2011
End post.
30 December 2011
30 December 2010
Northeastern States, India
There are seven states in what is called the northeast of India and I only went to two because of the expenses of going to other, the required permits and group sizes, and time, but I am glad I did as Assam and Meghalaya were amazing.
My first stop in the NE was Guwahati, the capital of Assam. In short, the town sucks and is used for getting to another place. I arrived and looked for a place to sleep for a couple hours (yes, it took that long). Once I found a place, I went off to figure out how to get out of there and onto my next destination. I found some bus information and with that information in mind I started walking around. I got a much needed haircut. There is northing worthwhile seeing so I went back to my room only to be visited by some of the most intense physical pain I have ever been in and to become clearly the sickest I have been so far during my travels. I have no idea what brought this on. It could have anything, including the air and water, which is part of the fun of travelling in India. I was laying on my be, in the fetal position, hoping to die. I managed to get up, go to reception (I think I forgot to lock my door behind me but am unsure), ask if somebody could help me communicate to the medicine-provider guy at the shop nearby what was wrong. They told me he would speak English. I stumbled down the stairs, turned the corner, and saw a shop for of pills that might make be better. Pharacies in India are not like those in the States. For most things you go to one, tell the guy what is wrong, and he gives you the appropriate medicine. For really serious things you see a real doctor, but for 99% of cases, you are just "diagnosed" by this guy. I am unsure how much medical training they has, but I do know they have some. I also know that within hour of taking the medicines he gave me I felt 95% better. So much so that I was able to move. I did think it would be wise, though, to not leave the following day just in case so I spent another day reading and doing little in the less than appealing Guwahati.
From there I took a bus to Tezpur, which is a pleasent little town and often regarded at Assam's most attractive. It has well maintain parks and a nice lake with good views. There is little to do than walk around for a day, which is all the time I spent here, but it was a good place to stop at to break up the journey. I found an amazing little bakery where I ate almost every, nutriant-free meal.
hen it was off to Jorhat, where I had to spend a night before catching a boat to the biggest river-island in the world of Majjuli. Jorhat is not much but not bad either and it was easily worth spending a night because I found the best thali I have ever had. Thali ("th" is pronouced as a softer "t") is dish served on sectioned metal metal tray. You get rice and/or chapati (flat, round bread), and an assortment of veggies, often a spicy sauce, and some yougut-like product. I never like the yougurt thing, but everything else is usually good and this thali in particular was spectacular. It came with 10 items instead of the usual 2-5 and a couple were terrible but the others were good to great and two were fantastic.
Still full in the morning from the previous night's thali, I took the early morning boat ride to Majuli. Gender means a lot in India and, at this point, this had not been clearer than on this boat. There were maybe 150 people on it. I was the only foreigner, plus about 145 men, and 1 woman with her 3 kids. Women do not venture on or off the island.
There is nothing in Majuli except the landscapes, satras ("a monestry of neo-Vaishnavism, Assam's distinctive form of everyman-Hinduism"), and local tribes (17 unique ones, if memory serves, on a tiny island). All you can do is hang out in "town," which is nice but would get old quickly, or rent a bicycle and explore, which is exactly what I did. I have no idea how many or which of the tribes I encountered or interacted with because I do not know enough about them to distinguish between them but, no matter what, it was amazing. I got off my bike at one point to take some photos of the landscape and was invited to play chess with some locals. I started to play the winnder of the previous match while answering the typical questions (the answers: "America," "26," and "no, not married") among others while the only guy that spoke even a little English translated my answers to the ever-growing auidence. (The auidence was for me, not the chess game.) About 500 feet away a boy was hit by a motorbike and only two rushed to his assistance because their attention was fixed on me. ("Is he OK?" I asked. The guy yelled down the road and got a response, which he translate for me: "No.") Other things he said: "I pray that when I die and are reborn, I am reborn American," "America is the best country," "America is rich," you get the idea. Some Indians hate Americans, but the majority love them and have similar sentiments.
I beat the guy in chess pretty easily and was ready to continue biking but was pleaded with to play another game. I agreed and they summond some other guy. He was better than the first but I won again. He demanded another game. Sensing there was some shame that he had lost I agreed and subtely lost our second match intentionally. He, and all the Indians were happy that they had beaten an American in chess, and I went on my way.
The following morning I woke up early and biked around more. I returned to town for an early lunch and looked at the map I had. I had covered all the indicated roads and went over my itinerary again and I decided to check out of the hotel and leave. I was sad to only spend a couple days on Majuli but I was pressed for time and felt I had gotten enough of what I wanted out of it so it was time. I took another boat, with about the same ratios of people, back to Jorhat. On the boat this time two teenagers spoke with me. They were going to the "mainland" to compete in a trvia competition about Assam. Maybe it was their limited English but I do not have high hopes for their chance of winning as they knew only slightly more about Assam than I. Regardless, it was nice talking with them and made the boat trip all that much more pleasant. In Jorhat I got a nightbus to Guwahati so that I could move on to my second NE state, Meghalaya.
The nightbus was OK, except for the cockaroach that walked across my left hand shortly after the bus started moving. Surprisingly I slept OK and arrived in in time to catch a bus to Shillong, the capital of Meghalaya. During the bus ride I was talking to a Indian that bought me lunch and helped me find a hotel room once we arrived in Shillong (which would have been near impossible otherwise). Shillong is not such a highly regarded town but I liked it OK and a good deal more than Assam's capital. Mysteriously a Subway (restuarant) had recently opened in this town and for some reason the selected location was in the middle of a covered parking lot. I saw the sign and investigated thinking for sure it was some mistake or joke. Lo and behold, a true-to-form Subway, with an Indian touch that included subs that would bomb in the States (potato masala) an extensive vegetarian selection. Ready for a break from Indian food and OK with the "expensive" but still cheap food, I ate nearly all of my meals here trying as many of the non-US subs as possible. Some were really good and others were more forgetable.
The real reason I came to Shillong was not Subway but rather Cherrapunjee, which gets more rain than any other place in the world. It is also home to Nohkalikai Falls, the world's 4th largest waterfall, and a handful of other nice sights. I organized to go on a day trip from Shillong in order to save about 5000INR (about US$110), though it did mean missing out on a couple of the activities I would have liked to have done. Still it was a gerat day trip and worked out perfectly. I saw highly-obscurred views of the waterfall, some other fantastic views of the surrounding cliffs and monutains, the Ramakrishna Mission (OK, but would have been happier if that time was spent elsewhere), Mawasmai Cave, and some monoliths. I missed out on the "root-bridges" and some hiking that would have added a lot more than the US$110 I saved to the cost to hike. The day trip returned me to Shillong, where I spent one more night (and four 6-inch Subway subs), before going to Guwahati a day earlier than planned to make sure I would get to Kolkata in time.
I arrived in Guwahati determined to find a better hostel. I asked a dozen places and nothing. I gave up and returned to where I stayed before to find out the only room they had left would set me back 1200INR (about US$26.75). No, thank you. I walked around more asking another 20 places. Nothing. A note: these places were not full they just refuse to rent rooms to foreigners. For some it is "illegal" for them to do so but most of the time they just do not want to do the paperwork that the Indian government requires them to do if they rent a room to a non-Indian. There are tons of things like this in India and I hate all of them but there is no room for that here. Anyway, I decided to find a place to sleep on the disgusting ground outside and while looking for a semi-decent spot I continued asking hostels. I found one that said they would put me up for 200INR. I agreed. The room was run down but was indoors. I noticed a bottom corner of the bathroom door was missing and the "drain" for shower water was a hole in the tile. It did not take me long to realize that room, much like Guwahati, was a major transportation hub, except for rats. Above the head of the bed was a barred window that lead into the hallway. The room door matched the bathroom door. I saw a rat jump from the barred window, onto the head of the bed, on to the floor, through the bathroom door, and then, presumably, down the drain. I swtiched the head and foot of the bed. Upset but realizeing there was nothing I could do, I lied down on the bed and read. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my shoes, laying on the floor in the middle of the room, move. "Man, that is a powerful ceiling fan," I thought. Then I realized the stupidty of the idea. I springed off the bed, put my head near the floor and did a quick scan. There were no fewer than four rats scattered/scattering about. I think they saw my brown shoes, thought they were a fallen commrade, and went in for further inspection. At this point I decided to inform reception as to the rat problem. I tried doing so but nobody spoke any English. I made rat/mouse noises and mimcked they running with my hand on desk. They laughed and continued talking among themselves seemingly unaware that I was displased with this and wanted something done. They eventually got the idea and two of them came up to my room with newspaper and a stick in hand. I pointed to the holes and did my best to illustrate the rat's transportation system using my hands and noises. They Indian guy in the room acrosss the hall confirmed what I was saying (I think). They put newspaper in drain and put a brick on it and indicated for me to put another brick in front of the hole of the room door. This was about as much as I could ask for so I obliged.
During the night I was awaked to a rat landing on my feet. In the morning the brick by the door was ajay, the one in the bathroom was out of place, and the newspaper was gone. I checked out and spent the next seven hours in an Internet cafe with my bags waiting for my 22-hour-long train to Kolkata.
My first stop in the NE was Guwahati, the capital of Assam. In short, the town sucks and is used for getting to another place. I arrived and looked for a place to sleep for a couple hours (yes, it took that long). Once I found a place, I went off to figure out how to get out of there and onto my next destination. I found some bus information and with that information in mind I started walking around. I got a much needed haircut. There is northing worthwhile seeing so I went back to my room only to be visited by some of the most intense physical pain I have ever been in and to become clearly the sickest I have been so far during my travels. I have no idea what brought this on. It could have anything, including the air and water, which is part of the fun of travelling in India. I was laying on my be, in the fetal position, hoping to die. I managed to get up, go to reception (I think I forgot to lock my door behind me but am unsure), ask if somebody could help me communicate to the medicine-provider guy at the shop nearby what was wrong. They told me he would speak English. I stumbled down the stairs, turned the corner, and saw a shop for of pills that might make be better. Pharacies in India are not like those in the States. For most things you go to one, tell the guy what is wrong, and he gives you the appropriate medicine. For really serious things you see a real doctor, but for 99% of cases, you are just "diagnosed" by this guy. I am unsure how much medical training they has, but I do know they have some. I also know that within hour of taking the medicines he gave me I felt 95% better. So much so that I was able to move. I did think it would be wise, though, to not leave the following day just in case so I spent another day reading and doing little in the less than appealing Guwahati.
From there I took a bus to Tezpur, which is a pleasent little town and often regarded at Assam's most attractive. It has well maintain parks and a nice lake with good views. There is little to do than walk around for a day, which is all the time I spent here, but it was a good place to stop at to break up the journey. I found an amazing little bakery where I ate almost every, nutriant-free meal.
hen it was off to Jorhat, where I had to spend a night before catching a boat to the biggest river-island in the world of Majjuli. Jorhat is not much but not bad either and it was easily worth spending a night because I found the best thali I have ever had. Thali ("th" is pronouced as a softer "t") is dish served on sectioned metal metal tray. You get rice and/or chapati (flat, round bread), and an assortment of veggies, often a spicy sauce, and some yougut-like product. I never like the yougurt thing, but everything else is usually good and this thali in particular was spectacular. It came with 10 items instead of the usual 2-5 and a couple were terrible but the others were good to great and two were fantastic.
Still full in the morning from the previous night's thali, I took the early morning boat ride to Majuli. Gender means a lot in India and, at this point, this had not been clearer than on this boat. There were maybe 150 people on it. I was the only foreigner, plus about 145 men, and 1 woman with her 3 kids. Women do not venture on or off the island.
There is nothing in Majuli except the landscapes, satras ("a monestry of neo-Vaishnavism, Assam's distinctive form of everyman-Hinduism"), and local tribes (17 unique ones, if memory serves, on a tiny island). All you can do is hang out in "town," which is nice but would get old quickly, or rent a bicycle and explore, which is exactly what I did. I have no idea how many or which of the tribes I encountered or interacted with because I do not know enough about them to distinguish between them but, no matter what, it was amazing. I got off my bike at one point to take some photos of the landscape and was invited to play chess with some locals. I started to play the winnder of the previous match while answering the typical questions (the answers: "America," "26," and "no, not married") among others while the only guy that spoke even a little English translated my answers to the ever-growing auidence. (The auidence was for me, not the chess game.) About 500 feet away a boy was hit by a motorbike and only two rushed to his assistance because their attention was fixed on me. ("Is he OK?" I asked. The guy yelled down the road and got a response, which he translate for me: "No.") Other things he said: "I pray that when I die and are reborn, I am reborn American," "America is the best country," "America is rich," you get the idea. Some Indians hate Americans, but the majority love them and have similar sentiments.
I beat the guy in chess pretty easily and was ready to continue biking but was pleaded with to play another game. I agreed and they summond some other guy. He was better than the first but I won again. He demanded another game. Sensing there was some shame that he had lost I agreed and subtely lost our second match intentionally. He, and all the Indians were happy that they had beaten an American in chess, and I went on my way.
The following morning I woke up early and biked around more. I returned to town for an early lunch and looked at the map I had. I had covered all the indicated roads and went over my itinerary again and I decided to check out of the hotel and leave. I was sad to only spend a couple days on Majuli but I was pressed for time and felt I had gotten enough of what I wanted out of it so it was time. I took another boat, with about the same ratios of people, back to Jorhat. On the boat this time two teenagers spoke with me. They were going to the "mainland" to compete in a trvia competition about Assam. Maybe it was their limited English but I do not have high hopes for their chance of winning as they knew only slightly more about Assam than I. Regardless, it was nice talking with them and made the boat trip all that much more pleasant. In Jorhat I got a nightbus to Guwahati so that I could move on to my second NE state, Meghalaya.
The nightbus was OK, except for the cockaroach that walked across my left hand shortly after the bus started moving. Surprisingly I slept OK and arrived in in time to catch a bus to Shillong, the capital of Meghalaya. During the bus ride I was talking to a Indian that bought me lunch and helped me find a hotel room once we arrived in Shillong (which would have been near impossible otherwise). Shillong is not such a highly regarded town but I liked it OK and a good deal more than Assam's capital. Mysteriously a Subway (restuarant) had recently opened in this town and for some reason the selected location was in the middle of a covered parking lot. I saw the sign and investigated thinking for sure it was some mistake or joke. Lo and behold, a true-to-form Subway, with an Indian touch that included subs that would bomb in the States (potato masala) an extensive vegetarian selection. Ready for a break from Indian food and OK with the "expensive" but still cheap food, I ate nearly all of my meals here trying as many of the non-US subs as possible. Some were really good and others were more forgetable.
The real reason I came to Shillong was not Subway but rather Cherrapunjee, which gets more rain than any other place in the world. It is also home to Nohkalikai Falls, the world's 4th largest waterfall, and a handful of other nice sights. I organized to go on a day trip from Shillong in order to save about 5000INR (about US$110), though it did mean missing out on a couple of the activities I would have liked to have done. Still it was a gerat day trip and worked out perfectly. I saw highly-obscurred views of the waterfall, some other fantastic views of the surrounding cliffs and monutains, the Ramakrishna Mission (OK, but would have been happier if that time was spent elsewhere), Mawasmai Cave, and some monoliths. I missed out on the "root-bridges" and some hiking that would have added a lot more than the US$110 I saved to the cost to hike. The day trip returned me to Shillong, where I spent one more night (and four 6-inch Subway subs), before going to Guwahati a day earlier than planned to make sure I would get to Kolkata in time.
I arrived in Guwahati determined to find a better hostel. I asked a dozen places and nothing. I gave up and returned to where I stayed before to find out the only room they had left would set me back 1200INR (about US$26.75). No, thank you. I walked around more asking another 20 places. Nothing. A note: these places were not full they just refuse to rent rooms to foreigners. For some it is "illegal" for them to do so but most of the time they just do not want to do the paperwork that the Indian government requires them to do if they rent a room to a non-Indian. There are tons of things like this in India and I hate all of them but there is no room for that here. Anyway, I decided to find a place to sleep on the disgusting ground outside and while looking for a semi-decent spot I continued asking hostels. I found one that said they would put me up for 200INR. I agreed. The room was run down but was indoors. I noticed a bottom corner of the bathroom door was missing and the "drain" for shower water was a hole in the tile. It did not take me long to realize that room, much like Guwahati, was a major transportation hub, except for rats. Above the head of the bed was a barred window that lead into the hallway. The room door matched the bathroom door. I saw a rat jump from the barred window, onto the head of the bed, on to the floor, through the bathroom door, and then, presumably, down the drain. I swtiched the head and foot of the bed. Upset but realizeing there was nothing I could do, I lied down on the bed and read. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my shoes, laying on the floor in the middle of the room, move. "Man, that is a powerful ceiling fan," I thought. Then I realized the stupidty of the idea. I springed off the bed, put my head near the floor and did a quick scan. There were no fewer than four rats scattered/scattering about. I think they saw my brown shoes, thought they were a fallen commrade, and went in for further inspection. At this point I decided to inform reception as to the rat problem. I tried doing so but nobody spoke any English. I made rat/mouse noises and mimcked they running with my hand on desk. They laughed and continued talking among themselves seemingly unaware that I was displased with this and wanted something done. They eventually got the idea and two of them came up to my room with newspaper and a stick in hand. I pointed to the holes and did my best to illustrate the rat's transportation system using my hands and noises. They Indian guy in the room acrosss the hall confirmed what I was saying (I think). They put newspaper in drain and put a brick on it and indicated for me to put another brick in front of the hole of the room door. This was about as much as I could ask for so I obliged.
During the night I was awaked to a rat landing on my feet. In the morning the brick by the door was ajay, the one in the bathroom was out of place, and the newspaper was gone. I checked out and spent the next seven hours in an Internet cafe with my bags waiting for my 22-hour-long train to Kolkata.
13 November 2010
Sikkim, India
I am going to break away from what has become my standard method of posting (town by town) and revert back to something similar to what I was doing when I first started travelling with more over a region-based post. I am going this because I am lazy, very far behind on posting, and because often only a night or two was spent in any given place, not warranting a post unto itself, but is part of a larger experience. That said, here is the post of Sikkim.
Before you (meaning nobody) read this look up a map to see where the state of Sikkim in India is. That alone will give you a better mental image of what I am very poorly going to describe here.
From Darjeeling, Alex, Joyce, and myself took a jeep ride to Gangtok, the capital of Sikkim. I am going to get sick of typing that every jeep ride was bumpy, probably a little painful, and long, so just assume when you read "jeep" that those things hold true. I took multiple videos of these jeep rides because they are so intense. Travelling a short distance takes forever because of the road conditions and topography.
Once in Gangtok we searched for a tour to North Sikkim. Normally I shy away from tours because they are always overpriced, almost always a poor value, and do not allow the kind of flexibility I like when travelling. However, a tour and guide (which essentially means translator) is legally required to visit the north. So, we found a tour but not after some heated and entertaining negotiations over the price.
We had a free day in Gangtok before our tour left and though the town does not have much to offer we managed to make a day out of walking around to various sights. We visited Enchey, with its erotic paintings, and the Ganesh Tok view point, among other random places. We found some excellent momos made prepared by some Malaysian that Joyce talked to. Gangtok was OK but not much. For dinner be indulged a little bit and went to a highly recommended restaurant called Tangerine (my dinner was a whopping 80INR, or US$2.00). The food item wanted, and actually suggested the restaurant because of, was out of season and unavailable. Disappointed, I got something, which was really good.
The next day our North Sikkim journey begin with a jeep ride to Lachen. On the way we saw a jeep that had fallen off the road and was currently being rescued. Thankfully the jeep was empty other than the driver, who realized he had lost control and was able to jump out before the jeep went over the edge. I am pretty sure that at this point Alex, Joyce, the Indian couple that was also on the tour, and myself all hoped that we would not face a similar situation. (We did not.) Also along the way I encountered what I believe to be my favorite flavor of potato chips. There was an Indian couple in addition to the three of us on the tour (more on them later) that had some obsession with potato chips and were constantly getting the driver to pull over at little random shops to buy more. Anyway, whenever they bought some they would buy us a pack or two as well. One time they purchased Lay's Hip Hop Honey and Chili, which was one of the four winning flavors in an India-wide contest Lay's ran. They were great and put us on the look out for the other three winning flavors (these took some time and effort to find and were all disappointing).
In addition to the fallen jeep we saw more traditional (that might not be true) sights such as the Seven Sisters Falls. Which was OK to look at but more interesting to drive beside with the crashing of the water only feet away.
The guy of the Indian couple was one of two things that made the jeep rides tolerable. He was in the front, giving us an excellent position to witness his seated dancing while simultaneously silently cracking up at. He was so into the music for hours on end it was astonishing. The other thing was the betting between Alex, Joyce, and I on how long the ride would actually take. We were always told/asked the expected duration and made our bets based from there. ONe time I was hoping we clipped a cow to hinder our progress because my bet was too high. We did not and I lost.
Each night of this tour was spent in a tiny hotel, which were really just added on rooms to somebody's home that they rent out. It was more interesting than staying in a traditional hotel, though less comfortable, but better still. It was kind of like couch surfing. Dinner and breakfast was provided by the family and for a few hours a day we were privy to see them going about their lives. This means father gambling, the wife cooking and cleaning, and the kids going nothing or performing hard physical labor.
The next day we went to Thangu. By "we" I mean Alex, Joyce, and I because, as foreigners, this is as far north as we can go. The Indian couple was allowed to go north beyond, but because of the nearby boarder with China, the security is heightened (there are military posts all over) and travel is heavily restricted.
This is also one of the reasons a guide is legally required.
The area we visited was a large valley. Exploring the area was cool and watching a group of locals slaughter a yak (from a distance) was a sight alone. I was not close enough to see any detail otherwise I am sure I would not have enjoyed it but from my vantage point it was interesting. We spent another night at a "hotel" in Lachaung.
The last day of the tour we went to the Yumthang river plains. Much like Darjeeling, the weather was not cooperating and the sights were not what they could have been but good regardless. I decided that the small area that we were expected to walk around was not exciting enough so I ventured off next to the river. Here the views improved and the growing chance of falling into the river boosted my adrenaline. I got to a point that my sandals were no longer sufficient to go on and decided to go back. Apparently Joyce was in a similar state of mind because she went off too but got a bit lost and the gudie and myself went looking for her. It all worked out and give me a little more time to explore.
After the tour of the North we returned to Gangtok to get a job to Pelling, which we learned upon our arrival involved a transfew of jeeps at Gazing.
Pelling is known for its mountain views just as Darjeeling, but this time the weather was more cooperative. But before that, we arrived in the early evening and set out to socialize in our new hostel but I had a funny feeling about stuff at home and made the decision to leave and make a call home. Well, turned out I was right, that there was some stuff happening at home that I did not know about but everything was OK, aleviating my uneasiness. I returned to the hostel and the socializing. The hostel itself was pretty cool. The entrance and reception is on the top, were there is a deck area for people to hang out. During the evening flying scquirrals sometimes drop of the hostel and "fly"/sail down the mountain. We were lucky enough to see one on this night. That night a bunch of people agreed to wake up really early the following morning to go see the sun's first morning rays on Kachenjunga. And, despite the ample socializing, everybody showed up and we made our way to the spot that supposedly had the best views at the local helipad, of course. After the beautiful spectacle and some decent photos, I went back to sleep and all around took the rest of the day to relax and amble around the small town. Plus, I was feeling a bit sick and did not want to wander too far from the hostel.
Other than the views there is not much in Pelling so we continued on to our next, much anticipated stop of Khacheopalri Lake.
Before getting to the lake we took a another jeep ride. Before we got to the meat of the journey we stopped to deliver the veggies that were riding on top of the jeep. Of course, the many of the potatoes and onions fell off, on to the far from hygenic "street" and were picked up and returned with the others. I helped pick them up off the ground and was compensated with two pieces of gum. There was something else that made this jeep ride interesting. This time the previously mentioned assumptions of jeep rides do not apply. This one was slow (the rest is still true). I was more than OK with this because I was still sick. Along the way the driver stopped countless times to pick up school children along the way that would pile in, sitting on and touching anything without hesitation. It was funny and made the trip quicker than it was.
The lake of Khacheopalri Lake is not the reason backpackers come here. The lake is nice but the best views of it are pretty far away, about middway up a hill, enroute to the real reason I was here: the famous Palas Homestay (not my grammatical error). Pala charges 250INR (under US$5.75) for a bed and three meals a day. There is almost nothing else to spend your money on so that is your only expense. The meals are repeatative and strict (lunch is served at at noon and dinner at 5:30 no matter what) and you do not necessarily get electricity but you do get a good time. All there is to do is to hang out with Pala and his extensive family with ambiguous relationships (is that his wife, daughter, or granddaughter?).
As mentioned, to get to Palas you must first climb uphill about 30 mintues. It was raining and the path is not exactly paved. I carried my bags and Joyce's because she could not ascend otherwise. Ohhh, and it was raining. Heavily. We arrived, soaked, and excited. There were two Israelis there, one of which we had already met. Avri and David were both cool and easy to talk to and made the days and nights more fun.
Now a word on Pala, the man himself: Pala’s story is, for lack of a better word, awesome. He is 84-years-old and has the energy of a perfectly healthy 65-year-old. In 1969 or 1970 , Pala’s parents died. So Pala decided he would walk to Lhasa. The walk took him 6 months and when he got there, he met the Dalai Lama and Pala became the Dalai Lama’s cook for 3 years, after learning how to cook from the queen of England. Pala left Tibet in 1972 and came back to Sikkim, where he has been ever since. He has 11 children (9 living) and 7 grandchildren. Pala wakes up at 3am to do 1 hour of meditation followed by 1 hour of yoga.
His schedule, to a certain extent becomes your schedule because he cooks, the meal times, and because the electricity goes our around 6PM.
One night the five of us decided to give tongba, an alcoholic drink made from fermented barley that you drink out of enormous bamboo cups through long bamboo straws, a try. To drink it, you pour hot water over the barley and then sip the liquid through the straw. As you keep pouring hot water on it, the drink seemingly lasts forever. I actually have no idea how long it goes because none of us were able to finish them, if that is even possible. In any case, it tasted good but the experience of drinking it by candlelight inside Pala’s house was even better. Avri claimed to be unaffected but clearly was. Joyce (Asian) turned red. Alex felt something close to a high. David and I felt nothing. It was still cool.
One day the five of us went for a walk to drive to find some monestry. After not long, David and I were the only ones game to continue and pressed on. I am not sure we realized it at the time, but we were never going to find the monestry and the hike was the real adventure. At some point, after falling twice in succession, David said he was turning around. I felt fine (and had not yet fallen) so I pressed on. I found some other path that lead to a couple villages and got really close to a waterfall that could be heard but not seen. I suspect I enjoy the sounds of the crashing water more than the sight anyway so I was happy with that. Many, many leeches were attached to my feet by the time I returned to Palas. Then I had yak liver and stomach for dinner.
The following day Alex, Joyce, David, and I (Avri had left) we with one of Pala's sons/grandsons to a cave. This time we brought salt to combat the leeches, which was effective. This hike was near impossible. The leeches were a hundred times worse than the hike I did the previous day. We seemed to walk forever. The "guide" spoke no English but just said "yes" to any and every question. At some point, Alex, Joyce, and I decided to turn around. We returned to Palas at 2:30, 2.5 hours after lunch was served, so it was waiting for us on a table. We were starved and gorged ourselves. David returned some time later (we bet on when he would return as we did the duration of jeep rides) and he said the cave was another 45 minutes past we were left and while walking at a clip 1.5 times faster than we had been walking before. And that the cave sucked. According to David it was a tiny cave and not at all worth the hike, which was not all the enjoyable by itself as the previous day's had been.
We spent three nights at Palas and if not for the leeches, I would consider spending a month there.
From there, we went to the famed Yuksom, were are was really, really sick, did nothing, and still had a great time. Upon our arrival in Yuksom, I quickly got off the jeep to get some information from somebody I recognized on the side of the road. Alex and Joyce got off and the jeep took off...with my black bag in it. I was not happy. A local came up to me and said this was a dead-end and the jeep was just going up the hill a bit to get washed and would return soon. I did not want to take any chances so I started up the hill. I did not get far when a man on a motorbike was headed toward me with my bag in tow. "Your bag?" "Yes. Thank you." "This is Sikkim, not India," which perfectly sums up Sikkim.
There is little to do in Yuksom but walk around a little bit and hang out so the fact that I spent my entire time there within a 10 minute walk of our hosetl did not limit what I did much. At one point, however, I decided that I was not going to do "nothing" that day and set out for a walk alone. I made it about 15 minutes of light, slow walking before I was in too exhausted to go on. I turned around and went back to bed. No doubt this sounds like I had a bad time in Yuksom, but I did not at all and it turned out to be one of my favorite places in Sikkim.
Alex left Joyce and I in Yuksom to catch and train and then a flight to Rajasthan, where she was volunteering. Joyce changed her plans to stay in India for a bit longer. Joyce and I headed slightly south, to Darjeeling, where we had another THF (Tiger Hill Fail), then we split ways as she continued south to Kolkata and then Orissa and I went east to the little-travelled Northeastern States.
Before you (meaning nobody) read this look up a map to see where the state of Sikkim in India is. That alone will give you a better mental image of what I am very poorly going to describe here.
From Darjeeling, Alex, Joyce, and myself took a jeep ride to Gangtok, the capital of Sikkim. I am going to get sick of typing that every jeep ride was bumpy, probably a little painful, and long, so just assume when you read "jeep" that those things hold true. I took multiple videos of these jeep rides because they are so intense. Travelling a short distance takes forever because of the road conditions and topography.
Once in Gangtok we searched for a tour to North Sikkim. Normally I shy away from tours because they are always overpriced, almost always a poor value, and do not allow the kind of flexibility I like when travelling. However, a tour and guide (which essentially means translator) is legally required to visit the north. So, we found a tour but not after some heated and entertaining negotiations over the price.
We had a free day in Gangtok before our tour left and though the town does not have much to offer we managed to make a day out of walking around to various sights. We visited Enchey, with its erotic paintings, and the Ganesh Tok view point, among other random places. We found some excellent momos made prepared by some Malaysian that Joyce talked to. Gangtok was OK but not much. For dinner be indulged a little bit and went to a highly recommended restaurant called Tangerine (my dinner was a whopping 80INR, or US$2.00). The food item wanted, and actually suggested the restaurant because of, was out of season and unavailable. Disappointed, I got something, which was really good.
The next day our North Sikkim journey begin with a jeep ride to Lachen. On the way we saw a jeep that had fallen off the road and was currently being rescued. Thankfully the jeep was empty other than the driver, who realized he had lost control and was able to jump out before the jeep went over the edge. I am pretty sure that at this point Alex, Joyce, the Indian couple that was also on the tour, and myself all hoped that we would not face a similar situation. (We did not.) Also along the way I encountered what I believe to be my favorite flavor of potato chips. There was an Indian couple in addition to the three of us on the tour (more on them later) that had some obsession with potato chips and were constantly getting the driver to pull over at little random shops to buy more. Anyway, whenever they bought some they would buy us a pack or two as well. One time they purchased Lay's Hip Hop Honey and Chili, which was one of the four winning flavors in an India-wide contest Lay's ran. They were great and put us on the look out for the other three winning flavors (these took some time and effort to find and were all disappointing).
In addition to the fallen jeep we saw more traditional (that might not be true) sights such as the Seven Sisters Falls. Which was OK to look at but more interesting to drive beside with the crashing of the water only feet away.
The guy of the Indian couple was one of two things that made the jeep rides tolerable. He was in the front, giving us an excellent position to witness his seated dancing while simultaneously silently cracking up at. He was so into the music for hours on end it was astonishing. The other thing was the betting between Alex, Joyce, and I on how long the ride would actually take. We were always told/asked the expected duration and made our bets based from there. ONe time I was hoping we clipped a cow to hinder our progress because my bet was too high. We did not and I lost.
Each night of this tour was spent in a tiny hotel, which were really just added on rooms to somebody's home that they rent out. It was more interesting than staying in a traditional hotel, though less comfortable, but better still. It was kind of like couch surfing. Dinner and breakfast was provided by the family and for a few hours a day we were privy to see them going about their lives. This means father gambling, the wife cooking and cleaning, and the kids going nothing or performing hard physical labor.
The next day we went to Thangu. By "we" I mean Alex, Joyce, and I because, as foreigners, this is as far north as we can go. The Indian couple was allowed to go north beyond, but because of the nearby boarder with China, the security is heightened (there are military posts all over) and travel is heavily restricted.
This is also one of the reasons a guide is legally required.
The area we visited was a large valley. Exploring the area was cool and watching a group of locals slaughter a yak (from a distance) was a sight alone. I was not close enough to see any detail otherwise I am sure I would not have enjoyed it but from my vantage point it was interesting. We spent another night at a "hotel" in Lachaung.
The last day of the tour we went to the Yumthang river plains. Much like Darjeeling, the weather was not cooperating and the sights were not what they could have been but good regardless. I decided that the small area that we were expected to walk around was not exciting enough so I ventured off next to the river. Here the views improved and the growing chance of falling into the river boosted my adrenaline. I got to a point that my sandals were no longer sufficient to go on and decided to go back. Apparently Joyce was in a similar state of mind because she went off too but got a bit lost and the gudie and myself went looking for her. It all worked out and give me a little more time to explore.
After the tour of the North we returned to Gangtok to get a job to Pelling, which we learned upon our arrival involved a transfew of jeeps at Gazing.
Pelling is known for its mountain views just as Darjeeling, but this time the weather was more cooperative. But before that, we arrived in the early evening and set out to socialize in our new hostel but I had a funny feeling about stuff at home and made the decision to leave and make a call home. Well, turned out I was right, that there was some stuff happening at home that I did not know about but everything was OK, aleviating my uneasiness. I returned to the hostel and the socializing. The hostel itself was pretty cool. The entrance and reception is on the top, were there is a deck area for people to hang out. During the evening flying scquirrals sometimes drop of the hostel and "fly"/sail down the mountain. We were lucky enough to see one on this night. That night a bunch of people agreed to wake up really early the following morning to go see the sun's first morning rays on Kachenjunga. And, despite the ample socializing, everybody showed up and we made our way to the spot that supposedly had the best views at the local helipad, of course. After the beautiful spectacle and some decent photos, I went back to sleep and all around took the rest of the day to relax and amble around the small town. Plus, I was feeling a bit sick and did not want to wander too far from the hostel.
Other than the views there is not much in Pelling so we continued on to our next, much anticipated stop of Khacheopalri Lake.
Before getting to the lake we took a another jeep ride. Before we got to the meat of the journey we stopped to deliver the veggies that were riding on top of the jeep. Of course, the many of the potatoes and onions fell off, on to the far from hygenic "street" and were picked up and returned with the others. I helped pick them up off the ground and was compensated with two pieces of gum. There was something else that made this jeep ride interesting. This time the previously mentioned assumptions of jeep rides do not apply. This one was slow (the rest is still true). I was more than OK with this because I was still sick. Along the way the driver stopped countless times to pick up school children along the way that would pile in, sitting on and touching anything without hesitation. It was funny and made the trip quicker than it was.
The lake of Khacheopalri Lake is not the reason backpackers come here. The lake is nice but the best views of it are pretty far away, about middway up a hill, enroute to the real reason I was here: the famous Palas Homestay (not my grammatical error). Pala charges 250INR (under US$5.75) for a bed and three meals a day. There is almost nothing else to spend your money on so that is your only expense. The meals are repeatative and strict (lunch is served at at noon and dinner at 5:30 no matter what) and you do not necessarily get electricity but you do get a good time. All there is to do is to hang out with Pala and his extensive family with ambiguous relationships (is that his wife, daughter, or granddaughter?).
As mentioned, to get to Palas you must first climb uphill about 30 mintues. It was raining and the path is not exactly paved. I carried my bags and Joyce's because she could not ascend otherwise. Ohhh, and it was raining. Heavily. We arrived, soaked, and excited. There were two Israelis there, one of which we had already met. Avri and David were both cool and easy to talk to and made the days and nights more fun.
Now a word on Pala, the man himself: Pala’s story is, for lack of a better word, awesome. He is 84-years-old and has the energy of a perfectly healthy 65-year-old. In 1969 or 1970 , Pala’s parents died. So Pala decided he would walk to Lhasa. The walk took him 6 months and when he got there, he met the Dalai Lama and Pala became the Dalai Lama’s cook for 3 years, after learning how to cook from the queen of England. Pala left Tibet in 1972 and came back to Sikkim, where he has been ever since. He has 11 children (9 living) and 7 grandchildren. Pala wakes up at 3am to do 1 hour of meditation followed by 1 hour of yoga.
His schedule, to a certain extent becomes your schedule because he cooks, the meal times, and because the electricity goes our around 6PM.
One night the five of us decided to give tongba, an alcoholic drink made from fermented barley that you drink out of enormous bamboo cups through long bamboo straws, a try. To drink it, you pour hot water over the barley and then sip the liquid through the straw. As you keep pouring hot water on it, the drink seemingly lasts forever. I actually have no idea how long it goes because none of us were able to finish them, if that is even possible. In any case, it tasted good but the experience of drinking it by candlelight inside Pala’s house was even better. Avri claimed to be unaffected but clearly was. Joyce (Asian) turned red. Alex felt something close to a high. David and I felt nothing. It was still cool.
One day the five of us went for a walk to drive to find some monestry. After not long, David and I were the only ones game to continue and pressed on. I am not sure we realized it at the time, but we were never going to find the monestry and the hike was the real adventure. At some point, after falling twice in succession, David said he was turning around. I felt fine (and had not yet fallen) so I pressed on. I found some other path that lead to a couple villages and got really close to a waterfall that could be heard but not seen. I suspect I enjoy the sounds of the crashing water more than the sight anyway so I was happy with that. Many, many leeches were attached to my feet by the time I returned to Palas. Then I had yak liver and stomach for dinner.
The following day Alex, Joyce, David, and I (Avri had left) we with one of Pala's sons/grandsons to a cave. This time we brought salt to combat the leeches, which was effective. This hike was near impossible. The leeches were a hundred times worse than the hike I did the previous day. We seemed to walk forever. The "guide" spoke no English but just said "yes" to any and every question. At some point, Alex, Joyce, and I decided to turn around. We returned to Palas at 2:30, 2.5 hours after lunch was served, so it was waiting for us on a table. We were starved and gorged ourselves. David returned some time later (we bet on when he would return as we did the duration of jeep rides) and he said the cave was another 45 minutes past we were left and while walking at a clip 1.5 times faster than we had been walking before. And that the cave sucked. According to David it was a tiny cave and not at all worth the hike, which was not all the enjoyable by itself as the previous day's had been.
We spent three nights at Palas and if not for the leeches, I would consider spending a month there.
From there, we went to the famed Yuksom, were are was really, really sick, did nothing, and still had a great time. Upon our arrival in Yuksom, I quickly got off the jeep to get some information from somebody I recognized on the side of the road. Alex and Joyce got off and the jeep took off...with my black bag in it. I was not happy. A local came up to me and said this was a dead-end and the jeep was just going up the hill a bit to get washed and would return soon. I did not want to take any chances so I started up the hill. I did not get far when a man on a motorbike was headed toward me with my bag in tow. "Your bag?" "Yes. Thank you." "This is Sikkim, not India," which perfectly sums up Sikkim.
There is little to do in Yuksom but walk around a little bit and hang out so the fact that I spent my entire time there within a 10 minute walk of our hosetl did not limit what I did much. At one point, however, I decided that I was not going to do "nothing" that day and set out for a walk alone. I made it about 15 minutes of light, slow walking before I was in too exhausted to go on. I turned around and went back to bed. No doubt this sounds like I had a bad time in Yuksom, but I did not at all and it turned out to be one of my favorite places in Sikkim.
Alex left Joyce and I in Yuksom to catch and train and then a flight to Rajasthan, where she was volunteering. Joyce changed her plans to stay in India for a bit longer. Joyce and I headed slightly south, to Darjeeling, where we had another THF (Tiger Hill Fail), then we split ways as she continued south to Kolkata and then Orissa and I went east to the little-travelled Northeastern States.
Darjeeling, India
Darjeeling is probably almost paradise when the weather is right. Sadly I was not there at the right time of year so I missed out. Still, however, it was stunning. I left Kolkata sans Joyce, who would remain in Kolkata for a few more days awaiting the arrival of her American travel mate, Alex, then they would meet me in Darjeeling, and then we would go from there. Until then, I was on my own.
I was couch surfing again in Darjeeling but this CS was different. The owner of a hotel gave me a room for 100INR (about US$2.20) a night. He did this when it was low season (see above paragraph) and rooms were difficult to fill. It was a good deal for me though the room was less than perfect.
One of the main sights in Darjeeling is a ascent up Tiger Hill to see the sunrise. Given the weather, however, this proved not worthwhile and despite almost a week spent in Darjeeling, I never bothered to go to there. (This happened with such frequency [everyday] that I termed it Tiger Hill Fail, or THF.) Just about all of every day was spent wandering around. The main area of Darjeeling is loud and busy but just a few minutes outside of these places it is tranquil. Darjeeling is a mountain town so I would often just start walking and when faced with a fork in the road, taking the path that went upward. The higher the altitude, the quieter, the more crisp the air, the better the views. Getting back down was not always easy but always worked out.
After a few days Joyce and Alex arrived from Kolkata. They were surfing at the same place and, similarly to what I had done over the past few days, we went walking around. Naturally we sampled some world famous Darjeeling tea (sometimes I wish I had a palate to appreciate the difference between an exquisite Darjeeling tea and Lipton) and each bought some as gifts. It is good tea but it all tastes about the same to me, though I did greatly appreciate not having milk in my tea for the first time in India.
After another morning with a THF, we headed off in a bumpy jeep ride to Sikkim.
I was couch surfing again in Darjeeling but this CS was different. The owner of a hotel gave me a room for 100INR (about US$2.20) a night. He did this when it was low season (see above paragraph) and rooms were difficult to fill. It was a good deal for me though the room was less than perfect.
One of the main sights in Darjeeling is a ascent up Tiger Hill to see the sunrise. Given the weather, however, this proved not worthwhile and despite almost a week spent in Darjeeling, I never bothered to go to there. (This happened with such frequency [everyday] that I termed it Tiger Hill Fail, or THF.) Just about all of every day was spent wandering around. The main area of Darjeeling is loud and busy but just a few minutes outside of these places it is tranquil. Darjeeling is a mountain town so I would often just start walking and when faced with a fork in the road, taking the path that went upward. The higher the altitude, the quieter, the more crisp the air, the better the views. Getting back down was not always easy but always worked out.
After a few days Joyce and Alex arrived from Kolkata. They were surfing at the same place and, similarly to what I had done over the past few days, we went walking around. Naturally we sampled some world famous Darjeeling tea (sometimes I wish I had a palate to appreciate the difference between an exquisite Darjeeling tea and Lipton) and each bought some as gifts. It is good tea but it all tastes about the same to me, though I did greatly appreciate not having milk in my tea for the first time in India.
After another morning with a THF, we headed off in a bumpy jeep ride to Sikkim.
12 October 2010
Kolkata, India, Part I
Kolkata, India
My first taste of India came almost as soon as I landed. Kolkata is the third most populace metropoletian area in India with about 17.5 million people. There is only one airport in the city's vacinity and it is a small one. Think a tiny regional airport in the States. The airport does not have a payphone...or an ATM. There is one counter to exchange currency at poor rates.
I went to the carasel to collect my luggage. I waited and waited. I double- and triple-checked that I was at the right one, even though it was the only one with luggage on it. After far too long I noticed a bag that resembled mine sitting on the floor with a couple other bags with a guy in a uniform standing over them. I went over and sure enough it was my bag. The guy asked to see my stub to confirm that it was my bag. I asked why it was over here, on the floor. He said the took it off the carasel because nobody claimed it; so it did not get stolen. This sounds good enough except that I did not claim it because it was not on the caracel, where I and everybody else was looking and expecting their luggage to be. I was waiting before the bags from my flight came out. It is possible I missed it a time around or two but not long enought to warrant taking it off. I explained that, that of course I did not claim it, it was over here on the floor, not on the carasel, how could I possibly have claimed it?
Before I found my bag I was approced by a Candian asking if I want to split a pre-paid taxi into town. (Town is 20km, or 14 miles away and pre-paid taxi exist so that tourists do not end up spending ten times what they would otherwise, which is nice.) He had already gotten another person, a Japanese guy, so we would be three. After I got my bag, while we were waiting for the Candian to get his (his flight landed 40 minutes after mine), I got a fourth person, an Israeli, to join us and split the taxi four ways.
The 20km into town took about 2 hours. Traffic is insane and the roads are less than ideal. Garbage, livestock, people, and vehicles are everywhere. Inescapable. I had a smile on my face the whole time and the semi-strangers that I was sharing the taxi with asked, repeatedly, if I was OK. I was amazed. There is a lot of things I already disliked about India but liked those same things.
There was much difficulty finding an ATM to get some local currency. There are amazingly few ATMs in Kolkata and this is not because it is not a hotbed of tourist activity (it is not, Kolkata gets very few foreign tourists relative to New Delhi and Bombay). Locals form lines for the ATMs that extend for 25 feet and sometimes take up to 30 minutes of waiting. There are not banks of ATMs like at home. If you ask somebody where an ATM is they are not likely to know and if they do, the directions are complicated and far-reaching. If you ask another person you will get instructions in a different direction. Neither set of direction may lead to an ATM. It is likely that they lead to a currency exchanage or a bank, but not an ATM. (This is not because they do not know what an ATM is. It is just because it is the best option when there is no ATM around.)
I had arranged to couch surf in Kolkata but there was a mix up and I never obtained my host's address so I spent the night in a famous Sudder Street hostel. Sudder Street is the backpacker area of Kolkata. I ended up splitting the room with the Japanese guy. Hostels in India are notorious for being terrible and this one was not as bad as I was expecting, after a nice one in KL and a few in Australia, this one was a little shocking. The bed was gross, the shower even worse.
After putting my stuff down I went out to explore a little. I was not in a mood to walk around much but I did not want to stay in the room and did not have another option. The one thing I need to do fo sure was to call my host over Skype and ask for his address so that, hopefully, I could go there the following day. Finding a Internet cafe that was open at 7PM was nearly as difficult as finding an ATM. I eventually found one, called him up, and got the address.
I returned to the room, asked the Japanese guy if he wanted to get some food. He declined and I want to the hostel staff asking for a good place. They told me to go to Blue Sky Cafe, which sounded like an overpriced place for tourists so I thanked them and then ignored the advice. I walked around looking for a place that looked OK when I was approached by a young India guy. Right away I knew what this was; a casual friendly conversation during which he would try to get me to buy something. He gave me the usual rundown of questions in India: my name, where I am from, where I live, am I married, my age, my profession, how much my camera costs, how long have I been in Kolkata, how long in India. My answers: Roberto, Canadian, Bombay, yes, 42, clown, unkown as it was a gift, one day, 4 years. Saying I have been in living in Bombay, India for 4 years caught him offguard and I think he did not know that I was lieing but did know that his chances of getting me to do whatever he wanted were diminished. I let him lead me to a restuarant (it looked good, was filled with locals, and had a menu with prices). I ate while he sat there playing with his phone. He asked if I want to go to his gift shop. No thanks, I said, since I live in Bombay I do not need to purchase any suviouners. He pressed again. No thanks, I need to get back to my wife who is waiting in the room. She was not hungry and tired so she had not come with me. After leaving the resturant and tying again he gave up and I went back to my room.
The next morning I woke up early in an effort to beat the traffic in a cab to get to my couch surfing hosts. I tried to check out of the hostel, which is normally, "Here is the key. I am leaving," but doing so here was an ordeal. I was asked what the Japanese guy will be doing. I do not know. He knows I left, he will talk to you. Is he staying another night? Staying in that room? Is he leaving now? When is he leaving? I do not know, I do not know, I do not know, I do not know. He will talk to you about all this; I have no information about it. Not satisfactory. They went to get him, woke him up, made him come to reception, and give them this information. Why all this needs to be done for ME to check out, long before the checkout time of noon I still do not know. I want to mention here that checking into hostels in India is like no other place I know. Viewing and photocopying of a passport is not commonplace but not unusual. Some countries/hostels do it and others do not. In India you have to submit information that includes you home address, your father/husband's name, where you came from, and where you are going. If you do not know you next destination you better be prepared to put something in the field anyway otherwise it is an issue. This hostel even took photos of each person checking in.
I got a taxi, which I knew would cost about 50INR (US$1-1.25 depending on the exchange rate) from speaking with my host. I knew it was a start shot south so when the driver started driving north I told him, "No. South. Direct." He made a couple quick turns and was soon headed in the right direction. Though he did not know where the address as and had to ask numorous people where to go we arrived with the meter reading, "48.00." Perfect, I though. I handed him a 100 note and expected 50 change. He glanced at me wondering why I was not getting out. I indicated that I needed 50 change. He said, "No, times two plus two" and pulled out a chart that had the meter fare, x, in one column with the actual fare, y, next to it according to the function y = 2x + 2. No, I said, the meter says 48, I am paying 48, thinking this was just some scam. Anybody could easily make some chart to show foreigners in an effort to get more than double the real fare. I put put a big fight because I had been told what the fare should be (50INR) and the meter had a fare (48) that was pretty dead on. I small circle of people accumulated entertained that I was giving so much resistance. In broken English people were saying, "Yes, times two plus two." I ignored them. They could easily just known this scam and been helping out. Eventually I gave up and went up to my couch surfing host's place. The driver and another guy follow me. I tried to stop them but they would not stop. I got to a gate and a guy behind the gate spoke to them in Bengali and then to me in English, "The fare they are saying is right. It is the meter amount, times two, plus two." I replied, "Thanks, but I do not believe you. But it does not matter, I already paid them the amount they claim to be right. It is over."
"I do not believe you." Not the best first impression to make with me host, Anubhav. As soon as I learned he was my host, I explained my logic, because I knew the expected fare from him, it I figured the "times two plus two" was scam. It was not a scam, it is real, but I did get scammed because the fare was double what it should have been. He was not offended and kind of laughed at the situation.
After a brief downtime, me and his other CSer, Joyce, went to explore and would end up spending my entire time in Kolakata with each other. This first day day we went to Park Street, BDB Bagh, Raj Bhavan, Town Hall (which is a "high tech" mesuem of Kolkata's history was entertaining but not in the intended manner. The 360 degree feature was just a series of projector screen, only three of which worked, covering about 90 degrees, and ran off Windows 98), the High Court, Assembly, Victoria Memorial, Academy of Fine Arts, and the planetarium. In other words, we did a lot of walking around in the punishing Kolkata heat. At the end of the day we also half accidentally walked through a rally of some kind, we think political. It was tame and interesting.
The following day was a strike in Kolkata. This is not like a strike in the States. If the baggage handles of American Airlines, for example, strike than AA and its passengers and other employees are affected. For this strike in Kolkata the entire city shuts down. There is no transport, almost no businesses are open, nobody works (unless you are really white collar and have work no matter what). This probably reads like a powerful political, social, or other statement but this could not be less true. These strikes happen so that people have a day off work (not that anybody really works anyway). Protesters are brought in from other towns and compensated. These same protesters will shift to another side if the pay (often a meal) is better. In the morning Joyce and I walked to Kali Temple, which is near our host's home. Finding food was near impossible as everything was closed. In the evening, when looking for food, we saw people, not kids, playing cricket in the street despite the cars, autorickshaws, and motorbikes zipping by. We termed it Extreme Cricket and I am going to petition for it to be part of the X-Games and for it to replace standard cricket all together as it is much more interesting.
The following day Joyce and I attempted to wake up early in order to go to a couple of temples that would require some time to get to but over slept. Instead we went to a flower market and tried to got to the Marble Palace not knowing that we need to obtain (free) permission from a tourist office in advance. The guard kindly said he would let us in any way, if we paid him money. We refused on principle and just continued walking around.
Again the next day we over slept but went to the temples anyway. The first, Dakhshinewar Temple, was old and interesting. After exploring it we took a boat ride to the other side of the river to visit the second temple of the day, Belurmath Temple, which is much newer and more aesthetically pleasing. By this time it was raining but we pressed on any way. It did not matter much as we only had about 15 minutes there before the temple closed for the India standard 3 hour lunch. On that note, we got some lunch of our own followed by some terrible pastries. Then we returned to Kolkata proper and took a look at Tipo Mosque.
The next day we entered the main intellectual area Kolkata, College Street. This is lined with bookshop after bookshop selling more textbooks than you have ever seen. India has an enormous number of competitive exams similar to the ACT, SAT, GMAT, LSAT, etc. except that they are required for everything. Any decent student takes dozens of these over the course of their academic careers, even if they do not seek a post-graduate degree. We also visited the semi-famous Indian Coffee House, which is known as a meeting place for intellectuals, terrible coffee, and for its customers blatantly smoking even though it is illegal (this is one Indian law that is usually followed). For example, when Bill Clinton visited Kolkata he went out of his way to meet with a few famous Kolkata intellectuals there. Well, I do not know about the intellectual side of it in my experience, but I do not doubt it is true considering the number of top notch universities in the area but the coffee is indeed terrible and people smoke recklessly.
The day before I left to Kolkata was a quiet one. Joyce and I walked to a nearby lake, walked around, and watch some cricket. Later in the evening I was not feeling great and decided I should have some soup. Easy, right? No. We walked around for about an hour, mostly in the rain, seeking soup. That is pretty much it. Like I said, a quiet day.
I have heard from many people along the way that Kolkata is their favorite Indian city and, though it is my first, I expect that to hold true for me too. Kolkata is probably the place in India where I will live for a month, as I did in in Yangshuo, China, but that is still to be determined. It is the so-called cultural capital of India and is always has something to offer.
My first taste of India came almost as soon as I landed. Kolkata is the third most populace metropoletian area in India with about 17.5 million people. There is only one airport in the city's vacinity and it is a small one. Think a tiny regional airport in the States. The airport does not have a payphone...or an ATM. There is one counter to exchange currency at poor rates.
I went to the carasel to collect my luggage. I waited and waited. I double- and triple-checked that I was at the right one, even though it was the only one with luggage on it. After far too long I noticed a bag that resembled mine sitting on the floor with a couple other bags with a guy in a uniform standing over them. I went over and sure enough it was my bag. The guy asked to see my stub to confirm that it was my bag. I asked why it was over here, on the floor. He said the took it off the carasel because nobody claimed it; so it did not get stolen. This sounds good enough except that I did not claim it because it was not on the caracel, where I and everybody else was looking and expecting their luggage to be. I was waiting before the bags from my flight came out. It is possible I missed it a time around or two but not long enought to warrant taking it off. I explained that, that of course I did not claim it, it was over here on the floor, not on the carasel, how could I possibly have claimed it?
Before I found my bag I was approced by a Candian asking if I want to split a pre-paid taxi into town. (Town is 20km, or 14 miles away and pre-paid taxi exist so that tourists do not end up spending ten times what they would otherwise, which is nice.) He had already gotten another person, a Japanese guy, so we would be three. After I got my bag, while we were waiting for the Candian to get his (his flight landed 40 minutes after mine), I got a fourth person, an Israeli, to join us and split the taxi four ways.
The 20km into town took about 2 hours. Traffic is insane and the roads are less than ideal. Garbage, livestock, people, and vehicles are everywhere. Inescapable. I had a smile on my face the whole time and the semi-strangers that I was sharing the taxi with asked, repeatedly, if I was OK. I was amazed. There is a lot of things I already disliked about India but liked those same things.
There was much difficulty finding an ATM to get some local currency. There are amazingly few ATMs in Kolkata and this is not because it is not a hotbed of tourist activity (it is not, Kolkata gets very few foreign tourists relative to New Delhi and Bombay). Locals form lines for the ATMs that extend for 25 feet and sometimes take up to 30 minutes of waiting. There are not banks of ATMs like at home. If you ask somebody where an ATM is they are not likely to know and if they do, the directions are complicated and far-reaching. If you ask another person you will get instructions in a different direction. Neither set of direction may lead to an ATM. It is likely that they lead to a currency exchanage or a bank, but not an ATM. (This is not because they do not know what an ATM is. It is just because it is the best option when there is no ATM around.)
I had arranged to couch surf in Kolkata but there was a mix up and I never obtained my host's address so I spent the night in a famous Sudder Street hostel. Sudder Street is the backpacker area of Kolkata. I ended up splitting the room with the Japanese guy. Hostels in India are notorious for being terrible and this one was not as bad as I was expecting, after a nice one in KL and a few in Australia, this one was a little shocking. The bed was gross, the shower even worse.
After putting my stuff down I went out to explore a little. I was not in a mood to walk around much but I did not want to stay in the room and did not have another option. The one thing I need to do fo sure was to call my host over Skype and ask for his address so that, hopefully, I could go there the following day. Finding a Internet cafe that was open at 7PM was nearly as difficult as finding an ATM. I eventually found one, called him up, and got the address.
I returned to the room, asked the Japanese guy if he wanted to get some food. He declined and I want to the hostel staff asking for a good place. They told me to go to Blue Sky Cafe, which sounded like an overpriced place for tourists so I thanked them and then ignored the advice. I walked around looking for a place that looked OK when I was approached by a young India guy. Right away I knew what this was; a casual friendly conversation during which he would try to get me to buy something. He gave me the usual rundown of questions in India: my name, where I am from, where I live, am I married, my age, my profession, how much my camera costs, how long have I been in Kolkata, how long in India. My answers: Roberto, Canadian, Bombay, yes, 42, clown, unkown as it was a gift, one day, 4 years. Saying I have been in living in Bombay, India for 4 years caught him offguard and I think he did not know that I was lieing but did know that his chances of getting me to do whatever he wanted were diminished. I let him lead me to a restuarant (it looked good, was filled with locals, and had a menu with prices). I ate while he sat there playing with his phone. He asked if I want to go to his gift shop. No thanks, I said, since I live in Bombay I do not need to purchase any suviouners. He pressed again. No thanks, I need to get back to my wife who is waiting in the room. She was not hungry and tired so she had not come with me. After leaving the resturant and tying again he gave up and I went back to my room.
The next morning I woke up early in an effort to beat the traffic in a cab to get to my couch surfing hosts. I tried to check out of the hostel, which is normally, "Here is the key. I am leaving," but doing so here was an ordeal. I was asked what the Japanese guy will be doing. I do not know. He knows I left, he will talk to you. Is he staying another night? Staying in that room? Is he leaving now? When is he leaving? I do not know, I do not know, I do not know, I do not know. He will talk to you about all this; I have no information about it. Not satisfactory. They went to get him, woke him up, made him come to reception, and give them this information. Why all this needs to be done for ME to check out, long before the checkout time of noon I still do not know. I want to mention here that checking into hostels in India is like no other place I know. Viewing and photocopying of a passport is not commonplace but not unusual. Some countries/hostels do it and others do not. In India you have to submit information that includes you home address, your father/husband's name, where you came from, and where you are going. If you do not know you next destination you better be prepared to put something in the field anyway otherwise it is an issue. This hostel even took photos of each person checking in.
I got a taxi, which I knew would cost about 50INR (US$1-1.25 depending on the exchange rate) from speaking with my host. I knew it was a start shot south so when the driver started driving north I told him, "No. South. Direct." He made a couple quick turns and was soon headed in the right direction. Though he did not know where the address as and had to ask numorous people where to go we arrived with the meter reading, "48.00." Perfect, I though. I handed him a 100 note and expected 50 change. He glanced at me wondering why I was not getting out. I indicated that I needed 50 change. He said, "No, times two plus two" and pulled out a chart that had the meter fare, x, in one column with the actual fare, y, next to it according to the function y = 2x + 2. No, I said, the meter says 48, I am paying 48, thinking this was just some scam. Anybody could easily make some chart to show foreigners in an effort to get more than double the real fare. I put put a big fight because I had been told what the fare should be (50INR) and the meter had a fare (48) that was pretty dead on. I small circle of people accumulated entertained that I was giving so much resistance. In broken English people were saying, "Yes, times two plus two." I ignored them. They could easily just known this scam and been helping out. Eventually I gave up and went up to my couch surfing host's place. The driver and another guy follow me. I tried to stop them but they would not stop. I got to a gate and a guy behind the gate spoke to them in Bengali and then to me in English, "The fare they are saying is right. It is the meter amount, times two, plus two." I replied, "Thanks, but I do not believe you. But it does not matter, I already paid them the amount they claim to be right. It is over."
"I do not believe you." Not the best first impression to make with me host, Anubhav. As soon as I learned he was my host, I explained my logic, because I knew the expected fare from him, it I figured the "times two plus two" was scam. It was not a scam, it is real, but I did get scammed because the fare was double what it should have been. He was not offended and kind of laughed at the situation.
After a brief downtime, me and his other CSer, Joyce, went to explore and would end up spending my entire time in Kolakata with each other. This first day day we went to Park Street, BDB Bagh, Raj Bhavan, Town Hall (which is a "high tech" mesuem of Kolkata's history was entertaining but not in the intended manner. The 360 degree feature was just a series of projector screen, only three of which worked, covering about 90 degrees, and ran off Windows 98), the High Court, Assembly, Victoria Memorial, Academy of Fine Arts, and the planetarium. In other words, we did a lot of walking around in the punishing Kolkata heat. At the end of the day we also half accidentally walked through a rally of some kind, we think political. It was tame and interesting.
The following day was a strike in Kolkata. This is not like a strike in the States. If the baggage handles of American Airlines, for example, strike than AA and its passengers and other employees are affected. For this strike in Kolkata the entire city shuts down. There is no transport, almost no businesses are open, nobody works (unless you are really white collar and have work no matter what). This probably reads like a powerful political, social, or other statement but this could not be less true. These strikes happen so that people have a day off work (not that anybody really works anyway). Protesters are brought in from other towns and compensated. These same protesters will shift to another side if the pay (often a meal) is better. In the morning Joyce and I walked to Kali Temple, which is near our host's home. Finding food was near impossible as everything was closed. In the evening, when looking for food, we saw people, not kids, playing cricket in the street despite the cars, autorickshaws, and motorbikes zipping by. We termed it Extreme Cricket and I am going to petition for it to be part of the X-Games and for it to replace standard cricket all together as it is much more interesting.
The following day Joyce and I attempted to wake up early in order to go to a couple of temples that would require some time to get to but over slept. Instead we went to a flower market and tried to got to the Marble Palace not knowing that we need to obtain (free) permission from a tourist office in advance. The guard kindly said he would let us in any way, if we paid him money. We refused on principle and just continued walking around.
Again the next day we over slept but went to the temples anyway. The first, Dakhshinewar Temple, was old and interesting. After exploring it we took a boat ride to the other side of the river to visit the second temple of the day, Belurmath Temple, which is much newer and more aesthetically pleasing. By this time it was raining but we pressed on any way. It did not matter much as we only had about 15 minutes there before the temple closed for the India standard 3 hour lunch. On that note, we got some lunch of our own followed by some terrible pastries. Then we returned to Kolkata proper and took a look at Tipo Mosque.
The next day we entered the main intellectual area Kolkata, College Street. This is lined with bookshop after bookshop selling more textbooks than you have ever seen. India has an enormous number of competitive exams similar to the ACT, SAT, GMAT, LSAT, etc. except that they are required for everything. Any decent student takes dozens of these over the course of their academic careers, even if they do not seek a post-graduate degree. We also visited the semi-famous Indian Coffee House, which is known as a meeting place for intellectuals, terrible coffee, and for its customers blatantly smoking even though it is illegal (this is one Indian law that is usually followed). For example, when Bill Clinton visited Kolkata he went out of his way to meet with a few famous Kolkata intellectuals there. Well, I do not know about the intellectual side of it in my experience, but I do not doubt it is true considering the number of top notch universities in the area but the coffee is indeed terrible and people smoke recklessly.
The day before I left to Kolkata was a quiet one. Joyce and I walked to a nearby lake, walked around, and watch some cricket. Later in the evening I was not feeling great and decided I should have some soup. Easy, right? No. We walked around for about an hour, mostly in the rain, seeking soup. That is pretty much it. Like I said, a quiet day.
I have heard from many people along the way that Kolkata is their favorite Indian city and, though it is my first, I expect that to hold true for me too. Kolkata is probably the place in India where I will live for a month, as I did in in Yangshuo, China, but that is still to be determined. It is the so-called cultural capital of India and is always has something to offer.
15 September 2010
Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, Part II
The last time I went to KL, for one night before I flew to Australia, I did not even write a post about it. Similarly, this post will be brief because I did not do much in KL, there is not much to do in KL, and because I have already written a post on KL before.
Because of the cost of flights to KL and to Kolkata I ended up having three nights in KL. I wanted a day or maybe two to take care of some errands but three nights was too long but it gave me time to enjoy some more Malaysian food and to take it easy. I opted for a nicer hostel this time because I wanted wifi because I needed to do stuff online. Not coincidentally the hostel I chose also had AC. Other than use the Internet and soak in the cool air all I did was walk around a bit, eat great food, including a attempted return to the Laundry Kafeteria Arabic place (ended up going to a different Arabic place), some shopping for items I thought would be difficult to get in India, and having some sewing done.
I met a French guy who seemed to want some company and help getting around (it was his first time in Asia) so we spent a couple days together not doing much.
That is pretty much it.
Because of the cost of flights to KL and to Kolkata I ended up having three nights in KL. I wanted a day or maybe two to take care of some errands but three nights was too long but it gave me time to enjoy some more Malaysian food and to take it easy. I opted for a nicer hostel this time because I wanted wifi because I needed to do stuff online. Not coincidentally the hostel I chose also had AC. Other than use the Internet and soak in the cool air all I did was walk around a bit, eat great food, including a attempted return to the Laundry Kafeteria Arabic place (ended up going to a different Arabic place), some shopping for items I thought would be difficult to get in India, and having some sewing done.
I met a French guy who seemed to want some company and help getting around (it was his first time in Asia) so we spent a couple days together not doing much.
That is pretty much it.
Gold Coast, Australia
(My 100th blog post.)
As I mentioned before, what exactly "Gold Coast" means is unknown to me. I was in Coolangatta, which is in Queensland and has the twin city of Tweed Heads on the other side of the state line in New South Wales. It is a Kansas City thing going on. Getting to Cooly, as it is often called, was the first transport I have paid for in Australia other than flights and shared fuel costs driving from Melbourne to Brisbane; it was the first non-flight organized transport I took in the country. I was proud of this fact for no special reason. I probably could have hitch hiked from Brisbane to the Gold Coast but I decided it was not worth doing so with all my baggage making it harder to get picked up (at least so I guessed) and the risk of rain. Getting there was easy and not too expensive considering. I took the train and a connected to an inter-city bus. Most travellers in Australia that get around using transport use Greyhound or a competitor Premier, and both are crazy expensive. I was supposed to crash at Jusford's, of the sailing trip from Brisbane to Sydney, but he crapped out on me so I ended up spending the night in a backpackers. The backpackers was an unusual place. At times it seemed completely empty and other times it was happening. I could not figure it out but did not care much either.
I arrived at midday and just walked around town for a bit for the rest of the day. There is a lighthouse that supposedly has good views but the weather was not cooperating so I had mediocre views. The town, well, towns, really, is/are not much. Other than surfing, as far as I can tell and was told, there is nothing there to see or do. The first night some people went up the coast to Surfers Paradise, a party town, but I declined and just hung out in the backpackers talking with people and watching movies.
The following day I checked out of the backpackers. My flight was very early the next morning so my idea was to check out as I did, have the backpackers hold on to my stuff (a common service provided), spend the day doing whatever, hang out at the backpackers at night, sleep either inside if I could figure out a way to do so or outside (it was a little cold but not too bad), and then wake up early and head to the airport, which was only a 10 minite walk. I was sure this would not work out but the worst thing that could happen was that I would have to check back in and pay for the night. This is what I was trying to avoid but if I could not then it would just cost me some money.
So I checked out and went to take advantage of Cooly's surf, which is one of the best in Australia, if not the best, which puts it in the running among the top world-wide. Years ago (I am too lazy to look up when) the government did some work offshore on the sea floor that had the unintended effect of creating excellent surfing conditions. If I understand correctly, basically what the government did was create a bump on the sea floor to help with the water flow and currents to control the movement of sand (a big issue on this part of the coast). This pushes the water upward, exaggerating even small waves into bigger ones. Or I made all that up. Either way, I rented a board and went out.
Again I had poor luck and nobody was catching many good waves including me, still hampered by me limited surfing experience and skills. I caught a few good ones and it was fun. Upon returning to the backpackers and returning the board the real challenge of the day started: employing my plan to avoid paying AU$28 for the night. I had been chummy with a couple of the backpacker employees and did not expect any issue from them or any of the other younger ones. There was an older guy that worked at night that was my only real concern other than the logistics of having my bag accessible and getting outside (if I spent the night inside) in the morning. It turned out to work perfectly and much easier than I expected. There was not problems at all and the older guy even saw that I was sleeping on the couch in the lounge and did not say a word. Plan well executed on my behalf.
In the morning I woke up at 5 and walked to the airport to leave Australia for a brief stop in KL before going to India.
As I mentioned before, what exactly "Gold Coast" means is unknown to me. I was in Coolangatta, which is in Queensland and has the twin city of Tweed Heads on the other side of the state line in New South Wales. It is a Kansas City thing going on. Getting to Cooly, as it is often called, was the first transport I have paid for in Australia other than flights and shared fuel costs driving from Melbourne to Brisbane; it was the first non-flight organized transport I took in the country. I was proud of this fact for no special reason. I probably could have hitch hiked from Brisbane to the Gold Coast but I decided it was not worth doing so with all my baggage making it harder to get picked up (at least so I guessed) and the risk of rain. Getting there was easy and not too expensive considering. I took the train and a connected to an inter-city bus. Most travellers in Australia that get around using transport use Greyhound or a competitor Premier, and both are crazy expensive. I was supposed to crash at Jusford's, of the sailing trip from Brisbane to Sydney, but he crapped out on me so I ended up spending the night in a backpackers. The backpackers was an unusual place. At times it seemed completely empty and other times it was happening. I could not figure it out but did not care much either.
I arrived at midday and just walked around town for a bit for the rest of the day. There is a lighthouse that supposedly has good views but the weather was not cooperating so I had mediocre views. The town, well, towns, really, is/are not much. Other than surfing, as far as I can tell and was told, there is nothing there to see or do. The first night some people went up the coast to Surfers Paradise, a party town, but I declined and just hung out in the backpackers talking with people and watching movies.
The following day I checked out of the backpackers. My flight was very early the next morning so my idea was to check out as I did, have the backpackers hold on to my stuff (a common service provided), spend the day doing whatever, hang out at the backpackers at night, sleep either inside if I could figure out a way to do so or outside (it was a little cold but not too bad), and then wake up early and head to the airport, which was only a 10 minite walk. I was sure this would not work out but the worst thing that could happen was that I would have to check back in and pay for the night. This is what I was trying to avoid but if I could not then it would just cost me some money.
So I checked out and went to take advantage of Cooly's surf, which is one of the best in Australia, if not the best, which puts it in the running among the top world-wide. Years ago (I am too lazy to look up when) the government did some work offshore on the sea floor that had the unintended effect of creating excellent surfing conditions. If I understand correctly, basically what the government did was create a bump on the sea floor to help with the water flow and currents to control the movement of sand (a big issue on this part of the coast). This pushes the water upward, exaggerating even small waves into bigger ones. Or I made all that up. Either way, I rented a board and went out.
Again I had poor luck and nobody was catching many good waves including me, still hampered by me limited surfing experience and skills. I caught a few good ones and it was fun. Upon returning to the backpackers and returning the board the real challenge of the day started: employing my plan to avoid paying AU$28 for the night. I had been chummy with a couple of the backpacker employees and did not expect any issue from them or any of the other younger ones. There was an older guy that worked at night that was my only real concern other than the logistics of having my bag accessible and getting outside (if I spent the night inside) in the morning. It turned out to work perfectly and much easier than I expected. There was not problems at all and the older guy even saw that I was sleeping on the couch in the lounge and did not say a word. Plan well executed on my behalf.
In the morning I woke up at 5 and walked to the airport to leave Australia for a brief stop in KL before going to India.
Brisbane, Australia, Part III
This one is going to be brief because did almost nothing for the few days I was in Brisbane this time. I was once again couch surfing with Vanessa, Gabby, and Kat. I picked up my passport with my new 10-year India visa (excellent) and booked a flight from the Gold Coast, Australia to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia and from KL to Kolkata, India. The way the prices of the flights worked out I ended up having a bit more time in Australia and intentionally scheduled a few days in KL to take care of errand-type things.
Once I picked up my passport and booked the flights I had nothing to do. I ended up trying to cook for the first time...in my life. I ended up making curry four times. The first batch was bland but edible and the following three attempts, once I decided to use some spices, had much more taste and, as far as I and those that tried it are concerned, were pretty good. I received some nice compliments and although curry is hard to mess up they were good to hear. It was also good to try something new even if that something is something I probably should have attempted 15 years ago. It was also nice to feed Vanessa for a change since she had cooked for me a few times, even though the curry I made was too spicy for her to enjoy more than a small portion.
That is pretty much all I did for a few days. There was some drama when Vanessa and her roommates learned that the owner of the house, their landlord, was returning so that have to move out in a couple months. Vanessa had lived there for 2.5 years and had grown attached and so did Gabby, Kat, and myself, all of whom had spent considerably less time in the hippy house. There was some more drama when Kat's boyfriend, Josh, broke up with her, but they got back together several hours later. This did make for an entertaining evening though.
Once I picked up my passport and booked the flights I had nothing to do. I ended up trying to cook for the first time...in my life. I ended up making curry four times. The first batch was bland but edible and the following three attempts, once I decided to use some spices, had much more taste and, as far as I and those that tried it are concerned, were pretty good. I received some nice compliments and although curry is hard to mess up they were good to hear. It was also good to try something new even if that something is something I probably should have attempted 15 years ago. It was also nice to feed Vanessa for a change since she had cooked for me a few times, even though the curry I made was too spicy for her to enjoy more than a small portion.
That is pretty much all I did for a few days. There was some drama when Vanessa and her roommates learned that the owner of the house, their landlord, was returning so that have to move out in a couple months. Vanessa had lived there for 2.5 years and had grown attached and so did Gabby, Kat, and myself, all of whom had spent considerably less time in the hippy house. There was some more drama when Kat's boyfriend, Josh, broke up with her, but they got back together several hours later. This did make for an entertaining evening though.
Byron Bay, Australia
Jason gave me a ride from his house back to the highway the day after I slept on his couch. He was headed north for an audition while I was continuing south to Byron Bay. Getting a ride was not much of an issue but I met another interesting character. Again there was no exchange of names, so I am going to go with Mack this time. Mack was a local to the area who grew up outside Byron and lived in the region his entire life. He does not do much of anything. He supports himself by selling various substances across the street from the Woolworth's in Byron Bay. Later I learned that he is known throughout the area for being a reliable, though overpriced, source for these substances. He dropped me off in the middle of town and advised me to stop by his spot if I needed some of the substances he sells or just to chat. Yeah, right, I will be doing that for sure.
The plan in Byron was to work at a backpackers for a week or two in exchange for accommodation while waiting to hear about my India visa (I could check the status online). This plan failed. Not only were none of the backpackers looking to hire anybody, but there was a waiting list of travellers looking for employment just as I was, and the all required a minimum of a 6 week committement. I resigned to paying for a room. This would be only the third time I had paid for accommodation in Australia, excluding packaged tours. So I not happy about doing this but I was felt with little option. (CS is almost non-exist in Byron and the few hosts are swarmed with requests. One has even taken to charging rent.) I did not have my passport to fly far from Brisbane, travelling far by hitching makes getting back in a timely manner to pick up my passport complicated and high risk, spending the entire time in Brisbane would have been too much, and of all the places near Brisbane, Byron Bay and the Gold Coast were the only ones I had any interest in visiting that I had not already. So, a backpackers in Byron Bay it was.
At first I did not like Byron very much. This is partially because I was in a bad mood about having to pay AU$20/night for a bed but also the weather was subpar. Also I found hanging out with people in the backpackers to be a task. Everybody seemed to have their own thing going on and I was a little out of practice in the whole hostel scene. After a couple days of exploring the area (there is some really nice hiking and views) I was almost decided to head back north to either the Gold Coast or possibly back to Burleigh Heads (I was invited to return). Then I realized that I had not yet surfed in Australia and Byron Bay is a good place to do so. I decided to rent a board and go out and leave the following day.
Renting the board was easy and reasonably priced. Unfortunately the surf was terrible and given my novice surfing skills catching a wave was a once-in-30-minute occurance. It boosted my confidence that other people were struggling as well but that did not make it any more fun. Though surfing was still enjoyable it was really frustrating. I was headed out in the afternoon to try surfing on my rented board once again when I started talking to two English guys, brothers that I later learned were twins. The offered me a wetsuit (yes) and said they had an extra board that I could take borrow until they leave in a few days (yes and awesome). With some difficulty I put on the wetsuit and headed out again and again the surf was bad, but I decided now that I had access to a free board that I might was well stay until it was no longer available. In addition, I had adjusted to the backpackers scene an was hanging out with people during the days and nights as I pleased and geting along swimmingly. (I was going to make a bad joke there and write "surfingly" but it was just too bad of a joke.)
Other than the (poor) surfing and walking around I did not do much in Byron other than hang out. I had forgotten about the drinking culture of hostels and was caught a bit offguard and underprepared. I like couch surfing a lot but it was nice to get back to in hostel mode and experience that kind of living again. It ended up being hard to leave Byron Bay despite its unfavorable first impression but once I saw online that my passport was being sent back to Brisbane for me to pick up it was time to leave.
The plan in Byron was to work at a backpackers for a week or two in exchange for accommodation while waiting to hear about my India visa (I could check the status online). This plan failed. Not only were none of the backpackers looking to hire anybody, but there was a waiting list of travellers looking for employment just as I was, and the all required a minimum of a 6 week committement. I resigned to paying for a room. This would be only the third time I had paid for accommodation in Australia, excluding packaged tours. So I not happy about doing this but I was felt with little option. (CS is almost non-exist in Byron and the few hosts are swarmed with requests. One has even taken to charging rent.) I did not have my passport to fly far from Brisbane, travelling far by hitching makes getting back in a timely manner to pick up my passport complicated and high risk, spending the entire time in Brisbane would have been too much, and of all the places near Brisbane, Byron Bay and the Gold Coast were the only ones I had any interest in visiting that I had not already. So, a backpackers in Byron Bay it was.
At first I did not like Byron very much. This is partially because I was in a bad mood about having to pay AU$20/night for a bed but also the weather was subpar. Also I found hanging out with people in the backpackers to be a task. Everybody seemed to have their own thing going on and I was a little out of practice in the whole hostel scene. After a couple days of exploring the area (there is some really nice hiking and views) I was almost decided to head back north to either the Gold Coast or possibly back to Burleigh Heads (I was invited to return). Then I realized that I had not yet surfed in Australia and Byron Bay is a good place to do so. I decided to rent a board and go out and leave the following day.
Renting the board was easy and reasonably priced. Unfortunately the surf was terrible and given my novice surfing skills catching a wave was a once-in-30-minute occurance. It boosted my confidence that other people were struggling as well but that did not make it any more fun. Though surfing was still enjoyable it was really frustrating. I was headed out in the afternoon to try surfing on my rented board once again when I started talking to two English guys, brothers that I later learned were twins. The offered me a wetsuit (yes) and said they had an extra board that I could take borrow until they leave in a few days (yes and awesome). With some difficulty I put on the wetsuit and headed out again and again the surf was bad, but I decided now that I had access to a free board that I might was well stay until it was no longer available. In addition, I had adjusted to the backpackers scene an was hanging out with people during the days and nights as I pleased and geting along swimmingly. (I was going to make a bad joke there and write "surfingly" but it was just too bad of a joke.)
Other than the (poor) surfing and walking around I did not do much in Byron other than hang out. I had forgotten about the drinking culture of hostels and was caught a bit offguard and underprepared. I like couch surfing a lot but it was nice to get back to in hostel mode and experience that kind of living again. It ended up being hard to leave Byron Bay despite its unfavorable first impression but once I saw online that my passport was being sent back to Brisbane for me to pick up it was time to leave.
Burleigh Heads, Australia
Not the title you were expecting, huh?
Once again I was hitch hiking. I got a ride from outside Brisband heading south. Byron Bay is only less than 2-3 hours away so making it in one day was not a concern. I got a ride from a guy named Jason, who is a street performer of sorts. He does all that kind of stuff (juggling, the tall unicycle, etc) on the streets but is also hired out for private events sometimes as the entertainment. He was a nice and interesting guy to talk with. He was only going as far as the Gold Coast, which is about an hour south from where I started. He offered me to sleep in his place for the night. I was planning on visiting the Gold Coast anyway on my way back north from Byron Bay so I figured doing so now instead was fine.
Jason did not live exactly in the the Gold Coast. Actually, he may have, the definition of "Gold Coast" in Australia is something that I do not completely understand. He lived with two roommates, and one of their mothers, in a town called Burleigh Heads, which is only 7km south of Surfers Paradise and 15km north of Coolangatta (which, to my understanding, is one of two twin towns that make up the Gold Coast). Burleigh Heads is not visited by many tourists because of the draws of those towns near by, plus Brisbane a bit more north and Byron Bay a bit more south. It is kind of stuck in between several different, bigger draws leaving it a kind of black sheep.
Jason's two roommates were also street performers that were part of a form group made up by the two of them and one of their girlfriends. They seemed to be more motivated than Jason as they had formed a legal company for their group, had a website and youtube videos, and professional photographs. In fact, when I was there they were packing up a car with all their equipment so that one of the group members could drive it to waaay south over the course of a few days where he would be joined by the other two members who were flying. I cannot imagine Jason going to such lengths for a gig. The roommates were cool and one of them and I got along well right away and talked a good amount.
An aside: the mother of one of the roommates was there because she had gotten evicted out of her place and decided to move closer to her son and was living there while trying to find a job in the area. She was kind of out of place in a house full of street performers but she seemed happy with her son's life decisions and was pretty cool in her own right.
Jason offered me the house bicycle to explore the town, which is pretty small. Going around was nice and an effective way to explore. There is not a ton to see or do in Burleigh Heads but it is pleasant still. There is a hike in a park that I could not do because I had the bike, which are not allowed, and no lock. In the end, going around town only took a few hours, including time getting lost, but was good.
I was certainly glad I decided to take Jason up on his offer to crash at his place for the night. In addition to seeing a place I probably would not have seen otherwise, and a nice place too, it was an experience that I am pleased to have under my belt.
Once again I was hitch hiking. I got a ride from outside Brisband heading south. Byron Bay is only less than 2-3 hours away so making it in one day was not a concern. I got a ride from a guy named Jason, who is a street performer of sorts. He does all that kind of stuff (juggling, the tall unicycle, etc) on the streets but is also hired out for private events sometimes as the entertainment. He was a nice and interesting guy to talk with. He was only going as far as the Gold Coast, which is about an hour south from where I started. He offered me to sleep in his place for the night. I was planning on visiting the Gold Coast anyway on my way back north from Byron Bay so I figured doing so now instead was fine.
Jason did not live exactly in the the Gold Coast. Actually, he may have, the definition of "Gold Coast" in Australia is something that I do not completely understand. He lived with two roommates, and one of their mothers, in a town called Burleigh Heads, which is only 7km south of Surfers Paradise and 15km north of Coolangatta (which, to my understanding, is one of two twin towns that make up the Gold Coast). Burleigh Heads is not visited by many tourists because of the draws of those towns near by, plus Brisbane a bit more north and Byron Bay a bit more south. It is kind of stuck in between several different, bigger draws leaving it a kind of black sheep.
Jason's two roommates were also street performers that were part of a form group made up by the two of them and one of their girlfriends. They seemed to be more motivated than Jason as they had formed a legal company for their group, had a website and youtube videos, and professional photographs. In fact, when I was there they were packing up a car with all their equipment so that one of the group members could drive it to waaay south over the course of a few days where he would be joined by the other two members who were flying. I cannot imagine Jason going to such lengths for a gig. The roommates were cool and one of them and I got along well right away and talked a good amount.
An aside: the mother of one of the roommates was there because she had gotten evicted out of her place and decided to move closer to her son and was living there while trying to find a job in the area. She was kind of out of place in a house full of street performers but she seemed happy with her son's life decisions and was pretty cool in her own right.
Jason offered me the house bicycle to explore the town, which is pretty small. Going around was nice and an effective way to explore. There is not a ton to see or do in Burleigh Heads but it is pleasant still. There is a hike in a park that I could not do because I had the bike, which are not allowed, and no lock. In the end, going around town only took a few hours, including time getting lost, but was good.
I was certainly glad I decided to take Jason up on his offer to crash at his place for the night. In addition to seeing a place I probably would not have seen otherwise, and a nice place too, it was an experience that I am pleased to have under my belt.
Brisbane, Australia, Part II
Before I actually made it to Brisbane I had my first negative flying experience. Before I started travelling I did not do much flying so it was not such an oddity that I had real no complaints with any airlines or airports. The closest thing to a negative experience I had before was a flight being delayed a few hours. Inconveient but not really a big deal, especially because it was for work, to get me to Indiana, a day before I really needed to be there. Actually, you can file that under "positive." The flight from Proserpine to Brisbane, however was pretty bad. First the Prossy (as Proserpine is called by Aussies who abv all) airport is a joke. Whatever, though, I have seen some small and/or bad airports before. As soon as the plane took off I, and probably everybody else, knew something was wrong. I was almost all the way in the back of the plane so the sound was faint where I was but there was a noise that was not normal. After a short time airborne the PA switched on with the captain saying that the front wheel thing hit something upon take off, probably a bird, and could not retract appropriately. Meaning, it was hanging outside the plane instead of inside it. Because of this we did not get any speed or altitude. He said we were going to land in Mackay, which is only about 1.5 drive from where we took off and figure something out from there. We ended up landing in Mackay in about the time it would have taken us to drive there which was also at about the time we were supposed to land in Brisbane. Everybody existed the plane and took a seat inside the terminal.
And we waited and waited. Occasionally somebody would come on the PA telling us that they would tell us something when they had something to tell us. Seriously, they told us that several times. We did get confirmation, however, that the captain's guess that we hit a bird was right. Eventually we got some information that we actually cared about: the airline, JetStar, could not find enough accommodation for everybody for the night in Mackay. Mackay is a mining town and during the week every place is completely booked out. It is empty on the weekends as everybody goes to a place that sucks less. So they were coming up with other ideas. Then we got the news that they were having trouble finding a mechanic to fix the problem, which apparently was more complicated than removing a dead bird. Then we got the news that the other area where a plane is occasionally stored for such incidents is being repaved so there is no plane there. Then we got the news that JetStar was going to send a plane from Brisbane, where we were supposed to have arrived hours ago, that would either land where we were, in Mackay, or where we departed from, Proserpine. If it was to land in Prossy, that means we would be bused back to Prossy only to board a plane again, exactly as we had done 4ish hours before, to once again fly to Brisbane (hopefully).
At this point two things happened. One, I borrowed the phone of the girl sitting next to me to tell my would-be couch surfing host in Brisbane, that I had plans to meet at a restuarant, that I had already been scheduled to surf at twice before but had to cancel for various reasons, that I had guaranteed I would actually surf at this time, that I would not make it, at least not that day. Two, the guy that that I had been talking with decided that JetStar would for sure send the plane to where we were, Mackay, because it made sense, so he was going to go to a bar in town (no food or beverage serving place was open in the airport) and start drinking, leaving his number with the JetStar counter with instructions to call him when they knew when the plane would arrive in Mackay. He invited me and another girl with, but we declined. I did so because I had less confidence in JetStar's competence and ability to employ logic. A few minutes later the PA came on again saying that the plan would in fact land in Proserpine and we would be bused back there leaving at 10:45PM. We had landed in Mackay near 7:30. Luckily the guy had not yet got in the cab that he called and returned to his seat.
To its credit, JetStar did spring for pizza, and even though it was Pizza Hut, tasted great. The timing was less than ideal as the pizza arrive at about 10:20. Whatever, I gorged myself and was happy to do so. There were three buses and the one I got on was driven by a girl that looked 17 years old.
We got (back) to Proserpine, checked back in, boarded the plane, and took off...at 1:30AM. We arrived in Brisbane near 3AM, after all public transportation had shut down. JetStar, however, did us the favor of calling a bunch of cabs for us that would cost AU$45 to get in the city. No thanks. I found a sweet place to sleep in the airport, made sure my stuff was secure, and got some sleep. The airport activity was happening long before I woke up. I heard it but decided that I want to sleep more. I did not care. Not only did I want more sleep but the place I found to sleep was great. Once I woke up, I brushed my teeth and headed to the metro thing to get a ticket to get into the city. The fare for this trip is AU$15, which is a huge amount of money for what it is and the company knows it. However, this leg of the metro is not operated by the town, it is a private company that knows that they only other options are walking the 18km (about 12 miles), taking the shuttle that is also operates at the same price, and the AU$45 taxi. In other words, it can charge basically whatver it wants as long as its less that AU$45. I was seriously considering the walking/hitching option but decided it was not worth the time before I want to get into the city in a timely manner.
The reason I wanted to make sure I got into town in a reasonable amount of time is the main reason I was returning to Brisbane all together, other than to retrieve my big bag that I had left with a friend: to apply for my visa for India at the office there since I could not do so online. The office opens at 8:30 and I was the first person there and got served at 8:15. The guy there was tremendous at his job and was patient with all of my frustrations and questions, of which I had plenty. Once in the office, applying took almost no time at all whereas I could not figure out how to do so online in several hours. All the paperwork was submitted and I just had to wait 10-15 working days until my passport, hopefully containing a visa, returned from Canberra, Australia's little-known capital and location of the India High Commission. After all this, I finally headed to my couch surfing host's place.
My host, Vanessa, was not home but thankfully one of her roommates, Kat, was and let me in. Applying for my India visa was really the only thing I had planned to do in Brisbane other than walk around the city a bit and pick up my bag. I had 2-3 weeks until my passport, hopefully with a visa, was returned and until then I just planned on hanging out a bit in Brisbane and going south to Byron Bay for a bit. A little about my hosts: Vanessa is in university, spends much of her free time volunteering, spent time in China, Vietnam, and Cambodia, and is learning Spanish for her plans to go to South America in 2011. I learned later that first day that she talks, often loudly, in her sleep. Gabby, another roommate, is also in university, and speaks a bit of Spanish already and is helping Vanessa along. She is leaving for Mexico in November 2010, I think to study but I may remember that wrong. Kat, who let me in, is the most difficult to describe. She is kind of punk and kind of rebellious, but not really. She is into music (we had overlapping interests and bonded over hating Nickelback) and frowns upon Vanessa and Gabby's music tastes. The "hippy house" they live in is in a suburb of Brisbane called Beenleigh, which is about 40km (28.5 miles) outside of the center of Brisbane but there is a train that runs regularly making transport easy, though not particularly cheap. The rent the house and have no "bond," which I assume is what I call a deposit, so they treat it as such. They do not intentionally destroy anything, but do neglect it a bit. They paint all over the walls with hand prints and the like. It is a cool place and I enjoyed spending time there.
There is not much to do in Brisbane. It seems, and I have been told this assessment is accurate, that it is a town better fit for living in than visiting. In terms of tourism there is not much, but spending years there has its rewards. After a couple of days of exploring Brisbane and doing nothing I decided it was time to head south to Byron Bay.
(Yes, I am aware that most of this post was not actually about Brisbane. Whatever.)
And we waited and waited. Occasionally somebody would come on the PA telling us that they would tell us something when they had something to tell us. Seriously, they told us that several times. We did get confirmation, however, that the captain's guess that we hit a bird was right. Eventually we got some information that we actually cared about: the airline, JetStar, could not find enough accommodation for everybody for the night in Mackay. Mackay is a mining town and during the week every place is completely booked out. It is empty on the weekends as everybody goes to a place that sucks less. So they were coming up with other ideas. Then we got the news that they were having trouble finding a mechanic to fix the problem, which apparently was more complicated than removing a dead bird. Then we got the news that the other area where a plane is occasionally stored for such incidents is being repaved so there is no plane there. Then we got the news that JetStar was going to send a plane from Brisbane, where we were supposed to have arrived hours ago, that would either land where we were, in Mackay, or where we departed from, Proserpine. If it was to land in Prossy, that means we would be bused back to Prossy only to board a plane again, exactly as we had done 4ish hours before, to once again fly to Brisbane (hopefully).
At this point two things happened. One, I borrowed the phone of the girl sitting next to me to tell my would-be couch surfing host in Brisbane, that I had plans to meet at a restuarant, that I had already been scheduled to surf at twice before but had to cancel for various reasons, that I had guaranteed I would actually surf at this time, that I would not make it, at least not that day. Two, the guy that that I had been talking with decided that JetStar would for sure send the plane to where we were, Mackay, because it made sense, so he was going to go to a bar in town (no food or beverage serving place was open in the airport) and start drinking, leaving his number with the JetStar counter with instructions to call him when they knew when the plane would arrive in Mackay. He invited me and another girl with, but we declined. I did so because I had less confidence in JetStar's competence and ability to employ logic. A few minutes later the PA came on again saying that the plan would in fact land in Proserpine and we would be bused back there leaving at 10:45PM. We had landed in Mackay near 7:30. Luckily the guy had not yet got in the cab that he called and returned to his seat.
To its credit, JetStar did spring for pizza, and even though it was Pizza Hut, tasted great. The timing was less than ideal as the pizza arrive at about 10:20. Whatever, I gorged myself and was happy to do so. There were three buses and the one I got on was driven by a girl that looked 17 years old.
We got (back) to Proserpine, checked back in, boarded the plane, and took off...at 1:30AM. We arrived in Brisbane near 3AM, after all public transportation had shut down. JetStar, however, did us the favor of calling a bunch of cabs for us that would cost AU$45 to get in the city. No thanks. I found a sweet place to sleep in the airport, made sure my stuff was secure, and got some sleep. The airport activity was happening long before I woke up. I heard it but decided that I want to sleep more. I did not care. Not only did I want more sleep but the place I found to sleep was great. Once I woke up, I brushed my teeth and headed to the metro thing to get a ticket to get into the city. The fare for this trip is AU$15, which is a huge amount of money for what it is and the company knows it. However, this leg of the metro is not operated by the town, it is a private company that knows that they only other options are walking the 18km (about 12 miles), taking the shuttle that is also operates at the same price, and the AU$45 taxi. In other words, it can charge basically whatver it wants as long as its less that AU$45. I was seriously considering the walking/hitching option but decided it was not worth the time before I want to get into the city in a timely manner.
The reason I wanted to make sure I got into town in a reasonable amount of time is the main reason I was returning to Brisbane all together, other than to retrieve my big bag that I had left with a friend: to apply for my visa for India at the office there since I could not do so online. The office opens at 8:30 and I was the first person there and got served at 8:15. The guy there was tremendous at his job and was patient with all of my frustrations and questions, of which I had plenty. Once in the office, applying took almost no time at all whereas I could not figure out how to do so online in several hours. All the paperwork was submitted and I just had to wait 10-15 working days until my passport, hopefully containing a visa, returned from Canberra, Australia's little-known capital and location of the India High Commission. After all this, I finally headed to my couch surfing host's place.
My host, Vanessa, was not home but thankfully one of her roommates, Kat, was and let me in. Applying for my India visa was really the only thing I had planned to do in Brisbane other than walk around the city a bit and pick up my bag. I had 2-3 weeks until my passport, hopefully with a visa, was returned and until then I just planned on hanging out a bit in Brisbane and going south to Byron Bay for a bit. A little about my hosts: Vanessa is in university, spends much of her free time volunteering, spent time in China, Vietnam, and Cambodia, and is learning Spanish for her plans to go to South America in 2011. I learned later that first day that she talks, often loudly, in her sleep. Gabby, another roommate, is also in university, and speaks a bit of Spanish already and is helping Vanessa along. She is leaving for Mexico in November 2010, I think to study but I may remember that wrong. Kat, who let me in, is the most difficult to describe. She is kind of punk and kind of rebellious, but not really. She is into music (we had overlapping interests and bonded over hating Nickelback) and frowns upon Vanessa and Gabby's music tastes. The "hippy house" they live in is in a suburb of Brisbane called Beenleigh, which is about 40km (28.5 miles) outside of the center of Brisbane but there is a train that runs regularly making transport easy, though not particularly cheap. The rent the house and have no "bond," which I assume is what I call a deposit, so they treat it as such. They do not intentionally destroy anything, but do neglect it a bit. They paint all over the walls with hand prints and the like. It is a cool place and I enjoyed spending time there.
There is not much to do in Brisbane. It seems, and I have been told this assessment is accurate, that it is a town better fit for living in than visiting. In terms of tourism there is not much, but spending years there has its rewards. After a couple of days of exploring Brisbane and doing nothing I decided it was time to head south to Byron Bay.
(Yes, I am aware that most of this post was not actually about Brisbane. Whatever.)
Airlie Beach/Whitsundays, Australia
I got out of the car and headed for McDonald's, or more accurately, the free wifi at McDonald's. I sent a couch surfing request to a host in Airlie Beach that had declined my request, but said that I should stop by his office for a coffee. I (correctly) interpreted this as a test so that he can see if he wants to host me. I logged into CS, sent a quick message to him that I had arrived in Airlie and was headed to his office and would be there just as soon as I could find it. Finding it took some time because I am terrible at those things. I arrived, introduced myself to John and his couch surfer/assistant/employee/volunteer Steph. He offered me some water.
At this point, over the previous 36ish hours I had consumed one alcoholic cider, about 1/3 of a loaf of bread, less the portion that had been partially eaten by some animal, and some gummy bears.
After some talking I asked John directly if I could couch surf at his place and he said yes. Here is where I need to explain John's couch. His couch could much more accurately be described as a boat, because he lives on a boat. He maintains an office in the marina (where Steph slept most of the time) and he sleeps on the boat. Couch surfing with John not only means you are sleeping on a boat, which is cool enough, but it also means that he will take you sailing around the Whitsundays if you are there long enough and/or catch him at a time when he is going out. I was lucky enough to do so. The typical trip to the Whitsundays for a backpacker is a 2 day/2 day arrangement that costs about AU$300-350. John took me out basically for the cost of some food and some beer (though the beer is expensive, it is not AU$300 expensive).
John is an interesting character. He speaks very rapidly and appears constantly busy. He works for himself in IT, maintaining several tourism websites and does freelance work for businesses in the area. He does well and always seems to be working. Steph points out that he does not sleep because of his workload. However, I noticed that he takes a nap in the afternoon just about everyday for a couple hours and, though he does wake up early in the morning, he, as best as I can tell, gets plenty of sleep. That said, I was only there for about a week and Steph had been there for months so her sample size is larger but I saw what I saw, plus it does not really matter. Steph is German and into media, mostly videography. She is kind of couch surfing with John but also does a lot of work for him. They made no arrangement for monetary compensation, just accommodation, though John sometimes pays her. She is travelling in Australia hoping to make a documentary on the Aborigines and is trying to accumulate the appropriate equipment and funds to do so. We ended up hanging out a lot together as other than the sailing there is almost nothing to do in Airlie Beach and I ended up staying for an extra couple of days because the cost of a flight to Brisbane plummeted and John said doing so was not a problem.
The only significant negative about doing my Whitsundays trip with John was that I had no control or input over where we went. When he goes out he is generally doing so with a purpose and sails to where it makes sense for him, not to where I, a tourist, wants to go. So, though I went to the Whitsundays, I did not go to the main tourist draw of Whitehaven Beach. I did get to go to and see things that most tourists do not get to do so it is a trade off. I simply say that it means now I have an excuse to go back.
Airlie Beach is not much of a town. In fact, it kind of sucks. If the Whitsundays where elsewhere nobody would ever go near the place. Fortunately of it, the Whitsundays, which is among the most beautiful places in the world, is just off its shores and it is the lucky heir to an endless stream of tourists. The Whitsundays, however, is stunning. John says he lives where he lives because he thinks it is paradise and sure looks like it could be.
While not sailing around the Whitsundays, I tried to help out around John's business. Mostly this meant keeping Steph company while she did things and holding stuff but Steph was legitimately appreciative and said directly that her days went by quicker when in my company. (Go me.)
On my last night there a not serious but not mild storm was due to come in. John was planning on joining Steph in the office for the night and said I could sleep in the van he has instead of the boat. I said whatever he thought was best was fine with me, but when Steph said she wanted to sleep in the boat, John and I both thought it best that I went out on the boat as well. John does not dock the boat in the marina. He anchors it a bit off shore to avoid paying the huge marina docking fee. To get to the boat you use what he calls a dingy, which might be what it is actually called but I had never heard it called this. The dingy is a raft that is propelled by a motor. Simple. Steph and I walked to the dingy in some light rain. When we reached the dingy the rain had picked up a bit so we took cover in one of the boats nearby to let the rain die down before we set off. We waited and when the rain slowed he headed out. About a minute after we started moving the rain picked up again, this time harder. And then harder still. Then we remembered that by accident John had anchored further off shore than he normally does meaning not only would be have to traverse more water than usual and expected but that actually finding the boat among the dozens of boats out there would be more difficult that normal. Steph, at the helm, found the boat without issue though we were still soaked by the time we got there. She tied the dingy to the boat and then we went inside. I got myself one of the beers that was left over from the Whitsundays excursion, we put on some music, and started chatting with Stevie Wonder and the rain in the background. After a little bit Steph noticed the dingy was gone. "Gone?" I questioned, taking a swig. "Yes, gone. As in, gone," she replied. I put the beer down and stepped out into the rain where Steph was to see the dingy floating away. Knowing it was not the right thing to do, I made the snap decision to dive in and try to retrieve it. In a storm you are not supposed to leave the boat, but, in truth the storm really was not that bad and I know I can tread water for a really long time, and I figured that if I did manage to get the dingy back John would be super appreciative. Also, even if I did not get it back, it would be a decent story. I stripped down to my boxers and jumped in. As soon as I started off I could tell the dingy was moving faster than me. The only chance I had is that if the wind or something else slowed it down or carried back the other way. I kept going for a bit but it became apparent I had no chance and turned around. The water was not that cold at all (I was cold later once I got out of the water) and doing this was pretty cool and I was happy with my decision to try to get it back. After swimming back I learned of the other drama afoot.
Apparently while I was in the water a boat that was anchored close to ours nearly hit us. By "nearly" I mean within a foot, according to Steph. A collision of boats would be exponentially worse than a missing dingy. The occupants of the other boat had noticed how close our boat was and got out to yell at Steph, who was waiting outside watching me swim. I am not sure exactly how it happened because I was elsewhere, but I believe Steph explained that our boat was not that one that was moving (which we determined was true even though she just made it up at the time) and why she was outside in the first place. The other boat, possibly in an act of apology, said they would try to get our dingy back. Once I got aboard again they made sure I was OK, and then set off. We knew the odds of them getting it were low but at that point we had no option. Steph had called John about the near-collision and missing dingy. He was displeased that she did not tie up the dingy as she was supposed to (hoist it off the water) and displeased that I got in the water to try to get it back (dangerous) but more than relieved that there was no collision. After a bit the other boat flashed its lights, which we took to mean they were giving up and anchoring over where they were to avoid another incident.
We went back inside. Steph, who was trying to eat nothing but fruit, vegetables, and nuts for six weeks broke into some crackers or cookies or something. I stripped off my boxers and tied a towel around my waist (I had no other clothes on the boat) and assumed drinking my beer again. Stepth was pretty stressed; she said that even though up until now her time with John had been nothing but positive this is the kind of thing that could turn the whole thing sour. Its true, but of course I could not admit so out loud. I reminded her that John did not seem to upset on the phone, which she had told me, and was more relieved that there was no collision than anything. Then we saw a flashing light again. It was the boat returning...with the dingy. Steph was ecstatic. We thanked them and hoisted the dingy as far off the water as we could. Steph happily called John again. I got another beer. We talked a bit more and then went to sleep.
Then next day I went to the nearby town of Proserpine to catch a flight to Brisbane.
At this point, over the previous 36ish hours I had consumed one alcoholic cider, about 1/3 of a loaf of bread, less the portion that had been partially eaten by some animal, and some gummy bears.
After some talking I asked John directly if I could couch surf at his place and he said yes. Here is where I need to explain John's couch. His couch could much more accurately be described as a boat, because he lives on a boat. He maintains an office in the marina (where Steph slept most of the time) and he sleeps on the boat. Couch surfing with John not only means you are sleeping on a boat, which is cool enough, but it also means that he will take you sailing around the Whitsundays if you are there long enough and/or catch him at a time when he is going out. I was lucky enough to do so. The typical trip to the Whitsundays for a backpacker is a 2 day/2 day arrangement that costs about AU$300-350. John took me out basically for the cost of some food and some beer (though the beer is expensive, it is not AU$300 expensive).
John is an interesting character. He speaks very rapidly and appears constantly busy. He works for himself in IT, maintaining several tourism websites and does freelance work for businesses in the area. He does well and always seems to be working. Steph points out that he does not sleep because of his workload. However, I noticed that he takes a nap in the afternoon just about everyday for a couple hours and, though he does wake up early in the morning, he, as best as I can tell, gets plenty of sleep. That said, I was only there for about a week and Steph had been there for months so her sample size is larger but I saw what I saw, plus it does not really matter. Steph is German and into media, mostly videography. She is kind of couch surfing with John but also does a lot of work for him. They made no arrangement for monetary compensation, just accommodation, though John sometimes pays her. She is travelling in Australia hoping to make a documentary on the Aborigines and is trying to accumulate the appropriate equipment and funds to do so. We ended up hanging out a lot together as other than the sailing there is almost nothing to do in Airlie Beach and I ended up staying for an extra couple of days because the cost of a flight to Brisbane plummeted and John said doing so was not a problem.
The only significant negative about doing my Whitsundays trip with John was that I had no control or input over where we went. When he goes out he is generally doing so with a purpose and sails to where it makes sense for him, not to where I, a tourist, wants to go. So, though I went to the Whitsundays, I did not go to the main tourist draw of Whitehaven Beach. I did get to go to and see things that most tourists do not get to do so it is a trade off. I simply say that it means now I have an excuse to go back.
Airlie Beach is not much of a town. In fact, it kind of sucks. If the Whitsundays where elsewhere nobody would ever go near the place. Fortunately of it, the Whitsundays, which is among the most beautiful places in the world, is just off its shores and it is the lucky heir to an endless stream of tourists. The Whitsundays, however, is stunning. John says he lives where he lives because he thinks it is paradise and sure looks like it could be.
While not sailing around the Whitsundays, I tried to help out around John's business. Mostly this meant keeping Steph company while she did things and holding stuff but Steph was legitimately appreciative and said directly that her days went by quicker when in my company. (Go me.)
On my last night there a not serious but not mild storm was due to come in. John was planning on joining Steph in the office for the night and said I could sleep in the van he has instead of the boat. I said whatever he thought was best was fine with me, but when Steph said she wanted to sleep in the boat, John and I both thought it best that I went out on the boat as well. John does not dock the boat in the marina. He anchors it a bit off shore to avoid paying the huge marina docking fee. To get to the boat you use what he calls a dingy, which might be what it is actually called but I had never heard it called this. The dingy is a raft that is propelled by a motor. Simple. Steph and I walked to the dingy in some light rain. When we reached the dingy the rain had picked up a bit so we took cover in one of the boats nearby to let the rain die down before we set off. We waited and when the rain slowed he headed out. About a minute after we started moving the rain picked up again, this time harder. And then harder still. Then we remembered that by accident John had anchored further off shore than he normally does meaning not only would be have to traverse more water than usual and expected but that actually finding the boat among the dozens of boats out there would be more difficult that normal. Steph, at the helm, found the boat without issue though we were still soaked by the time we got there. She tied the dingy to the boat and then we went inside. I got myself one of the beers that was left over from the Whitsundays excursion, we put on some music, and started chatting with Stevie Wonder and the rain in the background. After a little bit Steph noticed the dingy was gone. "Gone?" I questioned, taking a swig. "Yes, gone. As in, gone," she replied. I put the beer down and stepped out into the rain where Steph was to see the dingy floating away. Knowing it was not the right thing to do, I made the snap decision to dive in and try to retrieve it. In a storm you are not supposed to leave the boat, but, in truth the storm really was not that bad and I know I can tread water for a really long time, and I figured that if I did manage to get the dingy back John would be super appreciative. Also, even if I did not get it back, it would be a decent story. I stripped down to my boxers and jumped in. As soon as I started off I could tell the dingy was moving faster than me. The only chance I had is that if the wind or something else slowed it down or carried back the other way. I kept going for a bit but it became apparent I had no chance and turned around. The water was not that cold at all (I was cold later once I got out of the water) and doing this was pretty cool and I was happy with my decision to try to get it back. After swimming back I learned of the other drama afoot.
Apparently while I was in the water a boat that was anchored close to ours nearly hit us. By "nearly" I mean within a foot, according to Steph. A collision of boats would be exponentially worse than a missing dingy. The occupants of the other boat had noticed how close our boat was and got out to yell at Steph, who was waiting outside watching me swim. I am not sure exactly how it happened because I was elsewhere, but I believe Steph explained that our boat was not that one that was moving (which we determined was true even though she just made it up at the time) and why she was outside in the first place. The other boat, possibly in an act of apology, said they would try to get our dingy back. Once I got aboard again they made sure I was OK, and then set off. We knew the odds of them getting it were low but at that point we had no option. Steph had called John about the near-collision and missing dingy. He was displeased that she did not tie up the dingy as she was supposed to (hoist it off the water) and displeased that I got in the water to try to get it back (dangerous) but more than relieved that there was no collision. After a bit the other boat flashed its lights, which we took to mean they were giving up and anchoring over where they were to avoid another incident.
We went back inside. Steph, who was trying to eat nothing but fruit, vegetables, and nuts for six weeks broke into some crackers or cookies or something. I stripped off my boxers and tied a towel around my waist (I had no other clothes on the boat) and assumed drinking my beer again. Stepth was pretty stressed; she said that even though up until now her time with John had been nothing but positive this is the kind of thing that could turn the whole thing sour. Its true, but of course I could not admit so out loud. I reminded her that John did not seem to upset on the phone, which she had told me, and was more relieved that there was no collision than anything. Then we saw a flashing light again. It was the boat returning...with the dingy. Steph was ecstatic. We thanked them and hoisted the dingy as far off the water as we could. Steph happily called John again. I got another beer. We talked a bit more and then went to sleep.
Then next day I went to the nearby town of Proserpine to catch a flight to Brisbane.
Getting to Airlie Beach/Whitsundays, Australia
Hitch hiking from Cairns to Airlie Beach is the first real hitching I have attempted. I have picked up short rides here and there but nothing like this. The closest I had done was getting from the highway to Hervey Bay but that is not even close. This was a much longer distance and, to me at least, was real hitch hiking. Given my novice status, I did not know what I was doing other than some advice from people I have met that have done a lot of hitching (very valuable information), some information I have read, and common sense. That last sentence is not supposed to sound like I was getting myself into trouble or any danger, intentionally or otherwise. I was confident I was not and would not put myself in harm's way. What I did mean by that sentence is that I was travelling without much food and no water but it would be a bit until I realized this.
I first got a ride from just outside of Cairns (to which I walked) to the main highway from some guy and his son. Then I got a ride heading south. My hope was to get to Airlie Beach that day but it became clear that I was not going to make it that far. The ride I got going south was from an Australian who had been living out of his van some some time and was headed south to for a job interview (his employment history was spotty. I gathered his last job was a "security officer" which really meant he was a bouncer, which was funny because he was about my size). He was only going about half the way to Airlie, to Townsville, where he was going to camp for the night. From there I tried to get a ride going all the way to Airlie but everybody that pulled over would only take me as far as Townsville. So I asked around in the campsite if anybody was headed south the following day.
As my luck would have it, just about everybody was going north and the people that were going south did not have room or were going such a short distance that it would not have been worthwhile for me to accept their ride. I managed to find one older guy that was travelling alone that said he could take me part of the way and from where I could get another ride. I accepted and we arranged to meet the following morning. I want mention some observations about this campsite that I noticed while trying to find a ride. First, this place was packed. There must have been about 100 people there. Second, I could not believe the percentage of its population that was above the age of 40. Probably only myself, the guy that drove me there, and two or three backpacker couples were under 40, plus the kids of some adults. If I had to estimate I would guess that more than 50% of the people were above 50. And just about everybody was Australian. I think just me and the two backpacker couples were the only non-Aussies. This was cool to me. I wonder if there is a similar distribution in campsites in the States.
In this campsite is where my lack of food became apparent. I had not really be hungry all day probably because I was too preoccupied with getting a ride to notice that I had not eaten all day. As I mentioned, my food supply was limited: I had about a third of a loaf of bread and some gummy bears. The guy that gave me a ride gave me a cider so I also had that. I finished the gummy bears and had about 2/3 of the loaf that remained planning on eating the rest for breakfast. It occurred to me that I could have asked the guy to give me a lift to get some food and I know he would have done so but I figured not only had a brought this upon myself but I have eaten much less over much longer periods of time when food was much more readily available so I decided just to stick it out. I set up my tent, set my alarm, and went to sleep.
I awoke in plenty of time to pack up and meet my ride. After I had all my stuff ready to go I sat down to enjoy my 1/9 of a loaf of bread for breakfast when I discovered that some animal had gotten to it during the night. At this point I was pretty damn hungry so I tore off the parts of the slices of bread that had been touched/bitten and ate the remainder slowly as I could while walking over to find my ride. I have forgotten his name also but we got along well but I am going to call him Bob for simplicity. Bob is in his 60s, his wife had passed away a few years back and he was going up and down the coast visiting friends and family, including his kids. Bob hails from Tasmania, which is the island off the southeast tip of Australia and is considered one of the most beautiful places in the country. I told him I planned on visiting Tasmania when I returned to Australia and he said doing so was a good idea and that most tourist do not bother, which is a mistake.
I got the feeling that Bob was very happy to have me as company. He ended up driving me about an hour past where he originally said he would, justifying doing so out loud by saying he would have just down it the next day so why not help me out. We got to a junction of two highways where he was going to go left to visit an old friend and I needed to go right. He pulled over, gave me his address in Tasmania telling me to let him know when I make it down there, we said our goodbyes, and he headed off. I walked for about 10 seconds before I was picked up again by some woman, who I am going to call Bobette because I cannot remember her name either. Bobette just bought the van she picked up in from Townsville and was driving really, really far south over a couple days. I just needed a lift for 1-1.5 hours but she clearly was happy to have the company. Bobette had several teeth missing, wore age-inappropriate clothing, and was too honest with a stranger she had just picked up off the side of a highway. Maybe she looked at it like a time to say whatever to somebody that she would never see again. I do not know. The ride was filled with uncomfortable silences and when she let me out I wished her, and the two kids she left unattended at home, well.
From where Bobette dropped me off I was in another situation like I was in trying to get to Hervey Bay. Airlie Beach was on the shore, off the main highway. Unlike Hervey, I was not on the main route this time. It took a long time to get a ride; I started scouting camping sites while walking and not getting picked up. Finally somebody stopped. This guy (we never exchanged names) works for the tourism industry in the area and was happy to help out a tourist. His car was air conditioned and heavenly. We chatted a bit and I got some questions answered about the tourism industry in Australia and the area. (I am often curious about, for example, what percentage of the national or local economy comes from tourism, particularly in places where it seems tourism is to prevalent.) He dropped me off on the main drag and told me to go to some bar that night and say hello to his daughter, Lucy.
I first got a ride from just outside of Cairns (to which I walked) to the main highway from some guy and his son. Then I got a ride heading south. My hope was to get to Airlie Beach that day but it became clear that I was not going to make it that far. The ride I got going south was from an Australian who had been living out of his van some some time and was headed south to for a job interview (his employment history was spotty. I gathered his last job was a "security officer" which really meant he was a bouncer, which was funny because he was about my size). He was only going about half the way to Airlie, to Townsville, where he was going to camp for the night. From there I tried to get a ride going all the way to Airlie but everybody that pulled over would only take me as far as Townsville. So I asked around in the campsite if anybody was headed south the following day.
As my luck would have it, just about everybody was going north and the people that were going south did not have room or were going such a short distance that it would not have been worthwhile for me to accept their ride. I managed to find one older guy that was travelling alone that said he could take me part of the way and from where I could get another ride. I accepted and we arranged to meet the following morning. I want mention some observations about this campsite that I noticed while trying to find a ride. First, this place was packed. There must have been about 100 people there. Second, I could not believe the percentage of its population that was above the age of 40. Probably only myself, the guy that drove me there, and two or three backpacker couples were under 40, plus the kids of some adults. If I had to estimate I would guess that more than 50% of the people were above 50. And just about everybody was Australian. I think just me and the two backpacker couples were the only non-Aussies. This was cool to me. I wonder if there is a similar distribution in campsites in the States.
In this campsite is where my lack of food became apparent. I had not really be hungry all day probably because I was too preoccupied with getting a ride to notice that I had not eaten all day. As I mentioned, my food supply was limited: I had about a third of a loaf of bread and some gummy bears. The guy that gave me a ride gave me a cider so I also had that. I finished the gummy bears and had about 2/3 of the loaf that remained planning on eating the rest for breakfast. It occurred to me that I could have asked the guy to give me a lift to get some food and I know he would have done so but I figured not only had a brought this upon myself but I have eaten much less over much longer periods of time when food was much more readily available so I decided just to stick it out. I set up my tent, set my alarm, and went to sleep.
I awoke in plenty of time to pack up and meet my ride. After I had all my stuff ready to go I sat down to enjoy my 1/9 of a loaf of bread for breakfast when I discovered that some animal had gotten to it during the night. At this point I was pretty damn hungry so I tore off the parts of the slices of bread that had been touched/bitten and ate the remainder slowly as I could while walking over to find my ride. I have forgotten his name also but we got along well but I am going to call him Bob for simplicity. Bob is in his 60s, his wife had passed away a few years back and he was going up and down the coast visiting friends and family, including his kids. Bob hails from Tasmania, which is the island off the southeast tip of Australia and is considered one of the most beautiful places in the country. I told him I planned on visiting Tasmania when I returned to Australia and he said doing so was a good idea and that most tourist do not bother, which is a mistake.
I got the feeling that Bob was very happy to have me as company. He ended up driving me about an hour past where he originally said he would, justifying doing so out loud by saying he would have just down it the next day so why not help me out. We got to a junction of two highways where he was going to go left to visit an old friend and I needed to go right. He pulled over, gave me his address in Tasmania telling me to let him know when I make it down there, we said our goodbyes, and he headed off. I walked for about 10 seconds before I was picked up again by some woman, who I am going to call Bobette because I cannot remember her name either. Bobette just bought the van she picked up in from Townsville and was driving really, really far south over a couple days. I just needed a lift for 1-1.5 hours but she clearly was happy to have the company. Bobette had several teeth missing, wore age-inappropriate clothing, and was too honest with a stranger she had just picked up off the side of a highway. Maybe she looked at it like a time to say whatever to somebody that she would never see again. I do not know. The ride was filled with uncomfortable silences and when she let me out I wished her, and the two kids she left unattended at home, well.
From where Bobette dropped me off I was in another situation like I was in trying to get to Hervey Bay. Airlie Beach was on the shore, off the main highway. Unlike Hervey, I was not on the main route this time. It took a long time to get a ride; I started scouting camping sites while walking and not getting picked up. Finally somebody stopped. This guy (we never exchanged names) works for the tourism industry in the area and was happy to help out a tourist. His car was air conditioned and heavenly. We chatted a bit and I got some questions answered about the tourism industry in Australia and the area. (I am often curious about, for example, what percentage of the national or local economy comes from tourism, particularly in places where it seems tourism is to prevalent.) He dropped me off on the main drag and told me to go to some bar that night and say hello to his daughter, Lucy.
Cairns, Australia
We arrived in Sydney in plenty of time for my flight, which was a concern, so I ended up sleeping on the boat one additional night. Mike the engineer had booked a flight at about the same time as me so we shared a taxi to the airport. The flight was good. I had a couch surfing host arranged in Cairns but not a way to get from the airport to his place. I arrived at the airport and tried to find a way into town because that was close enough to walk from to the host's place while the airport was not. I got on some shuttle bus that would take me into town and figured out where I should get off that would be the closest to his place. Once I got off the shuttle I stopped in the nearest business to get my bearings. The business that I stopped at? A drug rehabilitation center. The long, dark haired girl with an unusual face, and looked like she has done a lot of drugs in her life gave me some excellent directions with the help of the phone book. I walked and made my way to my host's place and into my first negative couch surfing experience.
Right away I could tell my host, David, was a little off. I did not think much of it at first because, first of all, lots of people are weird, and second, there is a stereotype of the east coast of Australia that the more north you go, the weirder people get, and cairns is the northern-most town in the east coast (there is more north, and plenty to see, just no more towns). He tells me right away that we went to the airport to try to pick me up, which was nice of him, however, we never arranged this and neither of us knew what the other person looked like so the odds of it working out were slim to nil. Still, it was a nice gesture. Then he went to get himself another beer and handed me one as well. It was early in the afternoon but I did not have plans for the rest of the day and did not want to be rude so I accepted (plus it was a beer). It was clear the beer he had just finished was not his first. We started talking a bit and he just got more and more strange but still a nice enough guy. Should not be a problem, I thought, I have dealt with plenty of eccentricities in my life and during my travels.
His home is what is called a "Queenslander" or a "Classic Queenslander," Queensland being the state of Australia that Cairns is in. This homes are elevated off the ground so that what could be the second floor is the first, and almost always, only floor. The area below this is covered by the home and often used for storage, kind of like how Americans use a garage. This was/is done because, apparently, flooding is common enough to make this design logical, though I have doubts this is true nowadays. Inside, his home is pretty cool and this makes him less strange but confuses me because, after all, he clearly is strange and the inside of his home should be likewise. He has an English couple staying there as well except they are not couch surfing, they are paying rent. Omar, is in his late twenties and a fitness instructor. I have seen only a few people in my lifetime that are more fit than him and, according to him, he is far from his peak fitness level. His girlfriend, whose name I have forgotten and barely knew at the time, must have been in her forties and, well, was not a fitness instructor. I immediately assumed he was her instructor and the rest happened. I am confident I am right but never got confirmation. Omar was a pretty cool guy, softspoken, confident, seemed smart, and interesting, with plenty of stories. His girl friend was none of those things.
I was in Cairns to put my newly minted Advanced diving skills to work for me in the Great Barrier Reef. Before finding which tour I was going to hire I spent a day exploring Cairns, which is a medicore place. Its main draw, other than the Reef, is that it serves as a hotbed of adventure activities. Normally I am all about these but I decided to spread them out a bit and just do the Reef while here. One thing that put me off is that every business in Cairns seems catered to tourists. This can be helpful but it gives me the feeling that there is nothing real about the place; that it is just fabricated to serve tourists and has nothing to offer itself. I am confident this is not true because Cairns is the fastest growing town on the east coast and, I think, in Australia, and all of that growth cannot just be tourists so there has to be some full-time residents, but it is still the impression I got.
As you would probably guess, the diving in the Reef is not cheap. Because of this I planned on doing a simple day trip, which would include three dives. After a bit more research I found that if I did a live aboard for 2 days/1 night I could get six dives, in a better location, and at a comparably good value. The day trips were about AU$250 and the live aboards were AU$360, or, on a per dive basis, AU$83.33/dive and AU$60/dive. AU$60 for a dive, almost any where in the world, is a pretty good deal, not to mention it also included the cost of my meals while on the boat and was not just anywhere but in the Great Barrier Reef. In addition, I calculated how much I had spent to date in Australia and compared it to my budget and I was doing quite well in that department. All of these factors added up to me electing to the 2 day/1 night live aboard trip. The trip was set to depart in a couple days.
Once I decided this, I asked my host if was OK if I left some stuff at his place while aboard and came back to surf one more night before heading off. He said it was OK as long as I was OK with sleeping in a bunk bed outside, underneth his home in the covered area, because he was expecting another couch surfer, a "Spanish bird," as he always called her, who was pregnant, the following day. Of course that is fine by me. The next day, before the Spanish Bird was due to arrive I went to visit the Botanical Gardens nearly by. They were nice and made for a good few hours of walking around. Once I returned, after the Spanish Bird was supposed to arrive, I asked if she had turned up. David was visibly agitated, even more so than usual. He told me he told her to leave (he phrased it a little differently) and that she was not welcome to stay there. I asked if it was OK that I still stay there and he said yes. I could not get exactly why he did this out of him but for the next several hours he was constantly cursing couch surfers and after a certain point I had had enough of it and decided to leave. I packed up my stuff and told him that I felt like I was making him uncomfortable, uneasy, and prying in his space. He offered no objection to me leaving simply saying, "OK" and then going about his business. Omar watched the interaction and said afterward that it was very strange and kind of rude of David to act as he did. Omar was also concerned about me and what I would do but I had a plan.
While all this was going on I had been in contact with another host in Cairns, Frank, a 52-year-old, gay, HIV positive, nudist, whose couch I had requested but the dates did not work out. We had arranged to meet for a drink that night if I was in town when he would be eating. I had no real intention of going but it turned out to come in handy. With my stuff I left David's and started walking into town to try to find the restuarant Frank was dining at. After some trouble, I finally located it, "it" being a gay-only backpackers and restuarant that serves a special on beef roast on this particular day of the week. I found Frank in the restuarant, sitting alone, eating. I introduced myself and he was happy to see me. Straight away I gave him a breif summary of what had happened and asked, directly, if I could couch surf at his place for the two nights until my tour begins. He was delighted and said yes and that tonight was going to be the first night in long time without a couch surfer and he was going to miss the company. I was relieved that I had found another couch and that while skeptical of couch surfing with a 52-year-old, gay, HIV positive, nudist, Frank was extremely nice and was clearly not going to force me or anybody else to do anything they did not want to do. From his profile and CS messages between the two of us I had already learned that he does ask his surfers to either go nude themselves, as he does, or wear a sarong in addition to being accepting of his, the host's, Frank's, nudity. I told him that I did not think I could bring myself to go nude but would be fine with the sarong and his lifestyle.
Once we reached his home I learned that Frank has altered his life on numerous levels to better accomodate couch surfers. He sectioned off part of his garage to make a bedroom for them and, in doing so, made the garage part of the garage smaller so he traded in his car for a Smart car that would fit into the remaining space. Frank is one of the most polite people I have ever encountered to that point that it is sometimes frustrating. He is passive and quiet and indirect. He likes routine to a point that makes me (well, me before I started travelling) look spontaneous. I would wager that he has a minor case of OCD. Meeting him was a pleasure and he did me an enormous favor by letting me surf at his place on such short notice and his positive qualities far outweigh his negatives, if you even want to call those traits negative. Frank records foreign films on DVDs like nobody else I know and part of his routine is watching one per night. We watched on that night about a gay French couple that was not bad but was more strange and awkward than anything else. (The following night we watched an Israeli film called "Lemon Tree" that was better than expected and well done.)
The following day I returned to the Botanical Gardens area because just north of it is a area that has two good treks. I borrowed Frank's bicycle to ride there. While on the walk I met and ended up walking with a 64-year-old guy named Patty. He does these treks (the red and blue arrow treks) every day partially because he has little else to do. He was an interesting guy and it was nice to have somebody to walk and talk with. He pretended to be upset with me for pushing him harder than he would otherwise but once it was over admitted that when he does the walk again tomorrow he will keep today in mind.
The next day I was headed out to the Reef and as Frank was expecting another couch surfer he would not be able to host me upon my return. I woke up around 5AM to give myself enough time to catch a bus toward the marina and then walk the remainind distance to the boat that would be my home for the next two days. Said boat was modest, nothing fancy in the least and was, to be honest, a little disappointing. It was fine, of course, I guess I just had different expectations. It has become the norm that any tour I do in Australia is filled with French and this was no different. (The French are everywhere in Australia; it is amazing, and annoying. Then Germans. Then English.) About half the passengers were French and other than myself, only two other people were from English speaking contries, a couple from England. Only about half of the boat staff spoke English as their first language. The staff was pretty cool, cooler than most the passengers anyway. The food was good but I suspect just about all the meat was low quality pork. (The exception being the salmon that we caught [awesome].)
None of that matter, though, because the diving was outstanding. I have not done many dives, I think only nine before this trip, but five of these six dives were the best five I have done and it is not as if the other dives I have done were in bad dive sites. The odd dive out was the night dive because we got a little unluckly with the marine life and night dives tend to not be my favorite anyway. In other words, the diving was sweet and it was AU$360 well spent. Of course, I forgot my dive log book in Brisbane so I was not able to log the dives but that really is not too important. There is no way that I will not return to the Great Barrier Reef to do more diving at some point in my life. It truly is a wonder of the world.
Upon returning to land I booked a backpackers for a night. This was only my second paid night's accommodation in Australia. I took a shower, got some dinner, and tinkered with my plan to hitch hike to Airlie Beach the following morning.
Right away I could tell my host, David, was a little off. I did not think much of it at first because, first of all, lots of people are weird, and second, there is a stereotype of the east coast of Australia that the more north you go, the weirder people get, and cairns is the northern-most town in the east coast (there is more north, and plenty to see, just no more towns). He tells me right away that we went to the airport to try to pick me up, which was nice of him, however, we never arranged this and neither of us knew what the other person looked like so the odds of it working out were slim to nil. Still, it was a nice gesture. Then he went to get himself another beer and handed me one as well. It was early in the afternoon but I did not have plans for the rest of the day and did not want to be rude so I accepted (plus it was a beer). It was clear the beer he had just finished was not his first. We started talking a bit and he just got more and more strange but still a nice enough guy. Should not be a problem, I thought, I have dealt with plenty of eccentricities in my life and during my travels.
His home is what is called a "Queenslander" or a "Classic Queenslander," Queensland being the state of Australia that Cairns is in. This homes are elevated off the ground so that what could be the second floor is the first, and almost always, only floor. The area below this is covered by the home and often used for storage, kind of like how Americans use a garage. This was/is done because, apparently, flooding is common enough to make this design logical, though I have doubts this is true nowadays. Inside, his home is pretty cool and this makes him less strange but confuses me because, after all, he clearly is strange and the inside of his home should be likewise. He has an English couple staying there as well except they are not couch surfing, they are paying rent. Omar, is in his late twenties and a fitness instructor. I have seen only a few people in my lifetime that are more fit than him and, according to him, he is far from his peak fitness level. His girlfriend, whose name I have forgotten and barely knew at the time, must have been in her forties and, well, was not a fitness instructor. I immediately assumed he was her instructor and the rest happened. I am confident I am right but never got confirmation. Omar was a pretty cool guy, softspoken, confident, seemed smart, and interesting, with plenty of stories. His girl friend was none of those things.
I was in Cairns to put my newly minted Advanced diving skills to work for me in the Great Barrier Reef. Before finding which tour I was going to hire I spent a day exploring Cairns, which is a medicore place. Its main draw, other than the Reef, is that it serves as a hotbed of adventure activities. Normally I am all about these but I decided to spread them out a bit and just do the Reef while here. One thing that put me off is that every business in Cairns seems catered to tourists. This can be helpful but it gives me the feeling that there is nothing real about the place; that it is just fabricated to serve tourists and has nothing to offer itself. I am confident this is not true because Cairns is the fastest growing town on the east coast and, I think, in Australia, and all of that growth cannot just be tourists so there has to be some full-time residents, but it is still the impression I got.
As you would probably guess, the diving in the Reef is not cheap. Because of this I planned on doing a simple day trip, which would include three dives. After a bit more research I found that if I did a live aboard for 2 days/1 night I could get six dives, in a better location, and at a comparably good value. The day trips were about AU$250 and the live aboards were AU$360, or, on a per dive basis, AU$83.33/dive and AU$60/dive. AU$60 for a dive, almost any where in the world, is a pretty good deal, not to mention it also included the cost of my meals while on the boat and was not just anywhere but in the Great Barrier Reef. In addition, I calculated how much I had spent to date in Australia and compared it to my budget and I was doing quite well in that department. All of these factors added up to me electing to the 2 day/1 night live aboard trip. The trip was set to depart in a couple days.
Once I decided this, I asked my host if was OK if I left some stuff at his place while aboard and came back to surf one more night before heading off. He said it was OK as long as I was OK with sleeping in a bunk bed outside, underneth his home in the covered area, because he was expecting another couch surfer, a "Spanish bird," as he always called her, who was pregnant, the following day. Of course that is fine by me. The next day, before the Spanish Bird was due to arrive I went to visit the Botanical Gardens nearly by. They were nice and made for a good few hours of walking around. Once I returned, after the Spanish Bird was supposed to arrive, I asked if she had turned up. David was visibly agitated, even more so than usual. He told me he told her to leave (he phrased it a little differently) and that she was not welcome to stay there. I asked if it was OK that I still stay there and he said yes. I could not get exactly why he did this out of him but for the next several hours he was constantly cursing couch surfers and after a certain point I had had enough of it and decided to leave. I packed up my stuff and told him that I felt like I was making him uncomfortable, uneasy, and prying in his space. He offered no objection to me leaving simply saying, "OK" and then going about his business. Omar watched the interaction and said afterward that it was very strange and kind of rude of David to act as he did. Omar was also concerned about me and what I would do but I had a plan.
While all this was going on I had been in contact with another host in Cairns, Frank, a 52-year-old, gay, HIV positive, nudist, whose couch I had requested but the dates did not work out. We had arranged to meet for a drink that night if I was in town when he would be eating. I had no real intention of going but it turned out to come in handy. With my stuff I left David's and started walking into town to try to find the restuarant Frank was dining at. After some trouble, I finally located it, "it" being a gay-only backpackers and restuarant that serves a special on beef roast on this particular day of the week. I found Frank in the restuarant, sitting alone, eating. I introduced myself and he was happy to see me. Straight away I gave him a breif summary of what had happened and asked, directly, if I could couch surf at his place for the two nights until my tour begins. He was delighted and said yes and that tonight was going to be the first night in long time without a couch surfer and he was going to miss the company. I was relieved that I had found another couch and that while skeptical of couch surfing with a 52-year-old, gay, HIV positive, nudist, Frank was extremely nice and was clearly not going to force me or anybody else to do anything they did not want to do. From his profile and CS messages between the two of us I had already learned that he does ask his surfers to either go nude themselves, as he does, or wear a sarong in addition to being accepting of his, the host's, Frank's, nudity. I told him that I did not think I could bring myself to go nude but would be fine with the sarong and his lifestyle.
Once we reached his home I learned that Frank has altered his life on numerous levels to better accomodate couch surfers. He sectioned off part of his garage to make a bedroom for them and, in doing so, made the garage part of the garage smaller so he traded in his car for a Smart car that would fit into the remaining space. Frank is one of the most polite people I have ever encountered to that point that it is sometimes frustrating. He is passive and quiet and indirect. He likes routine to a point that makes me (well, me before I started travelling) look spontaneous. I would wager that he has a minor case of OCD. Meeting him was a pleasure and he did me an enormous favor by letting me surf at his place on such short notice and his positive qualities far outweigh his negatives, if you even want to call those traits negative. Frank records foreign films on DVDs like nobody else I know and part of his routine is watching one per night. We watched on that night about a gay French couple that was not bad but was more strange and awkward than anything else. (The following night we watched an Israeli film called "Lemon Tree" that was better than expected and well done.)
The following day I returned to the Botanical Gardens area because just north of it is a area that has two good treks. I borrowed Frank's bicycle to ride there. While on the walk I met and ended up walking with a 64-year-old guy named Patty. He does these treks (the red and blue arrow treks) every day partially because he has little else to do. He was an interesting guy and it was nice to have somebody to walk and talk with. He pretended to be upset with me for pushing him harder than he would otherwise but once it was over admitted that when he does the walk again tomorrow he will keep today in mind.
The next day I was headed out to the Reef and as Frank was expecting another couch surfer he would not be able to host me upon my return. I woke up around 5AM to give myself enough time to catch a bus toward the marina and then walk the remainind distance to the boat that would be my home for the next two days. Said boat was modest, nothing fancy in the least and was, to be honest, a little disappointing. It was fine, of course, I guess I just had different expectations. It has become the norm that any tour I do in Australia is filled with French and this was no different. (The French are everywhere in Australia; it is amazing, and annoying. Then Germans. Then English.) About half the passengers were French and other than myself, only two other people were from English speaking contries, a couple from England. Only about half of the boat staff spoke English as their first language. The staff was pretty cool, cooler than most the passengers anyway. The food was good but I suspect just about all the meat was low quality pork. (The exception being the salmon that we caught [awesome].)
None of that matter, though, because the diving was outstanding. I have not done many dives, I think only nine before this trip, but five of these six dives were the best five I have done and it is not as if the other dives I have done were in bad dive sites. The odd dive out was the night dive because we got a little unluckly with the marine life and night dives tend to not be my favorite anyway. In other words, the diving was sweet and it was AU$360 well spent. Of course, I forgot my dive log book in Brisbane so I was not able to log the dives but that really is not too important. There is no way that I will not return to the Great Barrier Reef to do more diving at some point in my life. It truly is a wonder of the world.
Upon returning to land I booked a backpackers for a night. This was only my second paid night's accommodation in Australia. I took a shower, got some dinner, and tinkered with my plan to hitch hike to Airlie Beach the following morning.
28 August 2010
Sailing from Brisbane to Sydney
Along the way to Brisbane I explained that I was going to Brisbane to go sailing to Sydney for FREE except the costs of food and beverage. He brought up the topic several times during the drive and I could tell he wanted me to invite him along but I was in no place to do so. So when time when speaking to Mike (the boat's owner) on Jusford's mobile I asked if there was an extra spot on the boat because the guy that was giving me a ride to Brisbane has some boating experience and was interested in coming along. He said probably and that we would figure it out when we arrived. (He just wanted to speak to Jusford and make sure is he OK before saying yes.) We arrived at the dock in the early evening and met Mike. Quickly he gave Jusford the OK and we were set. The plan was going to be for Jusford and I to sleep on the boat that night but Jusford has a sister and her husband that live a bit outside of Brisbane so we went there for the night. She cooked us up some dinner and, in the morning, gave us a ride to the marina (a big favor because getting their using public transport would have been a major pain). Then we got the boat ready and set off.
The "crew" at this time was Mike, the owner, another Mike, who was older and the engineer, two girls that were travelling in Australia together, one English and the other Canadian, Jusford, and myself. The girls had no boating experience at all. Jusford spent some time on a boat but a very different kind of boat. I have spent a little time on a boat but not much and that to was a very different experience. Mike the engineer has spent a lot of time on boats but is not really a sailer much more than I am. Clearly the other Mike has a good deal of experience.
We were stopping in Southport, just a bit south of Brisbane, to drop off Mike, the owner, so he could bring another boat north, and pick up a new skipper, Paul. Mike went out that night and came back to the boat at 7AM. A couple hours later the new skipper arrived and, to my surprise, met Mike, the owner, for the first time. This means that Mike was putting somebody in charge of his US$500,000 boat that he had never met until now. It was pretty incredible.
Then plan from Southport to to sail all the way to Sydney. We ended up stopping in Coffs Harbour as well because the English girl could not stop vomitting. She got sick 18 times in a 24 hour period. The seas were rough, the wind and tide going against us, and somebody getting sick was inevitable. I got sick too, but only once. It was strange, I felt fine, then I was sick, then I felt fine. It was as if I just needed to do it once to get it over with even though I felt OK. At Coffs, in addition to dropping off the girls, Jusford and the skipper we picked up in Southport also departed. Jusford needed to get to Sydnet quickly to help out with family stuff and I forgot why Paul needed to leave but we had a new skipper, Al, or "Big Gay Al," lined up. It turns out that "Big Gay Al" is the same Al I met in Brisbane getting the boat together and is not gay. Of course, the nickname stuck. However, at this time it was just Big Gay Al, Mike, the engineer, and myself. Mike was not comfortable with the limited sailing experience on the boat. Luckily, Al's (it is just easier to type) father has a sailer friend, Dennis, with a reputation of never, ever, ever turning down a chance to sail. Sadly, he is in Sydney working. Al called him up inviting him. He said he would call back soon. About a half hour later, Dennis called back saying he would land in Coffs at 2:30. This means he was checking out of work early, catching a last minute flight, into a small airport, that much have cost a few hundred dollars, only to return to Sydney just an hour before an important meeting.
The sailing the rest of the way was pretty awesome. It was challenging but, I think, a more real experience than the previous legs. We did not stop the rest of the way, sailing constantly for 42 hours. We basically did 4 hour shifts, meaning that two people slept for four hours while the other two controlled the boat. The hours were pretty flexible, if you felt OK to do another hour you generally did it and if you could not manage your four hours you found a way to make it work. We were going slow, about the speed a slightly above average person could run a mile in was basically the pace. Except we were doing it 24 hours a day while the runner would probably struggle to do more than a few hours. It was a great experience an probably the most memorable part of my time in Australia.
Sailing into Sydney harbour is a sight to be seen.
The "crew" at this time was Mike, the owner, another Mike, who was older and the engineer, two girls that were travelling in Australia together, one English and the other Canadian, Jusford, and myself. The girls had no boating experience at all. Jusford spent some time on a boat but a very different kind of boat. I have spent a little time on a boat but not much and that to was a very different experience. Mike the engineer has spent a lot of time on boats but is not really a sailer much more than I am. Clearly the other Mike has a good deal of experience.
We were stopping in Southport, just a bit south of Brisbane, to drop off Mike, the owner, so he could bring another boat north, and pick up a new skipper, Paul. Mike went out that night and came back to the boat at 7AM. A couple hours later the new skipper arrived and, to my surprise, met Mike, the owner, for the first time. This means that Mike was putting somebody in charge of his US$500,000 boat that he had never met until now. It was pretty incredible.
Then plan from Southport to to sail all the way to Sydney. We ended up stopping in Coffs Harbour as well because the English girl could not stop vomitting. She got sick 18 times in a 24 hour period. The seas were rough, the wind and tide going against us, and somebody getting sick was inevitable. I got sick too, but only once. It was strange, I felt fine, then I was sick, then I felt fine. It was as if I just needed to do it once to get it over with even though I felt OK. At Coffs, in addition to dropping off the girls, Jusford and the skipper we picked up in Southport also departed. Jusford needed to get to Sydnet quickly to help out with family stuff and I forgot why Paul needed to leave but we had a new skipper, Al, or "Big Gay Al," lined up. It turns out that "Big Gay Al" is the same Al I met in Brisbane getting the boat together and is not gay. Of course, the nickname stuck. However, at this time it was just Big Gay Al, Mike, the engineer, and myself. Mike was not comfortable with the limited sailing experience on the boat. Luckily, Al's (it is just easier to type) father has a sailer friend, Dennis, with a reputation of never, ever, ever turning down a chance to sail. Sadly, he is in Sydney working. Al called him up inviting him. He said he would call back soon. About a half hour later, Dennis called back saying he would land in Coffs at 2:30. This means he was checking out of work early, catching a last minute flight, into a small airport, that much have cost a few hundred dollars, only to return to Sydney just an hour before an important meeting.
The sailing the rest of the way was pretty awesome. It was challenging but, I think, a more real experience than the previous legs. We did not stop the rest of the way, sailing constantly for 42 hours. We basically did 4 hour shifts, meaning that two people slept for four hours while the other two controlled the boat. The hours were pretty flexible, if you felt OK to do another hour you generally did it and if you could not manage your four hours you found a way to make it work. We were going slow, about the speed a slightly above average person could run a mile in was basically the pace. Except we were doing it 24 hours a day while the runner would probably struggle to do more than a few hours. It was a great experience an probably the most memorable part of my time in Australia.
Sailing into Sydney harbour is a sight to be seen.
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