Travelling Right, Travelling Light
Jacquie and Lloyd are a couple of travellers on a Round the World trip. (Interview with Jacquie and Lloyd)
Features
Aswan Agatha Christie Style
After a wonderful morning at Abu Simbel, we arrived in Aswan to find that Roger had booked us into the rather decadent Old Cataract Hotel. A beautiful hotel, no doubt, but I just about had a coronary in the lobby when I found out the extent of the damage that our Nile view room would be doing to our bank account. It was a little bittersweet when, to make me feel better, Lloyd pointed out that this was (forthcoming wedding aside) the final hotel bill of our entire World Trip! It was a sad realization but at least we’re going out in style!
Cycling the Golden Gate
Whether Mark Twain ever really claimed that "The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco" is up for discussion, but there's no doubt that the statement could truthfully be applied to our Sunday excursion. Summer it may not be, but cycling across the Golden Gate Bridge on a San Francisco morning proved a - how shall we put it - refreshing experience!
Like millions of tourists, Lloyd and I were caught off guard by our September 2000 visit to San Francisco, when - having expected glorious days of California sunshine - we found ourselves shivering in our t-shirts under the city's fog and brisks ocean breezes. You'd think, after more than seven years in the area, and umpteen excursions to the city, we'd know better, but we still found ourselves shivering in the iciest winds San Francisco could throw at us as we practically begged for the sun to break through.
"Not Land-Based, but Space-Based"
You need to be in India for about three minutes to reach the decision NOT to drive here. If there is order to the chaos, we have yet to find it. The only guideline is that the bigger you are, the more aggressively you can ‘go for it’. Honking, of course, helps and is so frequently deployed that it must offer indemnity from responsibility; ‘yes, I did hit the cow/sheep/bicycle/tourist, but I honked to let them know the impact was imminent’. Our driver put it far more eloquently, explaining that driving in India isn’t lane-based, but space-based. Even on the rather attractive, new six-lane highway that links Jaipur and Jodhpur, much of the traffic ignores the clearly partitioned lanes. Government signs urge that ‘lane-driving is safe-driving’ but no-one’s listening.
The End of the Road
After more than six months on the road, we left London on the 3rd of January headed "home" to San Francisco. We were excited to be headed back, but it could hardly be called "home" given that we were returning to no more than a five foot by eight foot storage unit with all our worldy belongings and a PO Box crammed full of unsolicited credit card offers.
We were convinced, however, that forces were conspiring to keep us in London. First, our taxi didn't show up to take us to Heathrow, resulting in a frantic dash across - or should I say under - London. On the bright side, we were too stressed to be sad about the end of our trip, but arriving at Heathrow with forty minutes ahead of an international flight isn't to be recommended. Suffice to say I almost concluded the trip by getting arrested for being a little too enthusiastic with my 'encouragement' for progress in the security line. But the real tragedy was that I didn't have any time for a final English Breakfast or to stock up on the British chocolates and biccies that will prove all too elusive back in the US.
Temples, Tombs and Hot Air Balloons
Pyramids aside, Luxor is probably the next most common stop on Egypt’s tourist trek. With two simply amazing temples within a stone’s throw of any hotel in town, and numerous valleys filled with the hundreds of tombs many thousands years of age, it’s easy to see why we were anxious to squeeze in as much as we could in our day and a half in town.
We started at Karnak, a short caleshe (horse-driven carriage) ride out of town. You can quickly get lost wandering around Karnak’s multitude of carved columns, admiring the hieroglyphics and images, some of which still display scraps of the original blues and yellows and reds. With its bold, primary colours, the temple must have looked quite garish in its youth, but I prefer it now with the limestone exposed and faded colours, leaving more to the imagination.
Witnessing the Ultimate New Zealand Experience
New Zealand is the infamous home of bungy jumping and outside
Queenstown is the bungy operation that claims to have started it all –
AJ Hackett’s at Kawarau Bridge. We decided to stop and watch some brave
folks leap off the 142 foot high bridge, which overlooks a particularly
picturesque river ravine. With bungy elastic strapped firmly around
their ankles, and loud heavy rock music pumping from the jump station,
individuals nervously hobbled to the edge of the platform and plunged
to the river below. A few were ‘helped’ with a gentle nudge if they
were taking too long.
Even watching people jump leaves a lump
in your throat. As perfect strangers stand on the platform, you feel
nervous for them: everyone can imagine the all-encompassing and
uncontrollable terror they’d feel standing in the jumper’s shoes. You’d
have to be crazy, right? I mean, of all the adventurous pursuits, bungy
is the one I said I’d never do.
I guess I lied.
The Golden Dawn - Jacquie's Perspective
Forgive me bloggers, for I have sinned. It has been three weeks since my last blog entry . . .
Three weeks! I wish I could say that I've been on vacation (I know, how laughable is it to need a vacation from a vacation....), but that was - unfortunately - far from the truth. As Lloyd indicated, I was stuck in my own private hell that was the Golden Dawn. To be fair, the Golden Dawn wasn't the problem. But the cyclonic seas around her threw that tiny boat around something wild, and I'm just not built for that kind of 360 degree turbulence.
Angkor Wat-tage Overload
Our trip to Siem Reap by road from Phnom Penh reinforced one of our initial observations of Cambodia and her people: this is a special place. Unlike most of the terrain we have covered since leaving Tibet, Cambodia is a sudden expanse of rural beauty. The rice paddies do stretch for miles around, but instead of many small dingy road towns and tourist trap shops, the country is dotted with endless palm trees across the flat-scape of paddies, punctuated by tidy rural villages comprised of huts with frontages of pink or white water lily ponds bordered by banana trees and inhabited by friendly smiling locals going about their daily business farming, cooking palm sugar or tending to their children. In contrast to her growing neighbor Vietnam, we quickly notice a distinct reduction in the number of motorbikes, in favor of cheaper bicycles, which only further enhances the idyllic scenery. While Siem Reap, the gateway to the magical realm of Angkor Wat, held the promise of 5 star luxury hotels and amenities, our overland journey showed us the real treasures of this recovering nation and reminded us yet again how lucky we are to be able to journey to such places.
Thirty Six Years Later: A Soldier's Return to Tri Ton
It had been more than 36 years since Lloyd Sr last saw Tri Ton. When he left the town in August 1971 after a year's service in Vietnam, he was no doubt looking forward to being reunited with his wife, Ingrid and his son, Roger. And he must have been excited – too – knowing that he would soon be seeing, for the first time, his son, Lloyd, born in December 1970.
Armed only with photographs taken in 1970, we arrived in Tri Ton on Sunday morning after an hour long drive from Chau Doc. Our mission was to try and locate the US military compound that had been Lloyd Sr’s home during his service as part of Military Assistance Command. Of course, a town changes a lot in 36 years, so we had our work cut out for us trying to match the profile of a nearby hill, and read what clues we could from an old aerial photograph.Physical and Mental Exercises in Saigon
We've enjoyed and endured a few of the world's greatest train journeys over the last few months, so when we boarded our final overnight train of the trip on Sunday night, I couldn't help feeling a little sad. I guess I have a romantic notion of allowing myself to be lulled asleep by the quiet, rythmic rumble of the train knowing that I'll wake up somewhere brand new in the morning.
Of course, the reality is a little different: sleep can be fitful, interrupted by carriage attendants, over-zealous air conditioning, noisy cabin-mates or the train horn sounding at all hours of the day or night. But I will miss these trains because of the adventure they symbolize, at least in my mind. But all good things must come to an end, and - still half asleep - we pulled into Ho Chi Minh City just after 5am on Monday morning.
Red mud, rice wine and grasshoppers
After hiking 20 kilometers in 6 hours through pouring rain, sloshing through deep, thick, red mud, I felt like I could eat anything. And then the plate of grasshoppers appeared. I am always game for trying the unusual and offbeat, so six scrawny legs attached to a little locust with disproportionately large eyes seemed no big deal.
In the event, it was a little disappointing. The grasshoppers ended up tasting like any number of other things deep-fried: they taste like what you put on them, or what they are fried in. In this case, I suspect the oil used to fry the tiny insects was a couple of years past its ‘use-by’ date, so the resulting taste was even more off-putting than being left with tiny legs stuck between your teeth. The locals were digging in, though. Perhaps this is some form of community service, as harvesting the insect also keeps them off the rice, in addition to serving as a low-cost beer snack.
How Long in Halong Bay?
We set off from Hanoi on Monday morning and drive the hundred miles or so to Halong Bay, well known for its dramatic rock formations set in the beautiful emerald waters of the Gulf of Tonkin. The bay covers more than 600 square miles, and comprises almost 3,000 islands. Legend has it that the bay's dramatic landscape was created by dragons sent by the Gods to help the Vietnamese defend themselves from Chinese invaders.
While the dragons were allegedly successful in keeping the invaders out, the Gods apparently failed to foresee that their actions would - many years later - attract an even more aggressive and numerous invader. Tourists today flock to the UNESCO World Heritage site en masse and it's easy to see why. Our overnight experience on the Bay easily moved into our World Trip Top Ten, probably within the first hour of getting on the boat!
Holy City, Sacred Water
The fierce storm that met us as we landed in Varanasi, India, turned out to be a fitting metaphor for my first 24 hours in this country of stark contrasts. While I had seen many pictures and video from Jacquie’s first trip here 3 years ago, I don’t think anything could have prepared me for the dizzyingly hectic pace, the diversity of the population, the array of bright colors, nor the unexpected warm and open human interactions. Certainly India was immediately a storm on my senses, with a completely positive impact.
Varanasi is about the root of the Indian culture. It is a holy city situated on the banks of the Ganga (aka Ganges) river: lifeblood and mother of India. Impossible to sum up her significance simply, she is a place where the people of India come to celebrate life, to seek miracles in her waters, to make pilgrimage and ultimately, for some lucky few, to die and be washed away in her flow. As such an important place, Jacquie put us directly in the middle of it all, selecting a hotel right on the water, between two of the busiest ghats (stairways leading to the water, used for differing ritual acts, like prayer, bathing, cremation) on the riverfront in the Rashmi Hotel.
Just a Bunch of Empty Rooms?
Once again, our tour company let us down, this time failing to deliver tickets to visit the Potala Palace. Can you imagine coming to Lhasa and not seeing Potala? Not to worry, said our tour leader, "there's nothing to see" except for a "bunch of empty rooms".
The group was not convinced, so Lloyd and I (and two others) ended up lining up ourselves for tickets at 7.30am on Saturday morning for a Sunday afternoon visit. We easily secured 16 of the 5,000 available tickets, and duly reported to the Potala gates at noon on Sunday. Of course, our group "leader" never bothered to thank us for our efforts.
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