lazy from the heat and sun that they didn’t mind at all when we picked up them up. Momma dog came over for some love too; the animals here are so relaxed around people it’s amazing.
The shops sold the typical wares that we’ve been seeing all trip: tea and prayer bowls and jewelry and anything else a tourist might want to take home. I bought some Nepali masala tea and some razors, as I had forgotten mine in the shower of one of the previous hotels. I am going to miss Indian chai and Nepali masala tea so much when I get home. I bought one bag that should last me for a while, but after that I’ll need to hunt for an Indian or Nepali shop in Vancouver to buy more.
The tea that they make here is about one part hot milk and one part hot strong brewed tea, with a generous spoonful of sugar. It’s served at every meal and is also used as a welcome drink at shops and hotels. (Orange juice has also been a welcome drink, as has been Fanta. Pretty fancy!) The tea’s delicious, and I fully intend to make it regularly when I’m at home.
On our walk back, Dinesh caught a kid goat, and we chased goats around a field while an old guy, probably the goat owner, laughed at us. Then we found goats that were only two days old! They were the tiniest, sweetest, softest, cutest little things you could imagine.
When we were almost back at the hotel, we went after the pack of tiny chicks at a house, and a group of little kids came out. I was taking pictures of them and they didn’t understand that they could all be in the picture at once, because they were fighting and shoving and pushing to be front and centre. One little three-year-old got whacked in the head when one of the older kids didn’t like that he was trying to be in the picture.
Later, after dinner, we sat around the fire drinking rum in the dark, enjoying our last night at Chitwan.
Wednesday morning we loaded into the bus and began the drive to Pokhara. Pokara is situated right on a lake with a view of the Annapurna mountains. Our hotel was right in the middle of the main drag, and the boy working the front desk was beeeeeautiful. I was trying to figure out how much it would cost to import him to Canada when Dinesh broke my heart and told me he’s getting married in two months. Nepali boys are a fine looking breed.
We had the whole afternoon to meander the shops. There are a tonne of North Face knockoffs that are unbelievably good, but at $60 for a jacket that at home would be easily $450, they’re definitely not the real thing. I guess I’ve decided that I’m buying a piece of silver jewelry in every country I go to, because I ended up with a little horn-shaped pendant made of silver, turquoise, lapis lazuli, coral and black onyx. At about $12, it was an absolute steal, and definitely not something you can find at home. I also snagged an adorable turquoise cotton purse with two elephants embroidered on it.
For dinner, we went to a restaurant near the hotel and they had steak on the menu! After seeing so many beef-free menus in India it was unusual to see it offered, and it was delicious. (Nepal has a very large Hindu population, so beef was still a rare sight to see. We also didn’t see much pork offered because of the large Muslim population.) Poor Dinesh was seated next to me, watching me eat his holy cow.
Yesterday morning we were up and in the lobby of the hotel for 6am to drive to Sarangkot to watch the sun rise over the Annapurna mountains. So beautiful! Once we were done our chai and snapping pictures of the sun, we began the descent down the mountain, this time by foot. It was 800m and was mostly stone steps. Twenty minutes into it my legs were getting shaky, and you had to be so careful with your footing because we were on the edges of cliffs. We spotted birds and monkeys on our way, and stopped for pictures with terraced farm fields in the background.
On the way down, we felt compelled to complain, but then we looked around and realized the years it would have taken to assemble the steps. It would have been backbreaking labour, and we were just happy to be doing the decent rather than ascent. Many of the locals walk the steps every day, and they are a lifeline to their villages. With so little flat land in Nepal, and with flat land reserved for farmland, it makes sense that the hillsides are used for homes, but it’s still crazy to see thousands upon thousands of stone steps.
We were back on flat land after about an hour of endless steps, and I’m pretty sore today, but it was still good. At the bottom we looked up to where we had been, and waaaay up at the top was a tiny little yellow backhoe. The backhoe was huge in person, and we came across it at least twenty minutes into our descent, so seeing just how far we had walked as impressive.
The rest of the day was free time, and most of the group opted to go paragliding. I opted not to as I’m budgeting and I didn’t feel like I’d regret choosing not to go. At 70 Euros, it wasn’t cheap. After lunch and a nap, Shauna and I hired a boat. For Rs 300 it comes with a driver for an hour, so including tip we had a boat and a man to paddle for $5. Nepal is ridiculously cheap. Julian came with, and as we predicted he paddled half the time, giving our hired paddler a break. Julian has boundless amounts of energy. We went to an island in the middle of the lake that was a Hindi temple, and then made our way back to where we started, “racing” the Japanese tourists that were taking photos of us with their gargantuan lenses.
Then Shauna and I headed back to the hotel for our massages. Probably the nuttiest massage I’ll have in my life.
[Whoo boy, I’m not so great at this eh? Wrapping up this one, as I left yet another unfinished, on Feb 7th. I guess it’s not a half bad sign though; either I’ve been too tired or too busy to complete these in one go, and neither of those is a bad thing when travelling.]
Melanie and Shauna had gone for massages at the hotel in Orchha, and how Asia does massages is not how they’re done at home. Since they had told us what the Indian version of a massage was like, I was a little bit prepared. And at about $30 CDN for an hour-long deep tissue massage, it wasn’t something I wanted to pass up.
At home, when I go to massage therapy, or even just a massage at Mackie Naturals, modesty is a big deal. They turn the lights down low, leave the room, and then give you time to undress and get under the sheet.
Not the case in Nepal!
I get into the room, which is fairly well lit, and the cute little Nepali masseuse gestures for me to strip down. The door’s open, and she’s standing there facing me, waiting. Uhhh… ok. So I start peeling off clothes and it’s getting increasingly awkward. At home, the undies stay on, so I get in a language-barriered argument over whether or not I can keep them on. She says no, I say yes, but I’m paying for this shit so I win. So I’m standing there, almost butt naked, covering up my boobs with my arm, and the door is still open and she’s still staring at me. Whooo boy.
I lay face-down on the bed, and feel two snaps. Yup, it’s my underwear, right up my butt. They were in her way I guess. I had booked a deep-tissue massage, and despite being shorter than I am and maybe 110lbs, this tiny woman can inflict pain. And since “ow!” apparently isn’t universal, I’m trying to explain “not so hard!” which she apparently interprets as “please go harder!” Eventually I get the message across that I need to be able to walk later, and she softens up.
Shauna’s in the room next to me, and panels of the walls are made of lattice, so we can hear each other. Or moreso, I can hear her laughing at me as I’m whining in pain.
The masseuse probably went through a litre of oil, and massaged everywhere from between my toes to my scalp. Then it’s time to flip over.
Canada style: Alwynn, my massage therapist, holds the sheet up and looks away so I can turn over without flashing any boob.
Nepal style: “Turn over!” *yanks blanket down to waist*
Trying to talk to someone who speaks a different language is awkward enough, but when you can see your own boobs while conversing? Even more awkward. At this point, Shauna’s done her reflexology massage and Julian comes in to get a massage, and he’s laughing at me because I can’t take this seriously and I’m giggling at the ridiculousness of it.
An hour’s up and I’m a total greaseball. The masseuse goes out of the room to get something, and leaves the door wide open, so anyone walking by can see me scrambling to get my clothes, which I had left right by the door. Luckily it wasn’t very busy, but it’s still awkward having to James Bond it across the room without anyone seeing you. Trying to walk back to the room was difficult; the soles of my feel were slick with oil and made my flipflops a hazard. And showering was a task all in itself; Nepal has hard water, which makes washing up with soap really difficult. After ten minutes of scrubbing I could still see the water beading up all over me, so I gave up.
For dinner, we went to the Amsterdam Café, which was a disappointment. Doors were open at both ends so it was really breezy, and there was a band doing covers of English songs (U2, Sublime, the Eagles, etc). They were butchering them, and since the songs are English and they speak Nepalese, they were constantly messing up the lyrics. It would have been better if they were just doing their own thing, because no one likes an awful cover band. On top of that, it was super loud when they were playing, so despite us all being together at a table, no one could talk to one another. Oh well, it was the only crappy dinner of the entire trip.
Julian and I ducked out early and headed back to the hotel to get to bed. Then it was up in the morning and on the bus to head to Kathmandu.
On Monday, when we first got to Nepal, we stayed at the Nirvana Hotel. Tuesday morning, I woke up first, and Shauna awoke shortly after. She shrieks as she was the first to notice that we had a visitor in our room. On the wall above her bed was a huge disgusting spider. Thankfully it didn’t move once while we were getting ready, but it was still creepy to think this thing had been in our room all night.
We board the bus and start out towards Chitwan. In the morning we stopped at Lumbini, which is the birthplace of Buddha and now a holy site for Buddhists. They have the exact location of his birth marked down to a single stone, which is impressive considering it’s been something like 2600 years since his birth. The area is mostly gardens and ruins of temples, many from 3 and 4BC.
After we exited the site, we had time to peruse the mini market set up on the road that leads into the temple. Lots of prayer beads and prayer bowls and jewelry for sale. After ten minutes, Dan, the gratingly annoying, horribly self-centered, typical American* traveller, starts losing his shit because his passport and money are missing.
*I should note that there was another group of Americans with us, Bob and Melanie and their thirteen-year-old daughter Montana, and they were a pretty cool bunch. Not the typical yankee tourists you see elsewhere.
Despite being at a holy site surrounded by Buddhist monks, he starts screaming and swearing at the top of his lungs, causing this massively embarrassing scene. When swearing wasn’t quite cutting it, he starts accusing the merchants of stealing his stuff. Then that escalates into him actually saying “If I don’t get my stuff back I’m going to start punching people.” Everyone’s standing around helplessly, and I feel so horrible for Dinesh, who has no idea what to do.
We’re asking him to check his pockets, telling him to double-check hat he didn’t accidentally set it down somewhere, and he’s adamant that it’s gone, that someone stole it, and that he’s “stuck in this fucking country.” He insists that the pocket that everything was in was empty, and he’s storming around like a lunatic.
I get fed up and tell him to stop yelling and swearing because it’s not helping anything. He gets right in my face and screams as loud as possible “SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP!!” The guy is losing his mind, and I went from trying to help to walking away, because I wanted nothing to do with the situation.
And five minutes later? Turns out Dan was wearing two pairs of pants that day, and his passport and money were in the inner pair. When I get back to where the group is, he does manage to throw an apology my way, but only because half the group had seen him yell in my face. I could care less whether or not he apologized to me, but did he go back and apologize to all the merchants whom he accused and threatened physically? No, of course not. So now it reflects poorly on our entire group, and poor Dinesh has to go back there repeatedly, and will undoubtedly be embarrassed about this for some time.
Post-dramatic outburst, we headed on to our hotel at Chitwan National Park and it is an absolute slice of heaven. The deck has a bunch of outdoor couches with cushions and pillows, and this was our first real dose of sunshine. The view is of fields and a stream and a little bridge, and the locals are out letting their goats graze.
After getting into our rooms, we headed to the elephant breeding centre, which I wasn’t much of a fan of, but I won’t go into that now.
The hotel is located on the grounds of Chitwan National Park, which is a government-owned park that is 932 square kilometers. It’s home to elephants, rhinoceroses, snakes, crocodiles, deer, wild boar, countless birds, monkeys, and the elusive tiger.
We ate dinner at the hotel and then sat around the fire until it was well into the night. The next morning (Tuesday), we met up at 8:30 for elephant safaris! After visiting the elephant breeding center, I was really conflicted on whether or not to go on the elephant safari, because I wasn’t thrilled with how they were caging the animals, but I’m so glad I decided to go.
For the safari, four people climb into a wooden frame, mounted on top of the saddle. The “driver” sits on the elephant’s neck, and uses his bare feet to prod and steer the elephant. The passengers each sit with their backs to one another, with one of the four corner posts between their legs. Less than ten minutes into our trek, we come across two rhinos sleeping in the bushes, a male and a female. So awesome!
The safari was about an hour and a half, and included walking through the grasslands, which have the tallest grass in the world, and crossing a stream. So awesome to see elephants drinking and eating up close. In the stream were three crocodiles, and perched on a branch was a brilliant blue kingfisher. In the grasslands, we found another rhino, and the herd of elephants and tourists surrounding him was enough to make him groan and snort. So cute!
We meandered back into the forest where we saw deer and three more rhinos, for a total of six. It’s pretty amazing to be able to say that I’ve seen rhinos in real life, and not at a zoo.
(Right now we’re on a bus, leaving Pokhara and headed to Kathmandu. Dinesh is explaining the entire arranged marriage situation. While interesting, and there are definitely success stories, I’m so glad I can pick my own husband-to-be without concerns for astrological diaries and clans and parental selection. When his mom finds a suitable prospect, she gives Dinesh a spec sheet. It’s like shopping for a car. It includes her picture, her family history, detailed information about her father and brothers, her astrological diary and more. Dinesh then can choose whether or not he wants to meet her. Once he agrees to meet her, he has to give his family a yes or no answer almost immediately, like within a week at most, as to whether or not he’ll marry her. Those Indians don’t mess around!
It’s still a sad situation for many though; Dinesh said that while people can divorce, it’s still looked down upon, and the divorcees will likely never remarry as there’s too much stigma. Women feel trapped in relationships because the alternative is a lifetime of loneliness, plus the threat of shaming their families. When your parents choose your partner for you, it’s difficult to tell them they made a poor choice and that you want out.)
After the safaris, we had the whole afternoon for optional activities. Options included a jungle walk, an elephant ride into the village, henna tattoos, cooking classes in the Tharu style, elephant washing and more. I initially decided against elephant washing, but quickly changed my mind when I saw the first group go.
Two saddle-less elephants were walked up to where we were at the restaurant, and the first group climbed up onto them, Lene and Kristine on one, and Julian, Montana and Steen on the other. The elephants walked down to the river and right into the water. They started spraying the people on top of them with their trucks, and the first elephant laid down in the water, tossing all its riders into the water. So much fun to watch! The elephants were rolling onto their sides and spraying water everywhere, and dunking their heads underwater with just their trunks peeking out. The riders could sit on the backs or bellies, depending on which way they were sitting in the water, and were continually getting tossed off into the water. Then they climbed back on, soaking wet, and the elephants stood up and walked out of the river and back up to where they started.
Then Rose and I climbed on, with Montana, who decided to go for round 2, and it was awesome. Not much more I can say about it! We were able to stand right on its belly at one point, and it’s the animal version of logrolling. We kept getting thrown into the water, and we had Dinesh, David and Michael taking tonnes of pictures of the three (well, four, including the elephant) of us.
Then I hussled back to the room for a shower (despite being elephant “washing,” you come out of it pretty dirty), and then got henna tattoos from a local girl. I’m not sure if there’s anything traditional about them, or if she was just doodling whatever she wanted, but they’re pretty and temporary.
I was originally planning on doing the jungle walk in the afternoon, but it was for four hours and I just wasn’t feeling up to it. Instead, Lene, Kristine, Rose, Dinesh, Montana and I walked into the local market. We stopped at every baby animal, which started with puppies right at the beginning of our venture. There are puppies everywhere and they’re all so sweet. These ones were so lazy from the heat and sun that they didn’t mind at all when we picked up them up. Momma dog came over for some love too; the animals here are so relaxed around people it’s amazing.
The shops sold the typical wares that we’ve been seeing all trip: tea and prayer bowls and jewelry and anything else a tourist might want to take home. I bought some Nepali masala tea and some razors, as I had forgotten mine in the shower of one of the previous hotels. I am going to miss Indian chai and Nepali masala tea so much when I get home. I bought one bag that should last me for a while, but after that I’ll need to hunt for an Indian or Nepali shop in Vancouver to buy more.
The tea that they make here is about one part hot milk and one part hot strong brewed tea, with a generous spoonful of sugar. It’s served at every meal and is also used as a welcome drink at shops and hotels. (Orange juice has also been a welcome drink, as has been Fanta. Pretty fancy!) The tea’s delicious, and I fully intend to make it regularly when I’m at home.
On our walk back, Dinesh caught a kid goat, and we chased goats around a field while an old guy, probably the goat owner, laughed at us. Then we found goats that were only two days old! They were the tiniest, sweetest, softest, cutest little things you could imagine.
When we were almost back at the hotel, we went after the pack of tiny chicks at a house, and a group of little kids came out. I was taking pictures of them and they didn’t understand that they could all be in the picture at once, because they were fighting and shoving and pushing to be front and centre. One little three-year-old got whacked in the head when one of the older kids didn’t like that he was trying to be in the picture.
Later, after dinner, we sat around the fire drinking rum in the dark, enjoying our last night at Chitwan.
Wednesday morning we loaded into the bus and began the drive to Pokhara. Pokara is situated right on a lake with a view of the Annapurna mountains. Our hotel was right in the middle of the main drag, and the boy working the front desk was beeeeeautiful. I was trying to figure out how much it would cost to import him to Canada when Dinesh broke my heart and told me he’s getting married in two months. Nepali boys are a fine looking breed.
We had the whole afternoon to meander the shops. There are a tonne of North Face knockoffs that are unbelievably good, but at $60 for a jacket that at home would be easily $450, they’re definitely not the real thing. I guess I’ve decided that I’m buying a piece of silver jewelry in every country I go to, because I ended up with a little horn-shaped pendant made of silver, turquoise, lapis lazuli, coral and black onyx. At about $12, it was an absolute steal, and definitely not something you can find at home. I also snagged an adorable turquoise cotton purse with two elephants embroidered on it.
For dinner, we went to a restaurant near the hotel and they had steak on the menu! After seeing so many beef-free menus in India it was unusual to see it offered, and it was delicious. (Nepal has a very large Hindu population, so beef was still a rare sight to see. We also didn’t see much pork offered because of the large Muslim population.) Poor Dinesh was seated next to me, watching me eat his holy cow.
Yesterday morning we were up and in the lobby of the hotel for 6am to drive to Sarangkot to watch the sun rise over the Annapurna mountains. So beautiful! Once we were done our chai and snapping pictures of the sun, we began the descent down the mountain, this time by foot. It was 800m and was mostly stone steps. Twenty minutes into it my legs were getting shaky, and you had to be so careful with your footing because we were on the edges of cliffs. We spotted birds and monkeys on our way, and stopped for pictures with terraced farm fields in the background.
On the way down, we felt compelled to complain, but then we looked around and realized the years it would have taken to assemble the steps. It would have been backbreaking labour, and we were just happy to be doing the decent rather than ascent. Many of the locals walk the steps every day, and they are a lifeline to their villages. With so little flat land in Nepal, and with flat land reserved for farmland, it makes sense that the hillsides are used for homes, but it’s still crazy to see thousands upon thousands of stone steps.
We were back on flat land after about an hour of endless steps, and I’m pretty sore today, but it was still good. At the bottom we looked up to where we had been, and waaaay up at the top was a tiny little yellow backhoe. The backhoe was huge in person, and we came across it at least twenty minutes into our descent, so seeing just how far we had walked as impressive.
The rest of the day was free time, and most of the group opted to go paragliding. I opted not to as I’m budgeting and I didn’t feel like I’d regret choosing not to go. At 70 Euros, it wasn’t cheap. After lunch and a nap, Shauna and I hired a boat. For Rs 300 it comes with a driver for an hour, so including tip we had a boat and a man to paddle for $5. Nepal is ridiculously cheap. Julian came with, and as we predicted he paddled half the time, giving our hired paddler a break. Julian has boundless amounts of energy. We went to an island in the middle of the lake that was a Hindi temple, and then made our way back to where we started, “racing” the Japanese tourists that were taking photos of us with their gargantuan lenses.
Then Shauna and I headed back to the hotel for our massages. Probably the nuttiest massage I’ll have in my life.
[Whoo boy, I’m not so great at this eh? Wrapping up this one, as I left yet another unfinished, on Feb 7th. I guess it’s not a half bad sign though; either I’ve been too tired or too busy to complete these in one go, and neither of those is a bad thing when travelling.]
Melanie and Shauna had gone for massages at the hotel in Orchha, and how Asia does massages is not how they’re done at home. Since they had told us what the Indian version of a massage was like, I was a little bit prepared. And at about $30 CDN for an hour-long deep tissue massage, it wasn’t something I wanted to pass up.
At home, when I go to massage therapy, or even just a massage at Mackie Naturals, modesty is a big deal. They turn the lights down low, leave the room, and then give you time to undress and get under the sheet.
Not the case in Nepal!
I get into the room, which is fairly well lit, and the cute little Nepali masseuse gestures for me to strip down. The door’s open, and she’s standing there facing me, waiting. Uhhh… ok. So I start peeling off clothes and it’s getting increasingly awkward. At home, the undies stay on, so I get in a language-barriered argument over whether or not I can keep them on. She says no, I say yes, but I’m paying for this shit so I win. So I’m standing there, almost butt naked, covering up my boobs with my arm, and the door is still open and she’s still staring at me. Whooo boy.
I lay face-down on the bed, and feel two snaps. Yup, it’s my underwear, right up my butt. They were in her way I guess. I had booked a deep-tissue massage, and despite being shorter than I am and maybe 110lbs, this tiny woman can inflict pain. And since “ow!” apparently isn’t universal, I’m trying to explain “not so hard!” which she apparently interprets as “please go harder!” Eventually I get the message across that I need to be able to walk later, and she softens up.
Shauna’s in the room next to me, and panels of the walls are made of lattice, so we can hear each other. Or moreso, I can hear her laughing at me as I’m whining in pain.
The masseuse probably went through a litre of oil, and massaged everywhere from between my toes to my scalp. Then it’s time to flip over.
Canada style: Alwynn, my massage therapist, holds the sheet up and looks away so I can turn over without flashing any boob.
Nepal style: “Turn over!” *yanks blanket down to waist*
Trying to talk to someone who speaks a different language is awkward enough, but when you can see your own boobs while conversing? Even more awkward. At this point, Shauna’s done her reflexology massage and Julian comes in to get a massage, and he’s laughing at me because I can’t take this seriously and I’m giggling at the ridiculousness of it.
An hour’s up and I’m a total greaseball. The masseuse goes out of the room to get something, and leaves the door wide open, so anyone walking by can see me scrambling to get my clothes, which I had left right by the door. Luckily it wasn’t very busy, but it’s still awkward having to James Bond it across the room without anyone seeing you. Trying to walk back to the room was difficult; the soles of my feel were slick with oil and made my flipflops a hazard. And showering was a task all in itself; Nepal has hard water, which makes washing up with soap really difficult. After ten minutes of scrubbing I could still see the water beading up all over me, so I gave up.
For dinner, we went to the Amsterdam Café, which was a disappointment. Doors were open at both ends so it was really breezy, and there was a band doing covers of English songs (U2, Sublime, the Eagles, etc). They were butchering them, and since the songs are English and they speak Nepalese, they were constantly messing up the lyrics. It would have been better if they were just doing their own thing, because no one likes an awful cover band. On top of that, it was super loud when they were playing, so despite us all being together at a table, no one could talk to one another. Oh well, it was the only crappy dinner of the entire trip.
Julian and I ducked out early and headed back to the hotel to get to bed. Then it was up in the morning and on the bus to head to Kathmandu.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Day 15 – Road to Nepal
I feel bad for whoever paints the lines on the road denoting lanes. What meaningless work.
We’re about five hours into a bus trip that will take at least nine hours, and we’re on our way to Nepal. We pulled over for breakfast about an hour ago and had the most amazing samosas I’ve ever tasted. We also had jelabi, which is about as artery-clogging as it is amazingly delicious, so I’m glad it’s not readily available at home.
It’s been an unbelievable couple of days, and probably my favourite parts of India overall. Varanasi’s just as dirty, just as polluted, just as noisy as the other cities, but somehow it’s more beautiful.
After we got into Varanasi, and after our crazy rickshaw rides through town amidst the celebrations, we walked down the banks of the Ganges and climbed aboard a wooden oat. At one end were our two paddlers, and on the other end, two guys playing sitar and drums.
[I’m completing this entry now – Saturday, January 30, 2010 – as I didn’t finish it when I started it. In my strive for journalistic integrity, I felt that this needed to be disclosed. Because anyone reading this will really care when it was written.]
We rowed over to one of the two main cremation sites, and then took part in a candle ceremony. Little paper dishes are filled with yellow flowers and one red flower, with a candle placed in the middle. Then you make a wish and release it from the boat. Seeing dozens of little dishes of flowers aglow with candlelight floating on the water was beautiful.
We learned that Varanasi has eighty ghats, which are banks of stairs leading from the town down to the water. It’s regarded as the holiest city in India, and many elderly people move to Varanasi so that they will be cremated there when they die. Dozens of cremations take place each day, and once the bodies are burned, the charred remains are tossed into the water. The act of cremation is to remove the sins from the body, so that what remains is pure. People that are already pure, such as very young babies and priests, do not need to be burned, and their bodies are floated into the water intact. The majority of bodies are burned however, so the stories of seeing the Ganges full of dead bodies is untrue.
The water was also littered with effigies, made of clay and paper and wood so they will eventually decompose. While still dirty, the water is still far cleaner than you’d imagine.
Once we were finished on the boat, we returned to land and climbed back into our cycle rickshaws. We saw the same scene on the way back to our hotel as we had seen on the way to the Ganges: dozens of processions, the same loud music and dancing men. It was amazing.
Yesterday, we returned to the Ganges to see it by daylight. We walked along the banks on the ghats, and witnessed people bathing in the water and meditating on the ghats. We came near the larger of the two cremation sites and saw the cremations. Such an unbelievable sight! Families gathered around fires, preparing their deceased loved ones for their journey into the Ganges by burning the sins out of their flesh. We were actually able to walk right up into the middle of the group of fires. I felt a little uneasy because I didn’t want my being there to be disrespectful, but the locals didn’t seem to mind.
The bodies are first washed by the family members with water from the Ganges. Then they are placed on a big pile of wood, with more wood piled on top. The fire is lit using fire from the eternal flame, a fire that has been burning continuously for 3500 years. The bodies take three hours to burn, and we could see chests and heads and feet in the fires. It wasn’t at all creepy or weird to witness it; it was just families saying their goodbyes while the bodies turned to ash. I thought it was beautiful.
Afterwards, we were allowed into the Golden Temple. It’s situated right next to a mosque, so tensions and security are high. It’s been destroyed several times over hundreds of years, as the Muslims would destroy it and build a mosque in its place. Eventually, instead of continually destroying each other’s buildings, the new temple was built next to the mosque, and they’ve managed to co-exist somewhat harmoniously since then.
We also went to a silk factory, where we saw ancient looms that are the last of their kind. Should the strings that create the design ever break or become unravelled, the looms will be finished, as the people that initially made them aren’t alive anymore. Inside, we saw the most amazing woven silks. Using the old-style loom is incredibly slow; an entire day of work will create only one or two centimetres of finished product. One piece took three years to create, and was bigger than a blanket for a king-sized bed. They refuse to sell it, so it’s effectively priceless.
Then we shopped! They had the most amazing pure silk scarves in brilliant colours, so I now own five (or four rather, as at least one is for mom). I also bought two cushion pillowcases. One is turquoise with elephants on the front, and the other is purple with peacocks, which is India’s national bird. They’re both stunning and made of pure silk, and at only $5 each they were an unbelievable deal.
I also scored some other scarves from their odds and ends pile, and one “scarf” that would be horribly uncomfortable to wear as it’s made of stiff material and encrusted with tiny mirrors. It will, however, make a lovely red glittery table runner at Christmas, so into the bag it went.
[Completed more than ten days later because I’m not very good at staying on top of these.]
Next we met for lunch, and we were short one of our group as Julian was buying a sitar! He had gone to the home of the sitar player from the boat the night before, and ended up with a gorgeous sitar, that cost surprisingly only around $500 CDN for both the instrument and the case. The bottom of a sitar is actually made from a pumpkin! Julian’s is adorned with wood carvings and he was given a lesson in playing it. Julian reminds me of Will in so many ways, and if Will ever came to India I could see him buying one too.
After lunch, we wander back onto the street and find that the same processions from the night before are still going on, still in celebration of the goddess of knowledge. As one pack of dancers makes its way past, I can’t help but run into the middle of it. The look on Dinesh’s face was priceless. He had warned that the guys would get grabby, but undeterred I went for it anyway, as it looked like too much fun to pass up. Surprisingly, three or four of the older boys immediately formed a protective wall around me, pushing back the others that were crowding in. I wasn’t too concerned anyway; with only 20 or so people in the pack, and most of them 13-year-old-boys, it wouldn’t have been difficult to get out. Still, it was cute that they stepped in as my bodyguards. A few spins and twirls later and I was back on the side of the road with the rest of the spectators. Dinesh comes over laughing at me, and at that moment a few of the boys from the pack grab my hands and try to pull me back in. Why the women in India don’t join in is beyond me, it was so fun!
Later that day, Dinesh took us into the “real” markets. The shops and stalls that line the roads are aimed at tourists, but the shops inside the markets are mostly for locals. It was a much calmer pace, and the merchants weren’t frantic about convincing tourists to buy their wares. We went to his “uncle’s” (not actually his uncle, but calling someone an uncle is a term of endearment and shows strong friendship) silk and cotton shop.
While I had already bought my share of silk and cotton scarves and wasn’t prepared to buy anything, the experience was awesome. The shop is lined with shelves on all four walls, piled top to bottom with colourful fabrics. The entire floor is a think white mattress, and you shuck your shoes at the door before you walk in. With everyone sitting cross-legged on the floor drinking chai, he gave us a lesson in all the material types, from blended silks to pure silk, brushed wools, and true pashminas. Sorry girls, but the $10 pashminas that we buy from the mall aren’t real pashminas.
Pashmina is a type of goat wool that is from the Himalayas. It’s collected from bushes that snag the wool as the goats walk past. Many scarves are made of real pashmina wool, but there’s a massive difference, both in price and softness, between standard pashminas and true pashminas. For the real deal, only the insanely-soft belly fur is used in making the scarf. The result is the second softest thing I’d felt in my entire life (the first being chinchillas), and I spent the entire two hours we were in the shop manhandling the scarf that was out of my pricerange. At about $175 CDN, it was worth every penny, but I had already bought more than a half dozen scarves for less than that, and so the scarf stayed in Varanasi.
I did, however, promise myself that I’ll have one one day, so when I’m home and working and ready to splurge, I’ll give Dinesh a shout and have one mailed out.
On our walk to get rickshaws to take us to the hotel, I stopped to buy oranges. I had made a deal to buy four oranges at Rs 10 a piece, but Dinesh stepped in and worked his Indian magic. A kilo of oranges was only Rs 40, so I actually ended up with 5.5 (one was a little baby orange) oranges. Next I see the guy that just sold us oranges running across the street, and Dinesh said he was going to get us an auto-rickshaw.
We pile into the rickshaw and it’s brand spanking new! Only 25 days old with less than 600kms on it. The new rickshaws all have the same green body with yellow roof, but the insides can be really fancy. The roof and seats are usually brown vinyl, and they’ll have pink and blue stars and hearts sewn into them. They’re actually pretty cute. I’m definitely going to miss rickshaws, and if Vancouver weren’t such a rainy city they’d be fantastic for the downtown core. Of course, they’re a hell of a lot cheaper here (Negotiating a fair of Rs 20 for a ten-minute ride is completely normal. Only 50 cents!!), but they’re an awesome method of transportation.
We start off down the road and Dinesh points out that the driver is the same guy that just sold us oranges! Sure enough, he had left his post at the fruit stand to drive us across town. And he’s driving fast. I’ve been scared a few times in rickshaws, but this guy was racing through town. He’d been driving for a long time and definitely knew what he was doing, but when you don’t even slow down for a red light–much less stop–it’s a little frightening. But of course, we made it to the hotel unscathed, and when I got out of the rickshaw I could hear the driver giggling to himself. Nothing like scaring the tourists!
Then it was dinner and off to bed for an early morning bus ride to the Nepali border. Chullo!
We’re about five hours into a bus trip that will take at least nine hours, and we’re on our way to Nepal. We pulled over for breakfast about an hour ago and had the most amazing samosas I’ve ever tasted. We also had jelabi, which is about as artery-clogging as it is amazingly delicious, so I’m glad it’s not readily available at home.
It’s been an unbelievable couple of days, and probably my favourite parts of India overall. Varanasi’s just as dirty, just as polluted, just as noisy as the other cities, but somehow it’s more beautiful.
After we got into Varanasi, and after our crazy rickshaw rides through town amidst the celebrations, we walked down the banks of the Ganges and climbed aboard a wooden oat. At one end were our two paddlers, and on the other end, two guys playing sitar and drums.
[I’m completing this entry now – Saturday, January 30, 2010 – as I didn’t finish it when I started it. In my strive for journalistic integrity, I felt that this needed to be disclosed. Because anyone reading this will really care when it was written.]
We rowed over to one of the two main cremation sites, and then took part in a candle ceremony. Little paper dishes are filled with yellow flowers and one red flower, with a candle placed in the middle. Then you make a wish and release it from the boat. Seeing dozens of little dishes of flowers aglow with candlelight floating on the water was beautiful.
We learned that Varanasi has eighty ghats, which are banks of stairs leading from the town down to the water. It’s regarded as the holiest city in India, and many elderly people move to Varanasi so that they will be cremated there when they die. Dozens of cremations take place each day, and once the bodies are burned, the charred remains are tossed into the water. The act of cremation is to remove the sins from the body, so that what remains is pure. People that are already pure, such as very young babies and priests, do not need to be burned, and their bodies are floated into the water intact. The majority of bodies are burned however, so the stories of seeing the Ganges full of dead bodies is untrue.
The water was also littered with effigies, made of clay and paper and wood so they will eventually decompose. While still dirty, the water is still far cleaner than you’d imagine.
Once we were finished on the boat, we returned to land and climbed back into our cycle rickshaws. We saw the same scene on the way back to our hotel as we had seen on the way to the Ganges: dozens of processions, the same loud music and dancing men. It was amazing.
Yesterday, we returned to the Ganges to see it by daylight. We walked along the banks on the ghats, and witnessed people bathing in the water and meditating on the ghats. We came near the larger of the two cremation sites and saw the cremations. Such an unbelievable sight! Families gathered around fires, preparing their deceased loved ones for their journey into the Ganges by burning the sins out of their flesh. We were actually able to walk right up into the middle of the group of fires. I felt a little uneasy because I didn’t want my being there to be disrespectful, but the locals didn’t seem to mind.
The bodies are first washed by the family members with water from the Ganges. Then they are placed on a big pile of wood, with more wood piled on top. The fire is lit using fire from the eternal flame, a fire that has been burning continuously for 3500 years. The bodies take three hours to burn, and we could see chests and heads and feet in the fires. It wasn’t at all creepy or weird to witness it; it was just families saying their goodbyes while the bodies turned to ash. I thought it was beautiful.
Afterwards, we were allowed into the Golden Temple. It’s situated right next to a mosque, so tensions and security are high. It’s been destroyed several times over hundreds of years, as the Muslims would destroy it and build a mosque in its place. Eventually, instead of continually destroying each other’s buildings, the new temple was built next to the mosque, and they’ve managed to co-exist somewhat harmoniously since then.
We also went to a silk factory, where we saw ancient looms that are the last of their kind. Should the strings that create the design ever break or become unravelled, the looms will be finished, as the people that initially made them aren’t alive anymore. Inside, we saw the most amazing woven silks. Using the old-style loom is incredibly slow; an entire day of work will create only one or two centimetres of finished product. One piece took three years to create, and was bigger than a blanket for a king-sized bed. They refuse to sell it, so it’s effectively priceless.
Then we shopped! They had the most amazing pure silk scarves in brilliant colours, so I now own five (or four rather, as at least one is for mom). I also bought two cushion pillowcases. One is turquoise with elephants on the front, and the other is purple with peacocks, which is India’s national bird. They’re both stunning and made of pure silk, and at only $5 each they were an unbelievable deal.
I also scored some other scarves from their odds and ends pile, and one “scarf” that would be horribly uncomfortable to wear as it’s made of stiff material and encrusted with tiny mirrors. It will, however, make a lovely red glittery table runner at Christmas, so into the bag it went.
[Completed more than ten days later because I’m not very good at staying on top of these.]
Next we met for lunch, and we were short one of our group as Julian was buying a sitar! He had gone to the home of the sitar player from the boat the night before, and ended up with a gorgeous sitar, that cost surprisingly only around $500 CDN for both the instrument and the case. The bottom of a sitar is actually made from a pumpkin! Julian’s is adorned with wood carvings and he was given a lesson in playing it. Julian reminds me of Will in so many ways, and if Will ever came to India I could see him buying one too.
After lunch, we wander back onto the street and find that the same processions from the night before are still going on, still in celebration of the goddess of knowledge. As one pack of dancers makes its way past, I can’t help but run into the middle of it. The look on Dinesh’s face was priceless. He had warned that the guys would get grabby, but undeterred I went for it anyway, as it looked like too much fun to pass up. Surprisingly, three or four of the older boys immediately formed a protective wall around me, pushing back the others that were crowding in. I wasn’t too concerned anyway; with only 20 or so people in the pack, and most of them 13-year-old-boys, it wouldn’t have been difficult to get out. Still, it was cute that they stepped in as my bodyguards. A few spins and twirls later and I was back on the side of the road with the rest of the spectators. Dinesh comes over laughing at me, and at that moment a few of the boys from the pack grab my hands and try to pull me back in. Why the women in India don’t join in is beyond me, it was so fun!
Later that day, Dinesh took us into the “real” markets. The shops and stalls that line the roads are aimed at tourists, but the shops inside the markets are mostly for locals. It was a much calmer pace, and the merchants weren’t frantic about convincing tourists to buy their wares. We went to his “uncle’s” (not actually his uncle, but calling someone an uncle is a term of endearment and shows strong friendship) silk and cotton shop.
While I had already bought my share of silk and cotton scarves and wasn’t prepared to buy anything, the experience was awesome. The shop is lined with shelves on all four walls, piled top to bottom with colourful fabrics. The entire floor is a think white mattress, and you shuck your shoes at the door before you walk in. With everyone sitting cross-legged on the floor drinking chai, he gave us a lesson in all the material types, from blended silks to pure silk, brushed wools, and true pashminas. Sorry girls, but the $10 pashminas that we buy from the mall aren’t real pashminas.
Pashmina is a type of goat wool that is from the Himalayas. It’s collected from bushes that snag the wool as the goats walk past. Many scarves are made of real pashmina wool, but there’s a massive difference, both in price and softness, between standard pashminas and true pashminas. For the real deal, only the insanely-soft belly fur is used in making the scarf. The result is the second softest thing I’d felt in my entire life (the first being chinchillas), and I spent the entire two hours we were in the shop manhandling the scarf that was out of my pricerange. At about $175 CDN, it was worth every penny, but I had already bought more than a half dozen scarves for less than that, and so the scarf stayed in Varanasi.
I did, however, promise myself that I’ll have one one day, so when I’m home and working and ready to splurge, I’ll give Dinesh a shout and have one mailed out.
On our walk to get rickshaws to take us to the hotel, I stopped to buy oranges. I had made a deal to buy four oranges at Rs 10 a piece, but Dinesh stepped in and worked his Indian magic. A kilo of oranges was only Rs 40, so I actually ended up with 5.5 (one was a little baby orange) oranges. Next I see the guy that just sold us oranges running across the street, and Dinesh said he was going to get us an auto-rickshaw.
We pile into the rickshaw and it’s brand spanking new! Only 25 days old with less than 600kms on it. The new rickshaws all have the same green body with yellow roof, but the insides can be really fancy. The roof and seats are usually brown vinyl, and they’ll have pink and blue stars and hearts sewn into them. They’re actually pretty cute. I’m definitely going to miss rickshaws, and if Vancouver weren’t such a rainy city they’d be fantastic for the downtown core. Of course, they’re a hell of a lot cheaper here (Negotiating a fair of Rs 20 for a ten-minute ride is completely normal. Only 50 cents!!), but they’re an awesome method of transportation.
We start off down the road and Dinesh points out that the driver is the same guy that just sold us oranges! Sure enough, he had left his post at the fruit stand to drive us across town. And he’s driving fast. I’ve been scared a few times in rickshaws, but this guy was racing through town. He’d been driving for a long time and definitely knew what he was doing, but when you don’t even slow down for a red light–much less stop–it’s a little frightening. But of course, we made it to the hotel unscathed, and when I got out of the rickshaw I could hear the driver giggling to himself. Nothing like scaring the tourists!
Then it was dinner and off to bed for an early morning bus ride to the Nepali border. Chullo!
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