"What struck me most powerfully when I got to Timbuktu was that the streets were of sand. I suddenly realized that sand is very different from dirt. Every town starts with dirt streets that eventually get paved as the inhabitants prosper and subdue their environment. But sand represents defeat. A city with streets of sand is a city at the edge.
That, of course, is why I was there: Timbuktu is the ultimate destination for edge-seekers. Of the half-dozen places that have always lured travelers with the mere sound of their name—Bali and Tahiti, Samarkand and Fez, Mombasa and Macao—none can match Timbuktu for the remoteness it conveys. I was surprised by how many people, hearing of my trip, didn't think Timbuktu was a real place, or, if it was, couldn't think where in the world it might be. They knew it well as a word—the most vivid of all synonyms for the almost unreachable, a God-given toy for songwriters stuck for an "oo" rhyme and a metaphor for how far a lovestruck boy would go to win the unwinnable girl. But as an actual place—surely Timbuktu was one of those "long-lost" African kingdoms like King Solomon's Mines that turned out not to exist when the Victorian explorers went looking for them."
(On Writing Well, William Zinsser)
Posts tonen met het label Travel. Alle posts tonen
Posts tonen met het label Travel. Alle posts tonen
woensdag 29 december 2010
donderdag 23 december 2010
Castles in the sky
Taylor Steele's unusual and beautiful documentary Castles in the Sky is an inspiring stir of culture and surfing. The 45 minute film follows A-class surfers on a spiritual and scenic journey around the coasts of Iceland, Peru, Vietnam, India and Africa. But caution - Castles in Sky is not really a film about surfing but a film about traveling “one step further”. A journey that starts in one's own psyche and awareness of the world and its rhythm. What's more moving than the photography and the music is the story told by each traveler in the beginning of each section. It's mind-bending, this conscious search for simplicity and freedom, this “unstuck” state of mind. As sincere as it sounds, this film's visual and visionary poetry gets you, makes you dreamy and initiates mental journeys to your own peaceful and drifting destinations. To your own "unstuckness".
I took the liberty to write down the stories. Had to omit number 3 in Vietnam cause I couldn't really understand what the guy is saying.
There was once a man who became unstuck in
the world. He realized that it was not his car.
He realized that it was not his job. It was not his phone,
his desk or his shoes. Like a boat cut from the tanker,
he began to drift.
There was once a man who became unstuck in
the world. He took the wind for a map.
He took the sky for a clock and he set off with no
destination.
He was never lost.
There was once a man who became unstuck in
the world. With a polaroyd camera he made pictures of
all the people he met. And then he gave all the pictures away.
He would never forget their faces.
There was once a man who became unstuck in
the world. And each person he met became a little less
stuck themselves. He traveled only with himself.
And he was never alone.
There was once a man who'd become unstuck in the world
and he traveled around like a leaf on the wind
until he reached the place where he's started out
His car, his job, his phone, his shoes.
Everything was right where he'd left it.
Nothing had changed.
And yet he felt excited to have arrived here
as if this was the place he'd been going to all along.
I took the liberty to write down the stories. Had to omit number 3 in Vietnam cause I couldn't really understand what the guy is saying.
There was once a man who became unstuck in
the world. He realized that it was not his car.
He realized that it was not his job. It was not his phone,
his desk or his shoes. Like a boat cut from the tanker,
he began to drift.
There was once a man who became unstuck in
the world. He took the wind for a map.
He took the sky for a clock and he set off with no
destination.
He was never lost.
There was once a man who became unstuck in
the world. With a polaroyd camera he made pictures of
all the people he met. And then he gave all the pictures away.
He would never forget their faces.
There was once a man who became unstuck in
the world. And each person he met became a little less
stuck themselves. He traveled only with himself.
And he was never alone.
There was once a man who'd become unstuck in the world
and he traveled around like a leaf on the wind
until he reached the place where he's started out
His car, his job, his phone, his shoes.
Everything was right where he'd left it.
Nothing had changed.
And yet he felt excited to have arrived here
as if this was the place he'd been going to all along.
dinsdag 21 december 2010
zondag 24 oktober 2010
zaterdag 9 oktober 2010
Gone bamboo
There is a reason for this current mental state, unable to grasp reality. It's not only me, its hundreds of people out there who weren't able to return home. Anthony Bourdain explains what is it about this place that changes you, why and how have we gone bamboo.
(Part 4 is about my personal infatuation, my own going bamboo time, substitute the pig parts with the culinary veggie magic I had in Ubud, and the music.. oh that gamelan )
Is it may be the end of the road for me as well?
(Part 4 is about my personal infatuation, my own going bamboo time, substitute the pig parts with the culinary veggie magic I had in Ubud, and the music.. oh that gamelan )
Is it may be the end of the road for me as well?
zondag 3 oktober 2010
Housekeeping
Always fun. Sometimes dysfunctional. Never unnecessary.
Hostels.
Waiting for 15 minutes for the toilet is probably not the most amusing beginning of the day.
Listening to the girl under you on the bunk bed snore is may be not the best way to end a day.
But the community, fun and chaos are invaluable.
Considering the idea of creating a new blog with only the most bizarre, random and hilarious stuff that happens in hostels around the globe.
I am sitting in a hostel just now and the idea of this post entry actually came from my slightly hungover head. We had a party last night here at the hostel and today everyone is slow and jolly. Both management and guests seem a bit confused. Its 10:00 am and they are opening a second bottle of vodka. My food is gone. I eat other people's food. Two Australians knock on the door “Housekeeping”, enter and start searching the bed of the girl who did not make it back to the room last night.
Me, confused: “What are you doing guys?”
Aussie 1: “Housekeeping... stealing shit”
Aussie 2: “She is a she-male, man, look at all this pink stuff around here”.
Me: “Aha.. all right”
You get used to it. To the noise, to the complete absence of privacy. To hasty people, calmer people, all foreigners like you sharing a building, looking for temporary friendships, uncommitted love and a good time. Those who stay long seem to have shut down all needs and private priorities, do not mind the couple shagging on the adjacent bunk bed or the constant noise in the living room.
This is my 3rd week in a hostel and sometimes I am about to explode. They will always be necessary and they will always lead me to life-changing individuals, housemates, soul-mates and partners. They must be endured and appreciated.
I just needed a place to stay until I find home. If ever.
Hostels.
Waiting for 15 minutes for the toilet is probably not the most amusing beginning of the day.
Listening to the girl under you on the bunk bed snore is may be not the best way to end a day.
But the community, fun and chaos are invaluable.
Considering the idea of creating a new blog with only the most bizarre, random and hilarious stuff that happens in hostels around the globe.
I am sitting in a hostel just now and the idea of this post entry actually came from my slightly hungover head. We had a party last night here at the hostel and today everyone is slow and jolly. Both management and guests seem a bit confused. Its 10:00 am and they are opening a second bottle of vodka. My food is gone. I eat other people's food. Two Australians knock on the door “Housekeeping”, enter and start searching the bed of the girl who did not make it back to the room last night.
Me, confused: “What are you doing guys?”
Aussie 1: “Housekeeping... stealing shit”
Aussie 2: “She is a she-male, man, look at all this pink stuff around here”.
Me: “Aha.. all right”
You get used to it. To the noise, to the complete absence of privacy. To hasty people, calmer people, all foreigners like you sharing a building, looking for temporary friendships, uncommitted love and a good time. Those who stay long seem to have shut down all needs and private priorities, do not mind the couple shagging on the adjacent bunk bed or the constant noise in the living room.
This is my 3rd week in a hostel and sometimes I am about to explode. They will always be necessary and they will always lead me to life-changing individuals, housemates, soul-mates and partners. They must be endured and appreciated.
I just needed a place to stay until I find home. If ever.
woensdag 15 september 2010
Hours
“Excuse me, are you sure this the Breda International Bushalte”, I point to a corner of the street where the only functional thing is a trash bin. The red-cheeked woman looks at me, then at my Breda-London bus ticket and then points reassuringly in direction trash bin. Hoping that the bus will indeed arrive at the promised corner I head its way with the heaviest bag pack I have ever carried. Its 12:45, the time of my departure to the Island and no Eurolines are to be seen anywhere. Finally, after 30 minutes spent in useless consideration of alternative routes to London, the bus arrives, I throw my bag in the luggage compartment, nod to the driver “Hey, how are ya” and take a seat next to a cool-looking blond-haired South African hippie. The journey begins. The flatland that used to be my home for such a long time is stretching in front of my eyes. Heading south, the flattest and most boring part of the Benelux envelops the view. “I will definitely miss the cows”, is what I answer my new South African neighbor. There are many things I will miss about the Netherlands, but I can't be bothered missing them right now.
The bus travels south. We stop, have a snack, exhaust the last weed resources and head to the north of France where we will be about to leave Mainland Europe and cross that famous Euro Channel. I suddenly remember a CNN news report I saw in China last year about a snow storm than blocked the channel and everyone had to be evacuated. Bad thoughts aside, we are approaching the customs.
Crossing the Euro Channel is the most uneventful experience you could possibly have. The bus gets loaded onto a train. The train enters a tunnel. You are under water but there are no windows to watch the cool northern European fish. You switch on your ipod. May be take a nap. And in 3o minutes ... voila welcome to the United Kingdom. So much for the La Manche.
The driver, a decent British bloke. Makes a few jokes about the French police, tries to be social and considerate during the entire trip from the Netherlands to France. But as soon as we enter England, he starts racing the vehicle on max speed, joking about whatever comes to mind and apologized for the 1 minute delay at the Victoria Coach Station. As if trying to make a statement “I am home now mates I could do whatever I bloody want”. And so he does until we enter the endless suburbs of the BabyLon-Don. My Shuffler chooses oddly the Bombay Bicycle Club and I get lost in the faces of Londoners going out for an evening stroll. And in the tens of Little India's and Kebabs all the way from South East to Central.
I was about to say hello to my new bizarre and beautiful home Scotland tomorrow morning.
The bus travels south. We stop, have a snack, exhaust the last weed resources and head to the north of France where we will be about to leave Mainland Europe and cross that famous Euro Channel. I suddenly remember a CNN news report I saw in China last year about a snow storm than blocked the channel and everyone had to be evacuated. Bad thoughts aside, we are approaching the customs.
Crossing the Euro Channel is the most uneventful experience you could possibly have. The bus gets loaded onto a train. The train enters a tunnel. You are under water but there are no windows to watch the cool northern European fish. You switch on your ipod. May be take a nap. And in 3o minutes ... voila welcome to the United Kingdom. So much for the La Manche.
The driver, a decent British bloke. Makes a few jokes about the French police, tries to be social and considerate during the entire trip from the Netherlands to France. But as soon as we enter England, he starts racing the vehicle on max speed, joking about whatever comes to mind and apologized for the 1 minute delay at the Victoria Coach Station. As if trying to make a statement “I am home now mates I could do whatever I bloody want”. And so he does until we enter the endless suburbs of the BabyLon-Don. My Shuffler chooses oddly the Bombay Bicycle Club and I get lost in the faces of Londoners going out for an evening stroll. And in the tens of Little India's and Kebabs all the way from South East to Central.
I was about to say hello to my new bizarre and beautiful home Scotland tomorrow morning.
zaterdag 4 september 2010
This homeland...
When at home, strangely beautiful things happen. New little creatures enter my life. Beautiful suns shine my way.
maandag 19 juli 2010
Distances
In order to chase away the disturbing thoughts of palm trees and coral reefs, I got an offer to visit one of the trippiest places in Holland. And when I say trippy I mean exactly that. After four years – well, just theoretically – spent in the Netherlands I am quite certain about my expectations from the Dutch countryside. Vast green meadows that can strike you only with their flatness. Occasionally you see a cow, a windmill or a river. Such a beauty it is the good old Holland. Apparently, there were still a few undiscovered territories and one of them surprised me with its ... well I really think that “trippy” is the right word to describe its characteristics.
Imagine walking in a normal North European forest and suddenly you come across a huge sandy dune, surrounded by bush and more of the same painfully familiar North European forest. Where did the sand come from? Are we still in Holland or we missed a turn somewhere and wandered off to the south of Sudan. You see, sandy dunes in the woods is not a common sight in Noord Brabant and we just had to sit in one of the tens of green oases of the Dutch Sahara contemplating this unusual landscape. As we sat there we expected a giraffe to loaf about and feed on the tree leaves. None appeared whatsoever. I though a couple of Joshua Trees will be a fine completion of our unsettling surroundings.
The motto of the University – well that's positive thinking – that I have gust graduated from is Discover Your World. It is amazing that I have spent so much time in this area and I have never been to this place, just a few miles away from the centre. May be the coolest places are just under our noses. No need to travel thousands of miles in order to discover the world. The world is right there in front of my eyes. I used the opportunity to take a couple of shots, just to have some equilibrium among my albums. Too many beaches, sunsets, monkeys and temples. Its now time for forests, pine cones, churches and city lights.
Imagine walking in a normal North European forest and suddenly you come across a huge sandy dune, surrounded by bush and more of the same painfully familiar North European forest. Where did the sand come from? Are we still in Holland or we missed a turn somewhere and wandered off to the south of Sudan. You see, sandy dunes in the woods is not a common sight in Noord Brabant and we just had to sit in one of the tens of green oases of the Dutch Sahara contemplating this unusual landscape. As we sat there we expected a giraffe to loaf about and feed on the tree leaves. None appeared whatsoever. I though a couple of Joshua Trees will be a fine completion of our unsettling surroundings.
The motto of the University – well that's positive thinking – that I have gust graduated from is Discover Your World. It is amazing that I have spent so much time in this area and I have never been to this place, just a few miles away from the centre. May be the coolest places are just under our noses. No need to travel thousands of miles in order to discover the world. The world is right there in front of my eyes. I used the opportunity to take a couple of shots, just to have some equilibrium among my albums. Too many beaches, sunsets, monkeys and temples. Its now time for forests, pine cones, churches and city lights.
maandag 12 juli 2010
Bali.
I wonder what is it about this island that enchants people and forces them to return and stay? There is something magical about it, captured by its very name, contaned in its flavors, sounds and colors and preserved vividly in the traveller's memories. Bali is the island of the gods, where every stone, tree or river is possessed by a spirit. The entire island is the entrancing dance floor of the Hindu, Buddhist, Muslim, Christian and pegan gods, an unearthly orgy of the deities. No other place could make you feel so .... spiritualized.
Bali is one of those places that truly catches the essence of the phrase “a clash between the east and the west”. Where we, the Westerners, seek that special exotic thrill in the faces of the Balinese, in the sounds of the Gamelan music, in the taste of arak cocktails and peanut dishes. It is the story of trade page after page. The valuable richness of the East pursued by the hungry for passion West, only to become corrupt and marketable.
Bali for me was 15 days of bliss, a bliss that may have changed my life in ways that I am still unable to grasp. Bali has its own methods of allowing certain events to take place and all what happened there feels like destiny. As if from that first moment when I became aware of the existence of the island I was moving towards it and step by step, year by year, I was making those 15 days possible. “Being at the right place at the right time” has never felt so real. Let's just say that for a second there I saw the life I want to have and I know that every step I take from now on, consciously or not, on my own account or for somebody else's sake, will be moving in this direction. Not talking about houses and cars and husbands and professional plans, but about a peace of mind and a mental state of consciousness. Not about a final destination but about an ongoing journey. And let's leave it at that.
Bali is one of those places that truly catches the essence of the phrase “a clash between the east and the west”. Where we, the Westerners, seek that special exotic thrill in the faces of the Balinese, in the sounds of the Gamelan music, in the taste of arak cocktails and peanut dishes. It is the story of trade page after page. The valuable richness of the East pursued by the hungry for passion West, only to become corrupt and marketable.
Bali for me was 15 days of bliss, a bliss that may have changed my life in ways that I am still unable to grasp. Bali has its own methods of allowing certain events to take place and all what happened there feels like destiny. As if from that first moment when I became aware of the existence of the island I was moving towards it and step by step, year by year, I was making those 15 days possible. “Being at the right place at the right time” has never felt so real. Let's just say that for a second there I saw the life I want to have and I know that every step I take from now on, consciously or not, on my own account or for somebody else's sake, will be moving in this direction. Not talking about houses and cars and husbands and professional plans, but about a peace of mind and a mental state of consciousness. Not about a final destination but about an ongoing journey. And let's leave it at that.
Backwards
How do you return to normal life after being away for 18 months?
The beaches, hostels, trips and travel mates reluctantly need to make way to taxes, (un)employment, room rentals, housemates and wages. The traffic is organized, the streets are clean, the food is tasteless. Your friends talk about TV commercials and you have nothing to say. You sit in the backyard, watching the hot air balloons wondering what happened to your life, to your consistent planning, to your ambitions and desires. They have left without a trace.
You find yourself staring at an advertisement “Aruba v.a. 500 Euro” on the bus stop and drift back there. Back to the scorching heat, back to the mosquito nets, back to the rum cocktails with people from all over the world. The bag pack is empty, the bank account is empty, and your head seems to be empty. But its not. It's filled up with memories, with hellos and goodbyes in 20 different languages, with random cultural facts, city maps, with various currency exchange rates – info that was a survival necessity just a few weeks ago and now becomes completely useless.
So what can you do while sipping on a tasteless carton juice box? Sitting, waiting, wishing.
It just seems amazing how your life changes with an online booking. Select, pay, confirm and that's it, your own ticket to the other side of the world, the other type of life that used to be yours.
It is yours, all these lives are yours, they exist simultaneously, you exist in many dimensions. And when they clash you witness tiny emotional explosions. Seeing my Indonesian simcard at the bottom of my bag in Breda was the saddening but necessary collision of two worlds that will probably never meet again. But when the ceiling is high and I am drifting in that direction, all these worlds come back, all my parallel personalities seem so close and vibrant. That's why I can never stay.
The beaches, hostels, trips and travel mates reluctantly need to make way to taxes, (un)employment, room rentals, housemates and wages. The traffic is organized, the streets are clean, the food is tasteless. Your friends talk about TV commercials and you have nothing to say. You sit in the backyard, watching the hot air balloons wondering what happened to your life, to your consistent planning, to your ambitions and desires. They have left without a trace.
You find yourself staring at an advertisement “Aruba v.a. 500 Euro” on the bus stop and drift back there. Back to the scorching heat, back to the mosquito nets, back to the rum cocktails with people from all over the world. The bag pack is empty, the bank account is empty, and your head seems to be empty. But its not. It's filled up with memories, with hellos and goodbyes in 20 different languages, with random cultural facts, city maps, with various currency exchange rates – info that was a survival necessity just a few weeks ago and now becomes completely useless.
So what can you do while sipping on a tasteless carton juice box? Sitting, waiting, wishing.
It just seems amazing how your life changes with an online booking. Select, pay, confirm and that's it, your own ticket to the other side of the world, the other type of life that used to be yours.
It is yours, all these lives are yours, they exist simultaneously, you exist in many dimensions. And when they clash you witness tiny emotional explosions. Seeing my Indonesian simcard at the bottom of my bag in Breda was the saddening but necessary collision of two worlds that will probably never meet again. But when the ceiling is high and I am drifting in that direction, all these worlds come back, all my parallel personalities seem so close and vibrant. That's why I can never stay.
zaterdag 3 juli 2010
So, I am at Hong Kong International Airport and will be boarding in about 15 min. I am not sure if this is the end or the beginning. I know one thing though ... I have never felt younger, healthier, more unbound and positive.
My body will land in Europe in 15 hours, but parts of my mind will remain in Asia.
And Bali... Bali may have opened a new chapter.
My body will land in Europe in 15 hours, but parts of my mind will remain in Asia.
And Bali... Bali may have opened a new chapter.
zondag 13 juni 2010
The Graduate
Today, after 2.5 hours of sweating over linear programming and multiple regressions, I left the exam room overwhelmed. The Last Day of Bachelor. Four years, many countries, hundreds of faces and places. And now its all over and everything must start anew. And there will be twice as many people and places.
I can't forget that night in my first week in Breda, when I just met my roomies, we had dinner and watched The Motorcycle Diaries and The Beach. And we talked. I think it was those people who inspired me to travel the world and visit all these places that I've been to. Looking back and remembering them is enough to push me away from the Earth and head for Pluto. And they are also all over the place. London, Colombia, Italy, Spain and I don't even know where else. I know I will see you again. Soon.
Tomorrow, I am heading down south – my first crossing of the Equator and entering the Southern hemisphere. I have always wanted to visit Bali. Since the 6th grade Geography class. I will tell you all about it in about 20 days.
Summer
How is this for a summer:
Macau-HongKong-Singapore-Jakarta-Bali-Jakarta-Singapore-HongKong-Macau(bummer)-HongKong-Kuala Lumpur-Amsterdam-Breda-Bruge/Antwerp/whatever-Brussels-Sofia-Svilengrad-Plovdiv-StaraZagora-mountains-beaches-Varna-Razgrad-someplaceinRomania-Svilengrad/Plovdiv/(.....)/Sofia - Brussels-Breda -(?)- Edinburgh.
Damn.
Macau-HongKong-Singapore-Jakarta-Bali-Jakarta-Singapore-HongKong-Macau(bummer)-HongKong-Kuala Lumpur-Amsterdam-Breda-Bruge/Antwerp/whatever-Brussels-Sofia-Svilengrad-Plovdiv-StaraZagora-mountains-beaches-Varna-Razgrad-someplaceinRomania-Svilengrad/Plovdiv/(.....)/Sofia - Brussels-Breda -(?)- Edinburgh.
Damn.
donderdag 27 mei 2010
Stage diving
If you have two empty bank accounts and a credit card running on minus for half a year, may be you will not book a trip to Bali for two weeks. May be not. But me, freaking insane piece of work, did exactly that. The dilemma was not simple: I need to check out of the student accommodation on the 15 June; my flight to Amsterdam is on 4 July; what to do for 2 weeks with no money. Staying at somebody's place is kinda impossible in the current geographical context and the only option I could figure out is get another super cheap but slightly unconfirmed student accommodation in Macau. Or go to a cheap beach and bum around for a while. Of course, I went for the last one. Being poor in a miserable hostel in freaking Macau against being poor on a hammock on the Island of the Gods. Unfair battle, I know.
My strategy for financing these two weeks is so complicated, that I don't even understand it properly. I am being really unreasonable, I know it is a super stupid and self-indulgent thing that I will most probably regret at some later point, but honestly the whole 2010 has been such a damn mess. Add another stupidity from my side and the result will not be that different. Entering a new stage of insanity every day.
What is the morale from this story: never go to the gym hangovered!
My strategy for financing these two weeks is so complicated, that I don't even understand it properly. I am being really unreasonable, I know it is a super stupid and self-indulgent thing that I will most probably regret at some later point, but honestly the whole 2010 has been such a damn mess. Add another stupidity from my side and the result will not be that different. Entering a new stage of insanity every day.
What is the morale from this story: never go to the gym hangovered!
donderdag 6 mei 2010
El manifesto
You meet us at every major travel spot. In every small but beautiful village there is at least one of us. We could be in small groups, in couples or alone. We travel cheap, sleep cheap, eat cheap and rarely say “no”. In a way, we have an unwritten code of conduct – we pack our bags with great care, we collect trips, we've been places around the world, we love solitude, but we can be friends with every stranger. And we also have a holy book – it comes under different names but it takes us through the same off-beat path. Our greatest value is the appreciation of the big wide world out there, adventure, nature, culture and people. We are pilgrims to the places that others before us have seen, appreciated and written about. We seek the unknown, the alternative, the unspoiled. But we grow in numbers so fast that today our sacred locations are familiar to everyone, mainstream and overcrowded.
Academics study us in detail. Motivations? Destination choices? Influences and information source? Tourism planners do not want us – we are not interested in swimming pools and resorts, we dont have money. Local people? – well – you have to ask them. We'd like to think we are different, but our cheap, trying-everything-local mask is not fooling anybody. We can be an ignorant, hypocritical and destructive force.
We are backpackers.
We come and conquer. You don't believe me? Visit Granada, Bocas del Torro, Katmandu, Pucket, Bali, Marrakech, Cancun, Hoi Chi Min, Chengdu, Koh Phangan, Montezuma, Bayron's Bay, Guadalajara, Wild Coast Eastern Cape, El Bolson, Goa, Caye Caulker, Tofo. These are only a few of the headquarters- they practically belong to us. And that's just the beginning.
(on the picture: Backpacking: Principles & Practice, Puerto Viejo, Costa Rica, February 2009)
Academics study us in detail. Motivations? Destination choices? Influences and information source? Tourism planners do not want us – we are not interested in swimming pools and resorts, we dont have money. Local people? – well – you have to ask them. We'd like to think we are different, but our cheap, trying-everything-local mask is not fooling anybody. We can be an ignorant, hypocritical and destructive force.
We are backpackers.
We come and conquer. You don't believe me? Visit Granada, Bocas del Torro, Katmandu, Pucket, Bali, Marrakech, Cancun, Hoi Chi Min, Chengdu, Koh Phangan, Montezuma, Bayron's Bay, Guadalajara, Wild Coast Eastern Cape, El Bolson, Goa, Caye Caulker, Tofo. These are only a few of the headquarters- they practically belong to us. And that's just the beginning.
(on the picture: Backpacking: Principles & Practice, Puerto Viejo, Costa Rica, February 2009)
vrijdag 23 april 2010
"I have hiked the Great Wall"
...is written on every T-Shirts at the Mutianyu Section. Probably in the other sections as well. The sellers approach me with clothes, souvenirs, green military hats, Mao's little red book. In front of my eyes spreads out a magnificent spring view. Endless mountain ranges. A shy village in the foothills, full of tourists, buses, bikes and souvenir stands. Behind your back, the Great Wall of China. I turn around and think to myself “Damn, I really did it, didn't I”.
I did not even rub my eyes at 5 a.m. In the the morning, when the alarm went off. The symphony of groans coming from the other beds in the dorm, protesting against the second and the third beep , did not even have the time to reach me, as I was dashing to the door. Toothbrush in one hand, backpack in the other- the usual artillery of every backpacker. I ran through all morning habits in a haze- toilet, teeth brushing, dressing up – and before I knew it, I was in the metro, walking towards the meeting point, sitting in the mini van and waiting for the time to come.
On the way to the Great Wall the scenery from the minivan was monotonous – bare three branches, factories, dumps. Nothing but an irksome overture to one of the world's unhidden wonders. When we arrived the place was nothing like my expectations (may be that's why people normally tell you to leave them home). Hundreds' of tourists, of course. Buses, cars, bikes, no surprise. Stalls and vendors, what else. But an entire fair, with carousels and little cars sliding downhill from the Wall was a bit uncommon. If you can scoop up your own piece of solitude, select the stairs instead of the lift.. well may be you can pass by the tourists commotion unnoticed. The weather was sunny and bright, welcoming and warm and the journey begun. From one sentinel post, to another, the view was changing every 5 minutes. A new hillside was added up with every 10 step. The Wall was changing with a snake-like move, generously inviting severe picture-taking.
And, no thank you, I don't want to buy a T-shirt.
I have hiked the Great Wall,
I did not even rub my eyes at 5 a.m. In the the morning, when the alarm went off. The symphony of groans coming from the other beds in the dorm, protesting against the second and the third beep , did not even have the time to reach me, as I was dashing to the door. Toothbrush in one hand, backpack in the other- the usual artillery of every backpacker. I ran through all morning habits in a haze- toilet, teeth brushing, dressing up – and before I knew it, I was in the metro, walking towards the meeting point, sitting in the mini van and waiting for the time to come.
On the way to the Great Wall the scenery from the minivan was monotonous – bare three branches, factories, dumps. Nothing but an irksome overture to one of the world's unhidden wonders. When we arrived the place was nothing like my expectations (may be that's why people normally tell you to leave them home). Hundreds' of tourists, of course. Buses, cars, bikes, no surprise. Stalls and vendors, what else. But an entire fair, with carousels and little cars sliding downhill from the Wall was a bit uncommon. If you can scoop up your own piece of solitude, select the stairs instead of the lift.. well may be you can pass by the tourists commotion unnoticed. The weather was sunny and bright, welcoming and warm and the journey begun. From one sentinel post, to another, the view was changing every 5 minutes. A new hillside was added up with every 10 step. The Wall was changing with a snake-like move, generously inviting severe picture-taking.
And, no thank you, I don't want to buy a T-shirt.
I have hiked the Great Wall,
maandag 19 april 2010
Inspired by
It will be time to leave soon. May be that's why I dream about having a cup of tea with the Chairman of the Republic. May be not.
woensdag 7 april 2010
Rail your way through China
Even though we live in times of amazingly cheap budget airlines, trains remain the preferred mode of transport for a great number of people. Some destinations are better seen in full view from the train window rather than being glimpsed at from the airbus (And this is of course if you are lucky enough to get a window seat and an on-demand clear view) - this is when the transitory route becomes an attraction itself, when the purpose of the journey is not final destination but the journey itself. Sitting on a train, daydreaming your way thought landscapes and cities, listening to the melancholic monotony of the rail tracks is somewhat a classical approach to traveling in times of high speed and lack of time.
I am talking about traveling here for the mere purpose of traveling, exploring, enjoying and backpacking. But the trains in Mainland China serve a rather different purpose- they provide the people of China with an affordable and relatively fast option to transit thousands of miles in their homeland from the highly urbanized areas in the South and North East to the rural and still underdeveloped zones of Western China. During the Chinese Lunar New Year (January-February, in 2010: February 14) some 150 million passengers use the railway services to visit their relatives, millions of migrant workers return home by train, respectively direction East-West creating probably the largest channeled movement of people on the planet.
The expanding railway network also attracts and caters to foreigners: groups of backpackers, families with children on a long vacation, lone travelers. Falling into the last category, I happened to participate in this amusing and sometimes tiring train ride across the Mainland. The 2475 km between Hong Kong and Beijing was around 400 Euros by plane compared to the 80 by train (one-way). And it is a journey worth embarking on. In case you value comfort and privacy like me, there is a Soft Sleeper option, with 4 hard beds, excellent if you travel with some company. My only company though was the view outside- spectacular vistas of mountains and rivers, rural and urban landscapes. Within 24 hours the might of the Chinese economy enfolded in front of my eyes- massive factories, workers residential areas, mining sites, infrastructure development, endless agricultural fields (and this is when in my utmost excitement the camera batteries fail me big time).
Walking around the coaches, one is constantly bewildered by the variety of locals using the rail – from mothers with newborns to 90+ chain smokers. Yes, chain smokers. I almost panicked at the sight of a old lady who took the 30 meter stretch from her bed to the smoker's area in 25 minutes in order to smoke 2 cigarettes within 5 minutes. It is however, relatively clean, well-maintained, soap -and-toilet-paper-facilitated and safe. Of course, you need to take care of your belongings and bring your most valuable stuff with you to the bathroom, but in general there is no real danger of theft. And the guards are everywhere.
Sitting at the window in the cafeteria, sipping on a San Miguel (Where was the Tsingtao in those most precious moments of solitude?) on the 20th hour of this full-day trip upon return to Hong Kong I couldn't shift my mind from the idea of how I just crossed a whole continent, the distance between Madrid and Helsinki without even crossing a single border (of course until the customs in Hong Kong). I have seen landscapes unknown to any other country – awe-inspiring, mysterious and saddening at the same time. I talked to locals on their journey back home, met ABCs (American Born Chinese) enthusiastic about their first visit to China, shared drinks with fellow travelers, played with cute German toddlers and had some of that second-hand chain-smoking into my lungs eventually. How could you capture such moments on a plane? You simply cannot.
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