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THE JOURNEY
To be a tourist is to observe while passing through, to be a traveller is to experience.
The brakes on the 707 Singapore flight were released and as the thrust of the mighty engines took hold our backs were pressed firmly into our seats. The front of the plane pointed directly to the sky above and for those that had a window seat we could see the Sydney airfield disappearing behind us. We were on our way to Singapore.
Prelude
Having spent a year away from home in the northern section of Western Australia I had returned back home to Adelaide to rejoin my mates who at the age of 23 were doing the party, disco and social scene big time. Within a few months of returning home I think I contracted tinea as my feet started to itch. I had realized that Adelaide was no longer the centre of the universe or more accurately the centre of my universe.
I wanted to get up and go somewhere but where? This was the era where many Australians headed off on working holidays or just holidays overseas. At one party I meet a couple of girls who had just come back from a European tour and I was hooked. As I played with the idea of travel and most likely a European tour I was also in a younger set which was a group of ordinary guys and gals running discos to raise money for various charities. The one I was a part of was called ‘Aston’ and one of its members was John Cox who had worked with Sundowners for a short while as a driver/courier. Talks and shared photos with John had my focus on doing an overland tour with Sundowners. John pointed out to me and my companions that if we enjoyed it we may even consider becoming drivers or couriers ourselves.
On John’s recommendation we selected an Alexander 72 day trip.
Along with my enthusiasm came others who imagined themselves joining me. When it was time to tighten the arrangements the number of interested people fell from 9 to 3. To some quitting their jobs, selling their cars, leaving families and girlfriends etc. was too overwhelming. The 3 others were Bryan Jones, Peter Fraser (Fraz), and Warren Jackson (Rabbit).
Into see Graeme Long at Sundowners in Adelaide and the 4 of us were locked in.
March 1976, a wild weekend-long party followed by all afternoon drinks on the Tuesday and then we boarded our train bound for Melbourne. We had chosen New Zealand as a launch pad as they spoke English, more or less and they had dollars as their currency and real food. We needed to go to Melbourne to catch our flight from there. 3 months on we had completed our working holiday of the South Island of New Zealand.
Just as that was coming to an end we got word that Sundowners’ office in Sydney had been involved in a fire and along with much of the office equipment our passports were destroyed. These were the days when we did not require a passport to travel between New Zealand and Australia and the passports were left there for our collection.
New passports secured and we had made our way to Sydney to catch our Singapore Airlines flight.
-ooooooooooooooooo-
As the air and clouds raced over the wings, drinks were in order so we imbibed in a few bourbons, whiskey etc. Feeling comfortable in our number we tried to seek out others that would be on the same tour as us, we uncovered a few, which could give us a head start into making new friends.
Several drinks and hours later we could feel the plane losing altitude as we lined up for the tarmac of Singapore.
Out of the plane and onto the ground, bang! We had left Sydney on a relatively mild day but now opened the door to heat and the humidity known to this Asian country. On our way to the Mirama Hotel by bus, not only was the temperature alien to us but so was this style of living. Remember it was 1976 and the Singapore we know today is a vast comparison to back then. Dirty streets, children barely clothed, dogs, cars, trishaws, all various means of transportation cluttered the way. As we made our way into the city it became clearer who were to become our travelling companions.
Having observed the overall conditions of this far off place we did feel more vulnerable but pleased to arrive at our hotel, which appeared at least half decent. Many floors up in the lift our room with a view awaited. The view was of the adjacent building, the same height as our hotel and was for locals to habitat. The uncoordinated mismatch of colours was washing hung from the rails of the balconies. Yellows, reds and greens were the fashionable colours of that time and shredded underwear.
Well we are here in this very different place so we may as well explore it. To do this we headed into the main part of town, if there was one. We found ourselves down alley ways and tiny streets and were pleased that there were 4 of us. If some of us were killed or just taken by some drug or somebody, at least one might survive to inform our families.
Showing our brave sides, it was lunch time so we sat at some poky little stall on chairs that were just strong enough to take our weights, and we were lighter back then. The ability to learn a second language at school had escaped us and no one would have contemplated learning Mandarin. Mind you about now it would have been a good idea. How to order food or drinks? Not that any of us had mastered charades but the motion to indicate food seemed to be interpreted by the Chinese chef, I use the term ‘chef’ very loosely. He immediately got busy cracking eggs in a large wok and what else he threw in there was best not seen. The food charade worked so it was time to try the one indicating drinks. That worked too, as next is a little lad scurrying off around the dimly light corner. 2 minutes later and 4 beers arrived. Our charades were better than we had given ourselves credit for, little did we know that not only had we indicated correctly that we wanted drinks but at the same time we were smart enough to convey they were to be beers. Who would have thought that the local government could allow horse urine to be poured through a fly screen and into a bottle labelled “Beer”? The egg dish arrived and to our delight was quite tasty. Since the humidity was so stifling we consumed more of the bottles labelled “Beer” in hope that its origin may better endowed us. Not forgetting that there were to be several women on the tour who would not be able to refuse our advances. We were young then and let me tell you, were we any good.
Exploring more of Singapore and horse urine we did manage to find our way back to the hotel in time to have a much needed and refreshing shower before we headed off for dinner. As you may recall there was only one place worth visiting for dinner, yes the car park or what turned into rows of food vendors at evenings.
We selected a restaurant that had the kitchen inside, probably the best place for it, away from consumer’s eyes and seating out the front. As we viewed the menu someone came around selling photos from an album. The photos were of beautiful young girls that progressively disrobed as the pages of the album were turned. The last page was the clincher when our manhood was threatened; the girls we lusted over were shemales. Looking from the album and back up to the young girls standing nearby, they were one of the same.
It just so happened that an American naval ship was in the harbour and a sailor was seen walking off with one of the little pretties. Someone asked what a sailor would be doing with a shemale? The answer was, they would work something out and it was better if we did not think about it. That was alright by all of us.
A couple of days in Singapore and we had done the usual trip to the zoo and our very first temple. How lucky were we that we actually got to see a temple? The first one is always interesting but we found that the next 20 or so on our continued tour through Asia gradually lost their appeal.
The last day before we left this fine city we headed back into town to pick up some duty free bargains. The lovely people in “Mohan’s” were extra kind and gave us as many beers as we asked for. To thank them we walked out with cameras and a couple of large cassette players which worked out to be as about as useful as a propeller on a cricket bat but at fantastic prices.
It was so good to board our plane out of Singapore with its heat and humidity to wonderful Bangkok.
Excitement was building from arriving into Singapore, such a far cry from Australia in so many ways, and now we were going to be moving even further away to another exotic city.
Again the jet engines roared as we felt the under carriage fold into position with its customary clunk. With each day that passed and the more we got to know who would be on our tour and a bit about them, we were feeling more comfortable. The 4 of us no longer alone in this big place called the world. More drinks thank you waitress, and nibbles? Yes please. We now were enjoying the services of Thai Airlines and I must say my eyes were as pleased with the staff as they had been on the Singapore Airlines flight. We sipped and savoured the delights of the flight as we cruised through the air, this was the life. I was born for this reason.
“Well ladies and gentlemen extinguish your cigarettes and fasten your seat belts; we are about to land in Bangkok”. I’ll just put this in here that Bangkok is not really Bangkok. Bangkok is a small village near what we call Bangkok but the true name of this place is Krungthepmahanakhon Amornrattanakosin Mahintharayutthaya Mahadilokphop Noppharat Ratchathaniburirom Udomratchaniwetmahasathan Amonphiman Awatansathit Sakkathattiyawitsanukamprasit. I wonder why they call it Bangkok instead. I’ll move on.
The air-conditioning in the aircraft could not prepare us for what was outside or more accurately had us thinking the outside temperature was somewhere near the inside temperature. The door opens and we are just about to step onto the landing when all the liquids I had swallowed over the last 3 years sprung out of the pores of my skin. You would think it mandatory to issue everyone with goggles and a towel so they can find their way down the steps rather than being blinded by the inbuilt sprinkler.
Just as we nearly come to terms with the humidity they want to find out what we are made of, so they put us in a bus to travel through the bee hive of traffic. This was my first encounter of being in 16 lanes of traffic that had no resemblance of lanes. The closest I can come to describe it was a tangle of vehicles like a moving herd of cattle.
At some intersections there were traffic lights or the occasional policeman all of which was a waste of electricity and uniforms. On reflection the lights were only there to add more colour and the policemen were frustrated music conductors.
Needless to say, we do eventually arrive at our hotel and there was very little time difference between our suit cases hitting the floor of our room and us hitting the swimming pool. As each of us entered the swimming pool an audible sound of CHssssssssssh followed soon after. About now I am asking myself if I am ready for this Asian way of life, without arriving at a decisive answer another beer was in order.
Fortunately in the hotel there was adequate air-conditioning. I said to myself after all God would not have invented hotels if he wasn’t going to invent air-conditioners to go in them, now would he? Would he? You mean like in Indian and such places he wouldn’t, that is not fair.
That night we were whisked away to some night club and someone said it was otherwise known as a “Ping Pong Club.” I have got to tell you I was so hot; there was no way I was going to play Ping Pong. I went with the others anyway for where else would I or could I get to on my own? As it unfolded this was a restaurant and for now, I cannot see a ping pong table or ball in sight.
The meal was coming to an end when one of the local men asked who would like to move next door for the entertainment? There was no way I was not going in there, I love singing and dancing.
All seated, we are asked who would care to order a drink but something happened as we walked from one room to the next, the price of drinks went up by 500%. I thought we had only walked through a doorway and not across a border; anyway that was the new price. The Australians with tight purse strings did not have too many drinks in here.
The show begins and some beautiful women come onto the stage and even though the singing was recorded they had some wonderful hand movements. It was becoming apparent that not even the locals could put up with the humidity and all this dancing had made the girls hot, so hot they started to make themselves more comfortable, by removing excess clothing. I can tell you they must have been really hot on that stage as the poor things stripped right off. The reaction to this only made me feel hotter but we were not invited to make ourselves more comfortable. Later they must have picked one of the locals to cool off as a young guy came onto the stage in just a piece of cloth wrapped around him. He was only allowed to take that off if he could quickly turn around and lay on one of the girls; I think that was to keep the air-conditioning off of her. The silly girl had just taken off her clothes to get cool.
Without a game of ping pong being played all night I did at least get to see some of the ping pong balls but what a funny place for the girls to keep them. Oh those local customs I probably never will understand them.
While the show went on women mingled amongst the men and asked if we would like to have a lovely lady. Who would not want a lovely lady but they came at a price and those prices matched those of their drinks.
Next day was more monkey business only this time it was at some touristy village place where we saw more dancing, without the ping pong girls. To make up for it they had elephants rolling logs and some people actually singing, only I could not recognize any of the songs. Getting there was a bit of a trek in the traffic and while we were in the touristy village they had asked everyone who owned a vehicle, it did not matter what type, from Bangkok and everyone from China and India to go onto the streets.
As we left to go back to the hotel we speed up to the gate in our bus and then the hot bitumen must have made the tyres stick to it, as the wheels would not turn. This must be right and all the other vehicles we suffering the same fate. About every half hour the bitumen cooled and we could move about one circumference of the wheel and then it would stick again. It took sooooooooo long to get back to the hotel that afternoon that I am sure that anyone in a hurry, walks. That is if they can find any room on the road or footpath to walk.
Time to leave Bangkok and fly onto Kathmandu. Up until now each time we got off a plane it got more and more humid so what could we expect from Kathmandu? Surely not hotter and more humid, tell me no.
We had heard that the approach to the Kathmandu airport was a sudden drop down and land, we were not disappointed. The plane nears the airport and banks firmly to the left and with that we are descending quickly, had we not been fore-warned you would have expected us to crash somewhere. We are in line with the runway, screech and the wheels hit, brakes on, everyone is pushed hard forward into their seat belts and you would swear to god that we are either going to hit a wall or fall over the edge of something. Satisfied that our lives where no longer in peril we undid the seat belts and go off the plane. We have each bought a bottle of duty free Johny Walker so Kathmandu here we come.
This is the big one, Kathmandu the start of what promises to be the ultimate journey.
As you know we never set off on the trip for a few days after we arrive in Kathmandu but with the welcomed relief from the climates we had been experiencing, for the last 5 days or so, this was wonderful.
At the airport, from memory, a local bus came to collect us and we were surprised to see a primate remove itself from the bus, it was all covered in thick black hair, sorry Silver. The primate could speak our language and was rather friendly.
It was a short trip to the hotel, the once great Blue Star, and there was another primate there as well all covered in hair but this time the hair was much lighter but the primate was quite tall. The primate with the dark hair called him Stretch (sorry Stretch). And there we had our 3 crew, Greg Reid (Silver), Dave Attwood and Greg Williams (Stretch).
For those that can remember or probably those that are trying to forget, here we were at the Blue Star Hotel then home of Manik, memories and madness. The Blue Star was a good base to find our way, normally by bike, to the Monkey Temple, the funeral piers and many an enjoyable restaurant for a great value meal.
At the suggestion of Silver a group of us went off to play golf or a game similar to golf at the local range. Good thing we had our local caddies to tell us in what rough direction the next pin was, as the terrain was very undulating. My caddy was straight on to my lack of professionalism; he noticed a basic floor in my game, ‘Sir you are standing too close to the ball, after you have hit it.’ Not being able to see our way clearly to the next hole I wonder if the swigs of drinks, which outweighed the swings, although the balance started to go the other way, had anything to do with it? The ravines, walking and drinking all took its toll and we did the most sensible thing we could when we got back, we went to the bar.
The ‘Pleasure Rooms’ ah yes. Remember our mate John Cox? He suggested we go to the Pleasure Rooms for a healthy meal, he recommended it as they always had items on special there. On the menu was special coffee, special cake, special lollies all heavenly sent or more likely to send us to heaven. Down one of the many back streets we found the recommended restaurant and went into to see if it lived up to expectations. Being timid and never having had anything ‘special’ before, in we went. They were so friendly there that people even shared their cigarettes but not before covering them in some tar looking substance. Not being a smoker this experience was lost on me but some of my mates came out with a strange glaze over their eyes. It was lunch time so after the Pleasure Rooms it was back to the Blue Star where several people, including the primates, shared more bitumen covered cigarettes along with a drink known as Kukri Rum. I did not know talking about such trivial matters could be so funny, I did not get most of the jokes but the others did and could not stop laughing.
Intrigued with what was happening to the others we revisited the same restaurant the next evening. The cigarettes did nothing to me or for me so it was time to try the “S” cake and the “S” coffee. Having finished both with no reaction I was offered and consumed another half slice of “S” cake. Hello! Hello! About 20 minutes later, what the hell is happening? No matter how much I was trying to distance myself from the coffee table, sparks were flying between my knees and the table. Oh! Arr! What to do now? The clever thinking bunch decided to go back to the Blue Star, what a good idea. As we leave we need to exit via a smallish tunnel or arch way, for some reason it had shrunk while we were inside and getting out without hitting my head was an effort. We are now back in the small lane-way trying to grab a cab and as the cars honked incessantly and flashed their car lights; my head was a spinning along with the fireworks that only I could see.
Once back at the hotel it was meant to be party time and for those who could handle it, more cigarettes and Kukri. For me it was straight off to bed to deal with my demons. For that trip, that was the last trip in or out of the Pleasure Rooms, I found some other great places to eat that did not offer ‘special’ dishes. K.C’s was a favourite of many and the beef steaks came out on a sizzling platter.
Compared to the hustle and bustle of Singapore and Bangkok, Kathmandu was a just the soother we all needed. Kathmandu was and always will be a special place of many a fond memory. It was cooler, cleaner, the people more friendly, a simple yet more down to earth place, even if they did have some more temples.
Prior to starting the tour Silver held a general gathering in the hotel to try and give us an overall idea and expectations for the next 72 days that laid before us. Of course we were all in awe of his travels but not for the Delhi belly he had for several days before reaching Kathmandu. He did warn that, due to the time of the year, it was likely some could catch the dreaded bug. At the meeting our group of 4 volunteered to be the boot packers and on some hot days we regretted that decision.
Today is the day when we leave Kathmandu and the excitement, although not outwardly visible, was building inside. The excitement came from various directions. What we thought we could be in for as against what reality was going to be, trying to judge our own expectations, just what was out there? The wheels on the bus and therefore the tour were moving, we were heading into the unknown and would the interactions between the passengers and the crew be happy and lasting for this much time?
Relying on memory, we had to travel on a local bus as the one that had brought the other passengers out to Kathmandu was left at Birganj as it was longer than most. Sundowners had hired a coach from Trathens along with their own driver, Dave Attwood. One of our number, Stretch, was lost somewhere along the way. After a week or so he flew out to join up with another trip as their courier, a good bloke but that was the last I ever saw of him.
Bundled onto either one or possibly 2 buses, due to our number, we the people along with our baggage, leave the known safety of the Blue Star car park. We turn left and soon find a road that has a low rock wall on the downhill side; it turns right then left in a constant pattern for hours on end. The view was inspiring as we see in the not to distance, towering snow capped mountains which gave way to green terraced steep inclines. The occasional fresh water stream passed beneath the road. The local bus was not all that comfortable but we were harden travellers by now, well we thought so.
A little village makes a welcomed break and we all head in the direction of a couple of cha shops. Tea with plenty of milk was the standard and to try and order anything else was useless, our best of charades did us no good. So milky cha it was. Fortunately for us we had a few of these respites from the winding road and the basic structure of both bus and seats.
The first day went well up until it was close to dark when finally we arrived at our Hotel, Hotel? It amazed me that the concrete walls and ceilings stayed in nearly one piece. Having said that we could tell it was a 5 star hotel, as at night if we looked up we could see at least 5 stars through the roof and we were on the first floor of a 2 story building. The dark green of the walls, although the last time they would have been painted was years ago, were still very green. We scored a room for about 8 of us for the night and the shower was an open pipe coming out of the wall and there was only one tap. It was easy to tell that this one and only tap was the cold tap for it was green, not as deep in colour as the walls but lighter. We are not talking plastic ends showing green; it was from the years of water leaking through it that had turned it that colour.
51 weary travellers make their way into this gem of a hotel, we use this term very kindly if not misdirected. I think Silver’s theory was to give us the worst of hotels first so that the otherwise average ones, would be far more appealing. Clever fellow was Silver but I am afraid the average ones were still just average. To think we signed up for all of this, were we out of our minds?
Perhaps not when we had paid our fares back in Australia but we were heading that way now.
Suffering unknown pains from our day’s bus trip all that was required was a good feed and a good night’s sleep. We would be right to go again in the morning. The feed was some stodgy rice and something they called meat. It made me think that road kill could be used for something. One day’s drive but so far from Kathmandu and its Hotel and great meals. I had never slept on a piece of wood before that had 4 legs and resembled the shape of a bed, so in the morning I felt more like the hardness of the bed I had tried to sleep in, but only 2 legs which were hard to stand on.
One comfort for the days to follow was the British coach that had been left there. When you have 49 passengers and 2 crew not only is there a lot of people to pack in but also our cases. We managed to get it all in after a few attempts and this was without the camping gear that was sitting in the camp ground at Goreme.
No time for the extended city tour of Birganj which would take about 3 minutes if you could find where the centre was. The great white man was feeling the effects of local buses, lack of food and sleep and it is only the start of day 2. This day took us to such places as Raxaul, Motihari, Gopalganj, Kasia Bazarr, Gorakhpur, Mau, Birnon, Ghazipur, Saidpur and we stayed that night in Varanasi, Hotel De Paris.
The standard and size of this hotel took a big leap up from our first night’s accommodation. I was impressed when the coach turned into this forecourt area with its half circular lawn. My expectations of hotels were now; it was going to be a mixed bag. It was still very hot here and no air conditioning but the thicker walls made it feel a bit cooler.
Day two in Varanasi was an extra early start to find our way down to the Ghats. Walking through narrow pathways that were short on any light but were a hustle as people began their morning. The zig zag walk soon brought us to the river’s edge and there we hopped into some small wooden water craft. As we are rowed out to the middle of the Ganges River too many sites and new experiences lay before us. While our boat moved up stream a dead cow half submerged past us as it made its way down stream, there were birds on top of the carcass feeding from it. Even at this early part of the morning the river and its banks were a hive of activity needless to say we were not the only water craft out there and photo shutters fired off in rapid succession. Turning my attention to the water’s edge there were many men, women and children carrying out their ablutions as they dipped their heads under the water. At various points there were bricked up platforms and from the platforms smoke started to lift but spread at a low level to add to the morning haze. When you don’t know what to expect it takes a few seconds to realize what I was viewing, the cremation of the dead. The flames increase but then subside and what at first appeared to be just timber were chard skeletons. Once the fires had finished, men with buckets of water would throw the water to flush the remains over the edge of the platforms and into the river. Amongst the hive of activity dogs are searching for a feed in the swallow water and again it took some time to realize what these scrawny dogs were eating. It was a very active place at this time of the day; women washed clothes by belting them against the slabs of concrete or rocks. I worked out why Indian’s don’t care for buttons on their clothing.
Remembering the beautiful vistas available in Australia or New Zealand or the city botanical gardens, as far as experiences are concerned, they were on a totally different level to those of the Ganges. In the back of my mind was how could I ever describe to the folks back home what I was trying to take in and would they believe me?
With mixed emotions we follow back through the narrow lane ways to the coach for a small trip back to the hotel. Breakfast was ready as we arrived and the irony of having fish after getting back from the Ganges was not lost on anyone. Having seen the dirty condition of the river and what was going on or into it, had us wondering just where the fish had come from, there weren’t many other places close by to get them from.
Given the rest of the morning to clear our heads or to even out the dawn-breaking activities, the afternoon’s entertainment was waiting on the lawn area. Another coach load of people from a different hotel drove in and the show was underway. We had a yogi man twisting himself into unimaginable positions that would break the bones of any other human, if it were in any way possible to manage these manoeuvres. I now knew what people meant when they told me to get knotted. Next were the snake men, one of whom played a squeaking flute to mesmerize a cobra snake, as it raised itself up out of a woven cane basket. The snake charmer teases the snake to try and strike out at the back of his stretched out fist, I think most of us hope it wouldn’t and fortunately it didn’t. The snake men bring out various snakes some of which they would let us hold and have any photos taken with. One snake they tell us has the head at one end and a tail the other but only for 6 months. Then the ends reverse and the head becomes the tail. We did not have 6 months to wait and see if he was right. I must say though that I came back on subsequent visits and he was right, the ends had swapped, I think.
Banging drums, whistles, flutes, snakes, yogi man, monkeys and mongoose, we were done.
Sadly with the rising of the sun we board the coach and look back over our shoulders to see the Hotel De Paris disappear in the distance. We are onto the next step of the journey.
One aspect that was becoming more obvious was the temperature and to quench our thirst we would stop in a small village somewhere to by a nice cold Coke from the vendor who assured us it was icy cold, “here sahib you touch”, he was right it did feel coolish. Deal done and the caps are off in a flash, now to down it in one go. Puuuurt! God that is hot. We soon learnt that if you take something out of water and hold it, it does feel cool as the water evaporates off of it. To try and cool us all down the roof hatches were opened and if there had been washing hanging in there it would have dried out as quickly as we had.
Each morning is an early start because of the distance to cover and also to set off while it was a little milder, they made for long days. Appreciate here that it does take time for a group as large as ours to get out and back in the coach.
Our path continues to Kanpur and to the Taj via Agra, we didn’t have Viagra in those days. We get glimpses of this white pointed dome reaching well above the landscape as we find our hotel, the Jaiwal Hotel. In some down town street we are beckoned from our seat on the coach, to our rooms. The hotel was painted white or white as Indian standards go and most of the accommodation is located on the first floor, assessable via stairs. The manger was there to greet us all and did not appear to be of Indian extraction. He also wore white as far as Indian standards go but he was rather short. We later learn his name is Tommy Collett and his is originally from Iran, quite the charmer.
As far as Indian hotels go this was quite acceptable and even the meals came up to most people’s liking. Following breakfast we get back on the coach and are thrilled to think we are going to see firsthand “The Taj Mahal.” We get down from the coach and walk towards a red building that draws us to an arched opening and there it is. Right before our very eyes is this magnificent structure, its size and grandeur grows the closer we get. As our guide elaborates on its origins and detailed structure, it was hard to absorb and comprehend all he was telling us. Viewing and photographing each aspect, I don’t think you can ever have enough. While we are still taken by its beauty we are summoned to have the mandatory group photo taken. The only invitation that could draw us away from the Taj was the idea to get on the coach out of the heat and back to the cooler hotel.
After lunch we assemble in the main open area on the first floor for sitar music, how authentic? The pleasant music commences and most are enjoying this Indian experience as the first 15 minute strum by. The next 15 minute seems very much like the first 15 and then the next 5 minutes seem like another ½ hour. That is my ethnic experience over, I’m out of there and so are several others.
Agra is taken care of as we travel further west. Next stop Jaipur. What is with this place? It seems that the local council could only buy in two colours of paint, pink and a lot less white. We meet quite a few different characters on our way and a local guide called Eugene is one of them. Eugene Pram escorts us off to see an astronomy park which was quite colossal. Tall triangular shapes reached high into the sky and all of this could be useful to determine our horoscopes but while I would have expected a stall within the park, there was no one to interpret our futures for us.
We pass by a large lake and around the edge of it is a road that takes us to the foot of a castle. It was really a fort but I was getting sick of seeing forts so this one was a castle. On the backs of elephants we meander the path to the top. The advantage point gained from the elephant ride was fantastic as we could now see over the lake and the city of Jaipur in the distance.
We find our way to Delhi and what is creeping into general conversation each day is how many toilet visits people are making, some are avoiding having breakfast to try and waylay an onset colloquially know as the runs. Between the heat, humidity and lack of drinkable refreshments there is a concern about people becoming dehydrated.
To fill in the gaps of viewing the often unchanging landscapes someone has introduced us to a card game called ‘Killer’. Killer is a game where the same number of cards to match the number of people playing is dealt face down. The person who is holding the joker card has the responsibility to kill people by winking at them, at the same time trying not to be detected by the other players. This game was responsible for absorbing many a travelling hour.
Arriving in Delhi we are booked into the YMCA hotel which was just down the road from Connaught Circus, a convenient location to access both shopping and restaurants.
There are so many sights to visit and as we drive from one to another a local guide gave us the rundown on all things important or interesting. Our guide was a relatively tall man, possibly in his sixties and supporting a moustache, this fine gentleman went by the name of Captain Vohra. What a wonderful man. A fascinating day going between government buildings, red forts, a large post office, the Indian Gate, temples and so much more. Negotiating the way was made easy by having available “wide tree lined streets for the children to play in”. The outing took a bit of a toll as the blasting sun was forever on our shoulders, only one thing to do and that was to empty a few bottles of King Fisher beer.
Having a couple of days here was a well appreciated break from the early mornings, the long driving days all for a one night stop-overs.
Time to get going, so we all load ourselves back onto the coach for another long day’s drive. From memory we did not stay anywhere until we had passed through places like Panipat, Karnal, Ambala, Ludhiana, Jalandhar which finally had us in Amritsar at the Hotel Astoria.
Before visiting the icon of the place we found ourselves in the restaurant of the hotel enjoying a club sandwich, club sandwiches were constantly becoming the food of choice.
As we enter the sacred grounds of the Golden Temple we are offered a white square of material to place on our heads, that was for the guys and the girls had to also wrap some well worn printed sarong around them. This attraction achieved interests on several levels. The size was inspiring, the relative cleanliness and the cooling affect from the vast pool of water and if that is real gold covering the temple, I want it. Our tour takes us into where a large group of people, mainly men, were sitting on the floor chatting while eating from large bowls. It was explained that most of these men were religious rebels and were often taken well out of town to be rid of them but they would continually make their way back here. In here was the offer of food for us and while no one took up the offer the food could not have been so bad, surely half a million flies could not be wrong. Another club sandwich back at the restaurant would do the job.
Although we were in for another extended day, it was to lead us to our Shangrila in Srinagar. To get there we see Pathankot, Jammu, Udhampur and Ramban. This path gave way to the somewhat straight and flat roads we had experienced through India to now resemble the road first used out from Kathmandu. Military vehicles constantly frustrated our progress but one moment of amusement was when we stopped in some small village for a relief stop. As the guys ducked behind a rusted corrugated iron structure which was suppose to be a toilet, no thank you, we noticed some tall very green plants called marijuana. To think this plant was illegal in the parts where we are from and here it was left to grow wild. It was at toilet stops like this I could not help but thank my genetics for making me a male. To be a foreigner in these places is difficult enough but when it came to toilet stops it did seem harsh on the women.
As we twist and turn our way it is noticeable that the temperature is dropping along with the humidity. For those now requiring constant toilet breaks and running fevers this was comforting if not the cure. Twists and turns come to an end and we are next to a large lake. As the cases are unloaded to the water’s edge a fleet of primitive canoe like boats come to collect us. The canoe like boats are called shikaras and ferry us to various house boats in the middle of this big lake.
There are some quirky names amongst the collection of house boats but each seems very comfortable inside. We are educated to understand that the British, when they were in Indian, could not purchase land and desperately want to escape the summer heat. Instead of buying land they opted to build house boats and these were still afloat years later.
The house boats were our hotels on water with all the services of a servant who could provide all the meals and just about anything we craved for. What the servant could not provide the vendors in their own shikaras could. Many a story is told of the extent these vendors could stretch to fulfill any request.
A part from the casual paddle about the lake we had the visit to a few carpet manufactures who employed true craftsmen. Nimble little fingers of young children tied and knotted different coloured threads in time to a chant. Several of us left Srinigar with more luggage than we arrived with, and part of the collection was carpets, fur coats and jewellery.
Perhaps it was the local beer or food we ate but a strange thing happened one night, most men looked like women and vice versa. Bearded men supporting lipstick and ribbons in their hair, while some of the women had developed beards after having their evening meal, clothing also was peculiar as we see men wearing skirts and women, mens' shorts. We all tried gallantly to flush this new hormone imbalance with excess fluids and by the next morning, even though we felt different, the unusual change of features had past.
To describe the experiences and delights during our stay, in detail, would take way too many words. Suffice to say it was memorable. Wow!
Time caught up with us all too soon and the shikaras collected us again to return to the side of the lake where we entered. We look back to the house boats remembering the great time we were now leaving.
There was one road in and therefore one road back out again as we returned to Amritsar.
India was done and dusted (dusty) as we crossed the border into Pakistan. The border crossing took ages to get us processed and it was way too hot to stay on a stationary coach, so we took refuge in the shade of a few trees. One of our passengers was a blonde and therefore very sort after by the local men. As we waited to be processed one local man wearing a dhoti came up to her and showed her his ability at poetry, what a nice man, except the only verse was his Longfellow. One of the nearby guards also noticed his poetry but none too amused and set about hitting him over the back with his stick.
Poetry and processing on the Indian side we had a similar wait through the Pakistan side. Given the time frame to complete this exercise it was fortunate that it was not that far from Amritsar to Lahore.
The standard of the hotel in Lahore was quite acceptable and won us over with their swimming pool.
Being one of the boot packers/unpackers it was my turn to assist inside the boat of the coach and by the time the task was over perspiration was following freely. In the forecourt of the hotel was a small shop and outside was a set of scales, I was interested to find out if the heat had made any difference to my weight. On first reading the scales it seemed they were totally incorrect but they weren’t and I had lost about 2 stone or 13 kilos since I had left home. I was not over weight when I left so this explained why I had to tighten my belt another notch each day to save losing my pants.
While I had lost weight due to the Delhi belly syndrome I did not suffer from stomache cramps or feeling just terrible. There were several others who did and fortunately one of the passengers was a doctor and had the assistance of his wife who was a nurse. Part of their afternoon was spent fetching some syringes and medication from a pharmacy to then apply to people’s backsides.
That evening Silver decided to take those who were not laid up in bed for a local meal at a nearby restaurant. One of the girls who thought she was ready to try some food sat at our table and while we waited for the food to come, drank a bottle of R.C. and as quick as a flash was off to the loo. It was hard to believe that the R.C. cola had travelled so quickly to her R.C.
The next day for those of us capable of it, we had a tour of the town and of course we need to visit another Red Fort and temple. I must admit that I am no historian or religious freak and the numbers of these structures were getting beyond the pale.
Back to the G.T (Grand Trunk) road and our mobile hospital got underway again, the next destination was Peshawar. I don’t think we went to Islamabad on our trip as we were trying to catch a few days drive up for time to be spent elsewhere in Europe. We had withstood another epic day. We found the hotel this night was run by a white man, unusual in these parts. His skin was white but for some strange reason his eyes were pink. You would have to wonder what this man saw (Mansor).
Peshawar was not a place you need to spend a lot of time in and for us it was the convenience factor of a reasonable hotel and the extended day travelled that brought us here. To look out of the reception area across the road was an open park full of noise, buses, trucks and tired looking cars. In their day all the vehicles gathered here would have been quite colourful but the years had wearied them.
Shortly after leaving the hotel the next morning we snake our way up and through the Khyber Pass. This ruthless appearing, renegade infested place lived up to or down to any thoughts we had about the mystic of the place. We transit Jalalabad through to the border into Afghanistan and another winding road, very scenic with a river that cut its way through rugged mountains. The climb was steep and went on for many kilometres but the more rugged the country side the more we just knew how far entrenched we had become in a search of the wild. If ever we needed reminding that we were no longer at home this was a place to do it.
Just as the ongoing climb started to flatten we soon found ourselves in Kabul. The Hotel Metropole and the centre of business for Johnie the money changer. We don’t know whether to trust him or not but Silver says he is alright. We exchange some American dollar traveller’s cheques for the local currency. To our surprise and delight we did not get ripped off.
The must see streets in Kabul calls, so we go for a walk to Chicken Street where we had to buy some Afghani knitted socks, with and without leather soles. We were fascinated by what was for sale there and while we were there the butcher made his delivery. It fell out of the back of a bus and forget about the fridge or freezers it then hung off a hook, at the front of the store, out in the open for the flies to appreciate.
To look out of the front of the hotel and see the mud built housing covering the slopes of the hills, they were in no particular order, just as they could collect enough mud they started building. The town planner should have been sacked.
More experiences wait for us as the wheels on the bus go around and around, until we reach Kandahar.
Who would have thought that there would be a pastry shop out here in the middle of no man’s land? Their wares inside were delicious and apple pies and the like were scoffed up big time. At this stage we would not have been surprised to walk outside to see table and chairs while patrons consumed their donuts and coffee. A reality check sets in and out the front is just dust blowing along a tired old street.
There is not a lot to see here so after spending the night we recommence our travel.
As we journey towards Herat we come across a strange old town. It has a hotel, petrol and diesel pumps along with street lighting. The only thing lacking was electricity, so the pumps did not work and the hotel there was just a skeleton of a building. The town had been built but obviously lacked enough money to connect it to the power grid.
Herat was very similar to Kandahar but another good experience of the rugged country of Afghanistan. A small town and the only memory I have from here is the brightly coloured plastic flowers that adorned the horses that transported locals on their carts.
Soon we are to leave Afghanistan but it was the epitome of what overland travel was about.
Along with a new country comes our first night’s stop, Mashhad in Iran. The only notable stand-out here is the mosques where we are getting used to chanting echoing around the towns from early morning and periodically throughout the day.
We are starting to pick the difference from the vehicles we see, as most in Afghanistan are old and falling apart, the vehicles here are of a better standard. We see Mercedes and Volvo trucks and buses. They obviously don’t get too old here as many are parked on their sides off to the edge of the rood and others have crumpled themselves into other vehicles. It would appear that we did not have to go many kilometres before we would come across another vehicle that was on its way to the big car park in the sky.
Heading south now we arrive in Esfahan, another long day along laborious straight roads. It is on these roads we see even more vehicles that have come to grief and to our amazement these vehicles are left here for days if not weeks. We try not to consider if the drivers are treated the same way the vehicles are.
Mixed memories from Esfahan, when I leave the hotel to walk down the street and just a little way into my walk I partake in a Banana milk shake. This was the first of many over the couple of days we are here.
Up until now I had this strange idea that the woman folk secretly liked having their backsides pinched. Walking back from my milk shake some local guy pinched me on the backside I swung around to see who it was and yes it was a local but accompanied by a policeman. This experience taught me two things 1. That the woman did not appreciate having their backside pinched. 2. To be very careful if I am wearing shorts in this country.
In Esfahan I also recall walking down to the nearby stream. The guys were swimming in the dirty water in their shorts and the women swimming all wrapped up in head gear and long dresses. How uncomfortable that would be for the women getting out of the water with heavy sodden clothes on.
We have a look around the town at the various mosques and one that was unique was just out of town with shaking minarets. Another spot of intrigue was a hillside which was explained to us, is where some of the dead are left there for the various animals to devour, not a very pleasant thought but that is the way some religions operate.
From Esfahan the next stage took us to Shiraz but more to see Persepolis. It even made me laugh at the time that some of the passengers, without trying to be funny, pronounced it as Percy Pole Is. Having travelled to get there I was quite disappointed, as the whole place was in ruin. It did take on another dimension at night when we went for the sound and light show.
Back to Esfahan and we head directly north via Qom to Tehran. It seems that choices are very limited when we would stop to get something to eat. We could have dry kebabs with dry rice and a couple of packaged slices of butter, if we wanted an extra treat me could have the dry nan bread. Of course we could have nothing in place of these choices. In Tehran we get to see more of the busyness of a larger city as we take notice of the more modern vehicles including Harley Davidson motor bikes that the police were riding.
To read more about my experience trying to get a mattress in the hotel look at earlier ‘Forum’ postings.
One of the pleasures revealed to us was Ray’s Pizza bar that not only took us away from more dried food but gave us draught beer; you know you are on a winner when you get draught beer in Iran.
For a city as big as Tehran it was a wonder that there was not more to see, unless of course temples were your thing.
The east is calling so we now travel to Tabriz via Zanjan. Interestingly enough I think I preferred Tabriz to Tehran all but for Ray’s. On reflection it was not as busy or as dirty as Tehran. It was only an overnight stop, arriving late gave us the pretty street lights but we all hurried into bed, not all in the same one, to see if we can get enough sleep to tide us over for the next long haul.
I must say that on just about all the one night stop-overs we did not tend to party much, perhaps one or two beers then off to la la land.
Given the stupid drivers of Iran, the blandness of the country and food it was time to seek out the excitement of Turkey. Yes!
Places I recall along the way were Dogubayazit, Agri, Erzurum, Erzican on the way to Goreme. Goreme was to be the first night of camping at Camping Paris and Raki. The Raki was different but also was the camping. You may recall that it was here that the equipment had been left for its collection. On the way out to Kathmandu there was no indication that there was going to be so many passengers, which meant not enough tents. The shortage of tents was made even worse because some had rotted during the return trip. We, the group of 4, decide to miss out and sleep in either tents where we might be welcomed, out in the open or in the coach. The boot was already spoken for by Silver, from memory.
To accommodate the extra camping gear the back seat had to be sacrificed and gear was stacked from the floor to the roof. What once had served as a refuge for the ill had now been given over to camping gear.
If camping and Goreme were a small let down the surrounding area certainly made up for it. Cappadocia, the landscape of the moon. It was difficult to absorb the relief of the land and its intensity, to think volcanic rock could still balance on these limestone pillars after so many years. As we get closer we find that the locals were living in the lime stone cliffs or had done so and even churches had been dug into the landscape. We learn that the early Christians had dug in to try an avoid persecution from the Muslims. More examples of these types of dwellings could be seen at Urgup, Uchisar and Gore.
By now, if not before, we are realizing just how great the journey had become. There were people and things out there that we did not even know existed, to be able to seek them out. We had to wonder just what other surprises could also be out there. It was good to see those places that we already knew existed but it was these others that put the icing on the cake.
If we thought the excitement and experiences were all done for the time being, we are then taken to an underground village. If it does not stagger the imagination then you need to see a doctor, quickly as you could be dead. To try and grasp the effort that must have gone into digging these underground villages is incredible, especially when we consider what tools or lack of tools there would have been back then. An outstanding example of their abilities was to carve out huge round rolling doors that rolled back like a sliding doors. These were put in place to prevent intending invaders. With what implements are available today you would still have to give credit to the accomplishments.
Hello the Turkish coast, as we make our way into Silifke. There in front of us is the beautiful ocean, a far cry from the harshness of the dry sands of Afghanistan and Iran, it is so picturesque. With each metre we drive past the ocean we can see ourselves splashing about in the refreshing water. By this time the feeling of being in the water is probably better than actually being in it. The campground, Kizkalesi Mocamp, here is more to our taste than the dry one of Goreme and it is near the beach. This place is feeling more like a European summer holiday than an overland tour and we like the difference.
Kusadasi is next and not so far away is a town of Selcuk where we visit Ephesus. The vandals had beaten us there also as the place also had been left in ruin but we still got a good idea of what had been here before. How many more absolutely mind blowing places did Turkey have in store? This one captured everyone’s imagination and to take in that this once had been a part of the coastline for now it was a kilometre or further away.
For me, Turkey was becoming the ideal country, especially along the coast. We had the beauty of the beaches, the colour of the ocean, the historical sites, the friendliness of the people, we had some edible food and yes we had Efes beer, and it was cold. The extra kicker was the reduction in temperature and humidity. Could life get much better than this, arrrh!
More places are waiting and thus we must move on. As we snake along the coast we see old worldly castles, and several islands are in the not too distance. The world was a great place and as the climate change so did people’s conditions and the worst seemed to be behind us. At one point those that thought perhaps the bottom was falling out of their world, they had began to believe that the world was falling out of their bottoms. As their health improve so did their general demeanour. To be perked up was better than perking up.
On our approach to Izmir the onset of civilization moves up a notch with the cleanliness and modern structures. There is a sense of moving towards an era we can directly relate to. The third world experiences are fading slightly as we move further west.
Pushing on we go through Bergama and then there is a sign to Pamukkale. Pamukkale is another fine example of the unexpected. Terraced lime stone steps with water cascading over the edge, who would have thought that there could be something like this anywhere, let alone out here?
Later we see a sign that says Troi or Troy. How good was this going to be? To see the famous place of Troy bringing forward the name of the famous Helen of Troy, it was just going to be great. We just felt like this was going to be a place that would go past all expectations. From the unexpected pleasure gained from the places we had not even heard of this was going to blow as away. How right we were, it blew us away. In fact we thought that perhaps a violent wind had blown the whole lot away. What was left was a ‘non event.’ There were a few broken rocks which had no particular shape about them and a Trojan horse. The Trojan horse, we suspected, was about 10 years old which suggested it was probably not the original. We have all heard about the wooden horse that wooden shit, well this one must have. To our dismay the horse had shitted out splinters of wood and these were available from the tourist shop and sold as being from the original Trojan horse. I think they are still there as no one was about to buy any.
So much for Troy, let’s get out of here. So we did.
Canakkale was a short drive down the road from here and we took pleasure from a ferry ride that seen us over a small passage of water to Kilitbahir. We are in Europe.
As we drove a few kilometres north we were informed that this small section of beach was known as Anzac Cove. Just the mention of the name had my head spinning as the various stories told by my grandfather had all collided into this moment. To know about a place is very different from seeing it. We had built our own mental pictures of how things would have been but as we are told about them these preconceived visions are soon shattered, as reality falls in.
We come to terms with what we see and what we are told and then travel another short distance to ‘Lone Pine.’ It becomes more real, the whole ‘war thing’ when we get out and start reading the names on the headstones. Too many Australian and New Zealand names spread out in front of us. This was a very sobering moment as we all related to someone or someone’s family stories about the war. At times it was difficult to imagine the extent of the battle fields as this had now become a very serene part of the world. No large towns here, hardly any people and the only sounds were from the birds as they went about their business. Nonetheless here we were at yet another place that held so much reverence and connection.
With minds still coming to terms with what we had just experienced our mood lighten up the further we moved away. It was a few hours later that the serenity of Gallipoli dissolved as it gave way to the increasing traffic volume. We were getting ever so closer to Istanbul but still on the outskirts we turn into Camping Londra.
Each major city brings along a mystic still to be discovered.
The thought of exploring Istanbul made we want to just get on in there so I decided to distract myself by going with others to the campground bar.
The morning arrives and we drive towards the city but not in too great a rush. We were keen to get in there but a slow moving car park would not provide an ease of passage. What seemed to take forever, our crawl eventually brought us near a big mosque, the Blue Mosque. A local guide joined us who trod us around the mosques and then the markets.
Once we had been set free we visited a restaurant the guide had recommended and that was called “The Pudding Shop.” This was a place that not only provided food and beverages but the interchange of stories from those that were also travellers.
Silver had suggested a Turkish bath at a spot in town for those, who were up to it. What did that mean? We found out. The baths were old world made from marble and that was as soft as the benches got. The marble benches were far softer than the masseurs or more accurately described as bone crunchers. As they carried out their best work I was thinking back to the positions the yogi man had put himself through, only he choose what he was doing and was made of rubber, I wasn’t.
Dragging our sorry bodies out into the street we waited for a local bus to transfer us back to the campground. We did not have to wait on the footpath as we could stand on the road with ease; we already knew what it was like to be run over by a truck. Somewhere back in those baths an unidentified truck must have run over us to feel this way.
Back to the bar at the campground we were warning the others to avoid at all cost a Turkish massage. As the beers followed each other and an hour or so had past we began to free up and soon felt the best in ages. I don’t know if it was the comparison from the last 2 hours but it really seemed to work.
A couple of days spent in Istanbul were days well spent.
Pack the coach, we are going to Greece.
Our first camp site was Kavalla on the beach edge; we love the idea of being near the ocean again. Any beach overnight stop is most welcomed.
Often it crosses my mind how much harder it would be accepting Asia after this, had we been doing this trip in reverse.
More of Greece.
The lunch break today was in Thessaloniki, not a good introduction to the cities of Greece. We pulled up at the central train station which was particularly dirty. Finding anything worthwhile to eat for lunch was a challenge, especially after the food we had consumed in Istanbul. Greece was not looking good and when our expectations were that we are getting closer to main Europe we thought this was a downhill slide.
Lunch break over we drive to Platamon and staying at a beach side camp we take on the open space of the beach and had a BBQ. In the hunt for wood to burn for the BBQ we set off on foot to gather what we could. A few of us pick up small piece of whatever we could find. The largest person on the trip was called Tiny in contradiction to his actual size. Tiny had on his shoulder a fair stump when a local came out yelling his protest at taking wood. At this stage Tiny had his back to the tirade being delivered, as Tiny turned to see who was abusing him the tirade fell away as the local saw the size of the man carrying the sacred wood.
At times we are taken to places that we know nothing about or ever heard of. At least that is true for me. One of these places is Delphi where we take in the ‘Oracle.’ I find out what that is while I am there.
More big smoke coming our way as Athens comes into view.
Today is a red letter day as we stay in a hotel again, different from those of Asia and very different from sleeping on the coach or out in the open, the offers to share tents were few, too few.
Being located close to the city centre gave great access to street food, restaurants and sites. To get to the Parthenon meant getting back on the coach but it was worth it. If my family and friends could see me now, I was in Athens at the Parthenon. The rocks surrounding the hill top reflected the heat of the sun but it was something we could endure in order to take in where we were and what we were seeing. I am no history buff but I could sense a feeling of hundreds of years of habitation and began to wonder what that would have been like.
To have a different appreciation and to view the acropolis from another angle we went back at night to see the sound and light show.
The markets and the general city provided a leisurely time for the 2 days here.
Again from memory, we go back to Platamon on our way to Yugoslavia.
As we travel towards Yugoslavia, Silver mentions to us that there is some festival called “T Day” held in a place just outside Venice. It sounds like fun so six of us guys and we decide to leave the bus and make our own way there, ahead of the coach which was going to stay for a few days in Yugoslavia. He said had he been given the choice he would be going to “T Day” if he could. Good enough for us so over the border and into Yugoslavia we get out carrying only one change of jocks, a tooth brush, wallet and sleeping bag. We decide to break off into pairs to hitch hike to Venice. Some walked off into the distance to give each pair a better chance of getting a lift.
My partner and I eventually give up for the day on getting a lift and spend the night to the side of the road. It is about then that I think being a woman would be an advantage. I am sure that properly endowed we would be half way to Venice by now.
The next morning we are up early to start a walk to somewhere while still trying to get a lift. After a few hours we come across a small village and go in to ask how and where to catch a bus. You would have thought that out of 50 people there, that someone would be able to speak English. Back to charades and then we find someone walking us back down to a small bend in the road and indicated we stay there. Half an hour later a bus pulls up, how about that? We catch the bus to Belgrade and head to the train station. Waiting at the station were 2 more of our group. We team up and catch the train to Venice.
We had been given rough directions on where to find Camping Fusina and these would have been even more useful had it been daylight. As we pull into the train station in Venice we calculate that we have gone one stop to far so we catch a train back out to Mestri. As it is about 10 pm at night there were no buses to Fusina, so we begin our walk. Of course we had been given the rough map but it did not include distances. What a sorry lot as the four of us head to the camp ground. The rain started coming down and one of us busted a thong so progress was slow. The road gradually turned left and right and about midnight we are at the gates to the camp ground.
The camp ground was moving into shut down mode for the night so we looked for somewhere to sleep and sleep was what we needed.
At dawn it was possible to distinguish the surroundings that were covered in shadows when we had arrived.
Time to get to the shop and buy something for breakfast. As we head past a few others sleeping under some shelter we recognize the other two who made up our group. As it turned out they had opted to get a passing bus just a few hours into the hitch hiking stint. They had arrived about a half day in front of us, without the walk in the rain. The local bus made it easy.
T day begins and it is about mid morning and we have a group of rugby players on the field, drunk. They initially set about playing rugby but that got too hard and so their tackles were to disrobe the opposition. We have a tug of war happening but not before two guys start dragging each other through the mud and disrobe. The slippery pole competition was on and to get a foothold on the back of the other team members, guys dug their feet into the shorts ban as they scaled the human chain. This tended to disrobe them.
In short the day was full of skin, sin and debauchery with 90% of the people falling somewhere between being drunk to very drunk.
For those that could still walk and or talk we hang out at the bar where the women had their bra burnt if they were wearing one.
A couple of days here would be plenty but our stay was lengthened. The second day we were joined by a few of the more adventurous girls. The coach had broken down and there was to be a delay of a few days so the girls hitched hiked, very successfully, to join us.
The bus catches us up and we go into Austria via Innsbruck. The Alps and the outlook from the top of the Olympic ski jump are just divine. We can take in the vast vista as the air is so clear we can see way into the distance. The scenery just gets better and better and in each direction is a postcard quality view.
After a short visit to the city we move on to the Tyrol. At a place called Worgl we head east and by the end of the afternoon we are at Kirkberg, staying in a chalet called Club Habitat. If we had not had enough to drink in our time at Fusina we were definitely given the opportunity here. Warm soft beds are a part of the accommodation and it was a pity I was not more sober to enjoy the benefit.
For some of these places you can imagine there are so many stories but not covered here, to do so would use all the available space.
Gradually I am getting this cultural thing into me and start appreciating so much more.
I feel a song coming on as we enter into Salzberg where we are driven around a lake which has as its backdrop, a castle. At first it felt like this setting should be familiar but I could not make the connection until someone said something about ‘The Sound of Music.’
Booze is becoming a regular past-time by now and there was not going to be a reprieve when you go to Munich in time for the Beer Fest, a beer fest called October Fest, held in September. We are shown where the beer fest is held on our way into the campground and being true heroes we decline the morning tour to go straight to the fest.
The huge tents and the street opening parade created a vibrant atmosphere so we decide on a plan. The plan was that we would have a stein of beer at each beer hall. What a good idea. We get our first stein under our belt but by the second we draw on a new plan, we will share one stein between two. After stein number three yet another new plan, we would share a stein between the four of us. Sometime during the afternoon we stumbled into the Hoffbrau tent drunk as skunks. The rest of the group had finished their city tour and were now here. I remember waking up in time to get the coach back to the campground.
The second day of Munich we went to see the Olympic village which was quite an expanse. It was interesting to learn that the Perspex covering over some of the stadiums had caused it to rain under them. The condensation had gather over night and when the sun came out in the morning, rain fell. From the top of one of the towers we could see the BMW factory and it made me wish for the cash to buy a BMW. In the afternoon we had a tour to the Dachau concentration camp, which proved to be an experience of mixed emotions.
What caught my eyes travelling along one of the autobahns was a turbo charged Carrara Porsche off to the side of the road, containing two policemen, wearing helmets and ready to go at a moment’s notice.
Enough alcohol already, so it was time to sit back and enjoy the drive along the Rhine River. The castles in the middle of the river and up each side are breath taking. This was a time to relax until we get to Cologne. Just by chance we found ourselves sitting in a bar throwing back litre boots of beer. Drinking, now there is something different.
As we are nearing the end of our tour we go via Brussels on the way to Calais. It is at Calais that we then catch the ferry over to Dover.
Royal Britannia here we are.
The last day and we drive from Dover up to London. Here we are back driving on the left hand side of the road after spending the last few weeks on the right. Car designs we recognize and already England is feeling comfortable. The signs we could read and have a far better chance of pronouncing them properly.
The coach pulls up nearly opposite the Sundowners' office in Hogarth Place, Earl’s Court and it is a very bitter/sweet arrival. It had been such a fantastic time, we had seen so much, enjoyed each others' company and stories, shared so much, lived and laughed so much and this was the end of all of that.
The experience was also sweet as I had so much more to see and do.
A journey of a life time.
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