The scene:
In the Hostel reception a drunken man stumbles drunkenly, talking drunken nonsense in a drunken fashion to the really quite indifferent Hostel receptionist. I enter stage left:
Me [to the receptionist]: Hi, can I have some sheets?
Drunk man: Please.
Me: Oh yeah, sorry I forgot, 'please'.
Exeunt drunken man.
Receptionist: Here are your sheets.
Me: Thanks.
Exeunt me.
The drunken man has now deposited himself on the steps outside reception partly blocking my path.
What I should have said...
Drunken man: She is a person, she's not your slave you know.
Me: Sorry?
Drunken man: The receptionist.
Me: Oh, you are referring to the fact I forgot to say please. Allowing for the taciturn and really quite moody nature of the lady in question I will admit that not saying please was an oversight on my part and considering myself to have reasonable manners I would usually have said please without a second thought. However, not saying please does not in anyway imply that I think she is a 'slave', any less of a person than me or any other, likely racial, inference your evidently drink addled mind may desire to conjure up. I find my accidental lack of but one word substantially less offensive than your - I assume with some confidence - permanently drunken state. Malaysia, if you hadn't noticed - but of course you hadn't - is a predominantly Muslim nation and thus one which only tolerates alcohol and therefore likely finds a drunk such as yourself really quite abhorrent and only further proof of the dangers of drink.
Drunken man: [blank look]
Me: Considering myself a generally polite man I see my slip in manners as no more indicative of a fall in standards than you should see one sober day as any sign of a halt of your slide into oblivion.
Alas, I just laughed and walked past him...
Wednesday, 24 March 2010
Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia
KL, KL, KL - what to tell? It isn't exactly heaven but then it's really far from hell…
KL to me is a mongrel. A cross breed. A bit of this and a bit of that. Part Asian success story - the Petronas Towers stand as testament - it is also part squalor (of a type) as seen in some of the back alleys of Chinatown. As a city it's a bit of a piggy in the middle - lacking the cleanliness and dynamism of its southern neighbour Singapore it also falls some way short of the edge and excitement for which Bangkok to the north remains a destination par excellence.
'Sight' wise KL offers the aforementioned Petronas Towers themselves which can be climbed for free - the one disadvantage of doing so being that you can't see the Towers from inside the Towers if you see what I mean? Thus and therefore I chose to ascend the nearby radio mast which although costing more (in that it costs) does afford rather lovely views across KL with the Towers being front and centre (when looking out of certain windows - from the opposite side they can't be seen). Somewhat similarly to this paragraph the Towers are ever present and KL's major focal point but what else...
KL also features some colonial architecture (but of course) which has led me to make 'We built this City' somewhat of a theme for my travels. There is also a Bird Park in the city centre - I failed to visit but am fairly confident that this is a park with birds - and some primary jungle but a moment's walk from the skyscrapers of downtown. The heat and humidity of KL is only intensified within the borders of the jungle making the number of stairs on the jungle walk truly unwelcome.
So, all in all, KL perhaps is not top dog, numero uno, the big queso, the head honcho when it comes to sights (in comparison to other cities) however it is nonetheless a pleasant place to go for a wander and spend a few days.
What more though? Well, for the backpacker life in KL is very much centred around the warren of streets that make up Chinatown. Guesthouses galore, cheap eats and one bar mean this is the place to sleep, eat and get tipsy. Also, if you have a penchant for such things stalls line the main streets from dawn to duck selling a quite bewildering array of 'hooky*' (* fake, counterfeit, moody, snide) goods - from shoes to sunglasses, watches to bags - if it's considered designer and it can be copied then it can be bought here. Child labour may be a 'bad' thing (I say 'bad' as I am not sure else they would be doing) but you cannot deny the quality of the work produced [disclaimer: some of this paragraph may contain sarcasm]. I entered the bowels of Chinatown wearing but normal clothes yet left barely fifty metres later carrying a Mulberry bag, wearing Prada shades, checking the time on my Patek Phillipe (alas not inherited) and toddling along on Manolo Blahniks (the latter item remains a mystery). Of course I didn't - I only buy 'real' - unless the 'fake' is really good or really cheap of course.
With the advent of Air Asia and the cheap flights it offers KL has become, is becoming and will more than likely continue to become a hub, a central hot spot on the traveller's itinerary in this part of the world - the South East Asian travelling jet set are far from silly - when the plane costs less than the bus and takes a tenth of the time concerns over global warming espoused over many a campfire tend to take a backseat (virtue is ever a victim of practicality). And thus it proved for myself - after India KL provided somewhat of a decompression chamber, a place to relax and try and work out what comes next - it would play the same role after the Cambodian/Laos onslaught but for very different reasons. Thus my days in the city were spent catching up on admin (this blog doesn't write itself you know), posting photos (they don't post themselves you know) and drinking expensive coffee (it doesn't...oh, right) in air conditioned malls. Retail therapy without the buying provided some welcome distraction.
Alas, we have expensive coffee at home and a climate that all but negates the need for AC and so with not an overly heavy heart I boarded a plane headed for Cambodia. Farewell to KL but for a couple of weeks. My return ensured in order to meet dear Robert (Becky) who would be joining me in Malaysia for a few days - now what could possibly go wrong with that?!
KL to me is a mongrel. A cross breed. A bit of this and a bit of that. Part Asian success story - the Petronas Towers stand as testament - it is also part squalor (of a type) as seen in some of the back alleys of Chinatown. As a city it's a bit of a piggy in the middle - lacking the cleanliness and dynamism of its southern neighbour Singapore it also falls some way short of the edge and excitement for which Bangkok to the north remains a destination par excellence.
'Sight' wise KL offers the aforementioned Petronas Towers themselves which can be climbed for free - the one disadvantage of doing so being that you can't see the Towers from inside the Towers if you see what I mean? Thus and therefore I chose to ascend the nearby radio mast which although costing more (in that it costs) does afford rather lovely views across KL with the Towers being front and centre (when looking out of certain windows - from the opposite side they can't be seen). Somewhat similarly to this paragraph the Towers are ever present and KL's major focal point but what else...
KL also features some colonial architecture (but of course) which has led me to make 'We built this City' somewhat of a theme for my travels. There is also a Bird Park in the city centre - I failed to visit but am fairly confident that this is a park with birds - and some primary jungle but a moment's walk from the skyscrapers of downtown. The heat and humidity of KL is only intensified within the borders of the jungle making the number of stairs on the jungle walk truly unwelcome.
So, all in all, KL perhaps is not top dog, numero uno, the big queso, the head honcho when it comes to sights (in comparison to other cities) however it is nonetheless a pleasant place to go for a wander and spend a few days.
What more though? Well, for the backpacker life in KL is very much centred around the warren of streets that make up Chinatown. Guesthouses galore, cheap eats and one bar mean this is the place to sleep, eat and get tipsy. Also, if you have a penchant for such things stalls line the main streets from dawn to duck selling a quite bewildering array of 'hooky*' (* fake, counterfeit, moody, snide) goods - from shoes to sunglasses, watches to bags - if it's considered designer and it can be copied then it can be bought here. Child labour may be a 'bad' thing (I say 'bad' as I am not sure else they would be doing) but you cannot deny the quality of the work produced [disclaimer: some of this paragraph may contain sarcasm]. I entered the bowels of Chinatown wearing but normal clothes yet left barely fifty metres later carrying a Mulberry bag, wearing Prada shades, checking the time on my Patek Phillipe (alas not inherited) and toddling along on Manolo Blahniks (the latter item remains a mystery). Of course I didn't - I only buy 'real' - unless the 'fake' is really good or really cheap of course.
With the advent of Air Asia and the cheap flights it offers KL has become, is becoming and will more than likely continue to become a hub, a central hot spot on the traveller's itinerary in this part of the world - the South East Asian travelling jet set are far from silly - when the plane costs less than the bus and takes a tenth of the time concerns over global warming espoused over many a campfire tend to take a backseat (virtue is ever a victim of practicality). And thus it proved for myself - after India KL provided somewhat of a decompression chamber, a place to relax and try and work out what comes next - it would play the same role after the Cambodian/Laos onslaught but for very different reasons. Thus my days in the city were spent catching up on admin (this blog doesn't write itself you know), posting photos (they don't post themselves you know) and drinking expensive coffee (it doesn't...oh, right) in air conditioned malls. Retail therapy without the buying provided some welcome distraction.
Alas, we have expensive coffee at home and a climate that all but negates the need for AC and so with not an overly heavy heart I boarded a plane headed for Cambodia. Farewell to KL but for a couple of weeks. My return ensured in order to meet dear Robert (Becky) who would be joining me in Malaysia for a few days - now what could possibly go wrong with that?!
Tuesday, 23 March 2010
Kolkata, India (the Master Stockton approved version)
I got off a train.
I walked to the hostel.
I had a kip...
I walked to the hostel.
I had a kip...
Kolkata, India
The end of the line...
I awoke with a start. The train shuddered into the station, coming to a squealing stop and finally arresting with a jolt. I checked my watch - only the 6 hours late.
The carriage had emptied throughout the journey and thus I gave no thought to the empty berths I passed as I made my way along the carriage and out onto the platform. Stepping once more onto terra firma I stood bleary eyed after only fitful sleep and was greeted by air so humid as to obscure sight and render all that was once dry now soaked through. The air dense with moisture cast a pallor over the station. Colours were muted, senses dulled. Taking time to adjust I noticed not a single other passenger disembarking. Odd, I considered, given this was the terminus.
Further, no driver nor guard saw I. As I made my way along the platform the station seemed desolate, deserted and utterly devoid of life. Walking with softly echoing steps I made my way to the station concourse - with each step the ghostly quiet of the scene gradually revealed itself to me. But wait - forms began to appear, one after the other, from the fog - becoming clearer now I could see body after body laying strewn. Prone and prostate their unmoving forms threatened to conceal the floor from view. Stepping lightly I sought the gaps between bodies keen to escape the post-apocalyptic horror of my current situation.
Both within the station and without the former vessels of human life lay as far as the eye could discern in each and every direction. Rendered impotent and unneeded through what madness I knew not they lay as memories of lives once led. What insanity is this I thought. Into what nightmare have I stepped.
Leaving the station with some speed I cast tired eyes at the map. My selected lodgings for the evening lay but a 5 minute walk away I surmised with some hope. Passing from light to dark, dark to light I made my way along empty streets my hunched form alternatively framed and hidden by the sickly jaundice glow cast by the streetlamps.
Knock, knock. Knock, knock.
No response did the acoustic imploring of my fist on the door gain. Peering through the adjacent gates of the hotel I spied further bodies strewn in the manner of bodies robbed of life. From hammock to chair, they lay slumped and still. Pushing the gates they opened reluctantly, creaking and groaning with cliched anguish. Walking through the lobby I seemed to step back in time. The glory of the hotel was faded some years prior and now stood but days from dereliction.
The reception desk stood manned but by no living creature. Unhooking a key from the board I made my way with some trepidation to the room that the fate of my choice had decreed would provide my resting place this eerie evening. The light in the room flickered off more than on revealing grotesque shadows of cockroaches rendered preternaturally large in the light and leaving only their memory in the dark.
Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
The clock on the wall drummed out the seconds of my stay with mocking reticence. The pervasive and seemingly perpetual stillness amplifying the beat of each and every second to deafening levels. In a bid to find some solace, some escape I pulled the covers over me and welcomed the army of bed bugs I knew would be my companions for the evening. Feeling myself drifting slowly...so...very...slowly...to sleep my eyelids became lead and my heartbeat slowed. Fighting the fatigue my mind ran wild with visions of becoming the next victim of the deathly pall cast over this town and its inhabitants. But yet I drifted...deeper and deeper...as I fell downwards sleep came rushing up to meet me in her warm embrace.
Reality became fantasy. Bodies filled the room, forms floated over, under and through my head and slowly my body lifted from its resting place to hover over my squalid crib. I viewed myself from above as the demons swam into my dreams. Sleep, in my last waking thoughts, I hoped, was all that was taking over me.
Sleep, gentle and friendly. Sleep, soft, silent and soothing. Sleep...sleep...sleep.
Until morning I prayed...
I awoke with a start. The train shuddered into the station, coming to a squealing stop and finally arresting with a jolt. I checked my watch - only the 6 hours late.
The carriage had emptied throughout the journey and thus I gave no thought to the empty berths I passed as I made my way along the carriage and out onto the platform. Stepping once more onto terra firma I stood bleary eyed after only fitful sleep and was greeted by air so humid as to obscure sight and render all that was once dry now soaked through. The air dense with moisture cast a pallor over the station. Colours were muted, senses dulled. Taking time to adjust I noticed not a single other passenger disembarking. Odd, I considered, given this was the terminus.
Further, no driver nor guard saw I. As I made my way along the platform the station seemed desolate, deserted and utterly devoid of life. Walking with softly echoing steps I made my way to the station concourse - with each step the ghostly quiet of the scene gradually revealed itself to me. But wait - forms began to appear, one after the other, from the fog - becoming clearer now I could see body after body laying strewn. Prone and prostate their unmoving forms threatened to conceal the floor from view. Stepping lightly I sought the gaps between bodies keen to escape the post-apocalyptic horror of my current situation.
Both within the station and without the former vessels of human life lay as far as the eye could discern in each and every direction. Rendered impotent and unneeded through what madness I knew not they lay as memories of lives once led. What insanity is this I thought. Into what nightmare have I stepped.
Leaving the station with some speed I cast tired eyes at the map. My selected lodgings for the evening lay but a 5 minute walk away I surmised with some hope. Passing from light to dark, dark to light I made my way along empty streets my hunched form alternatively framed and hidden by the sickly jaundice glow cast by the streetlamps.
Knock, knock. Knock, knock.
No response did the acoustic imploring of my fist on the door gain. Peering through the adjacent gates of the hotel I spied further bodies strewn in the manner of bodies robbed of life. From hammock to chair, they lay slumped and still. Pushing the gates they opened reluctantly, creaking and groaning with cliched anguish. Walking through the lobby I seemed to step back in time. The glory of the hotel was faded some years prior and now stood but days from dereliction.
The reception desk stood manned but by no living creature. Unhooking a key from the board I made my way with some trepidation to the room that the fate of my choice had decreed would provide my resting place this eerie evening. The light in the room flickered off more than on revealing grotesque shadows of cockroaches rendered preternaturally large in the light and leaving only their memory in the dark.
Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
The clock on the wall drummed out the seconds of my stay with mocking reticence. The pervasive and seemingly perpetual stillness amplifying the beat of each and every second to deafening levels. In a bid to find some solace, some escape I pulled the covers over me and welcomed the army of bed bugs I knew would be my companions for the evening. Feeling myself drifting slowly...so...very...slowly...to sleep my eyelids became lead and my heartbeat slowed. Fighting the fatigue my mind ran wild with visions of becoming the next victim of the deathly pall cast over this town and its inhabitants. But yet I drifted...deeper and deeper...as I fell downwards sleep came rushing up to meet me in her warm embrace.
Reality became fantasy. Bodies filled the room, forms floated over, under and through my head and slowly my body lifted from its resting place to hover over my squalid crib. I viewed myself from above as the demons swam into my dreams. Sleep, in my last waking thoughts, I hoped, was all that was taking over me.
Sleep, gentle and friendly. Sleep, soft, silent and soothing. Sleep...sleep...sleep.
Until morning I prayed...
Varanasi, India
A little background perhaps. Varanasi or Benares to use its seemingly interchangeable name (the latter also being the name of a rather tasty, if rather pricey, Indian restaurant in London) is the longest continually inhabited city in the world (I have no doubt some living inhabitants of Eastbourne would beg to differ). This is a fact that does not immediately grab you as the train rolls slowly into the station and the tuk tuk drivers begin to swarm the platform ready to whisk man and belongings (others are quite happy to whisk only belongings) to a destination of your choice - as long as its a destination of their choice - for a price to be negotiated - in their favour.
However, once mechanical means are left behind and the intrepid traveller achieves the lanes of Varanasi old town (perhaps 'very old town' or 'the oldest town' would be more appropriate) the city begins to reveal its age. Teeming and seething with life the architecture and lanes are borne of generation after generation building under, over, next to and round the corner from generation after generation. Never has the town planner's ruler been a more redundant tool . Maze like in nature the lanes buzz and vibrate, every twist and turn assaulting the senses (mainly sight and smell) anew.
From groups of school children to religious pilgrims, from cows to motorbikes and riders life within the lanes is much like life without just condensed and cramped and thus intensified tenfold. Each footfall brings yet another 'sight' to see, another shop in which to sit cross legged and peruse myriad of silken goods (mainly scarves). Varanasi offers people watching at its finest - sitting sipping a cup of chai (cross legged and musing over my 'journal' - traveller right?) and trying desperately to take it all in provides the basis for 'culture shock' of the highest order (the conveyor belt on the Generation Game could only have been enhanced by a Varanasi round - 'Cow, motorbike, cuddly toy!').
It also seems that all who live here leave their mark on the streets they call home - the effluent of cow, human and dog (I think that's the right order) line the streets in quite bewildering quantities. The occasional slip underfoot is best not dwelt on for too long (now where's that shoeshine from Delhi eh?). Hopscotch played with human detritus (of all types) loses its appeal really rather quickly but somehow Varanasi doesn't.
Varanasi to many though is about more than the buildings or the trepidation of every step. For it's fame amongst tourists results from its importance amongst Hindus which arises from its location on the banks of the River Ganges. For Varanasi is the point at which the Ganges - the holiest of Hindu rivers - becomes its holiest. Hindus from all over India (and further afield I have no doubt) come to bathe in its waters. From dusk until dawn religious acolytes come to perform ablutions and seek absolution. Lining the ghats (steps) which run along the river bank all of life's possibilities are played out. Considered the holiest place to die the 'burning ghats' witness a daily schedule of cremations. With no regard for Western squeamishness the bodies are placed into the water naked save for ceremonial robes and the flame of burning flesh.
Between dead bodies, human cleansing (of soul if not body) and the sewage outflow of towns upriver the Ganges is perhaps not for the swimmers amongst us. However where other cultures come to do what other cultures have always done the tourist is never far behind. Thus at sunrise (what sight is not best viewed at either sunrise or sunset? This is particularly true of sunrises and sunsets) I found myself merrily being paddled up the Ganges taking pictures of well, erm, other people washing (alas, I missed any burning bodies). Odd indeed but as the sun began its daily climb and the sky turned an eerie purple Varanasi revealed a quite stunning side...
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