Trout Alert Travels

Horrifically long update alert

2008-11-24T13:20:00.003Z

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Finally! I have actually had time to walk about and check out a bit of Rishikesh! I have been working/worked like a dog since arriving - as mum said they really are getting "their pound of flesh" - I have literally been at work since I arrived here. It sounds like an exaggeration, but since moving down the hill to Rishikesh and my flat (which is very nice!) I have slept there and had one day off in the last 12. To make matters worse, Ananda really do own you six days a week as the staff bus makes the 45 min journey up the hill and down only four times a day, so you have to take whatever bus gets you in for your shift. This means leaving around 90 mins before you start, and getting home around an hour and 15 after you finish. Thus a 9 hr shift becomes a 12 hr one and there is no time to do anything either side.

Despite the shock of slave labour, the actual work is really good. I still can't believe I am working here and apparently as one of the staff members in the world's "number one destination spa" (Conde Nast awards 2005/6/7) etc. I am mainly doing reflexology, swedish and aromatherapy massage, and start giving reiki treatments this week. The treatments room are proper plush and I have to do a thali ritual to start every treatment which involves lighting a flame and waving a plate around 3 times holding symbols of the five elements of the universe. I also have to do a foot ritual every time beforehand, which is basically a footbath in himalayan water with stones from the Ganges. It is good to do this as it takes up treatment time and when you have several 90 minute massages to do in a day shaving off any minutes of actual movement is great, so I am tending to give lingering foot washes. The guests don't seem to mind it as having your feet washed is really nice anyway!

I have been having serious trouble adjusting. I don't know if it is because the shift in my head has finally taken place and I am actually ready to stop living out of a plastic bag like a gyppo and put some roots down, or if the whole effort factor required to get out of bed every day and slog my guts out for an indian wage is affecting me, but I have been feeling like I am not sure if I am doing the right thing for once. I know for work I need to do this as I am learning so much, plus after working here I can get a job just about anywhere, but I have never had trouble adjusting when abroad. It's a strange feeling! It is getting better but still, I wonder how long I will last. I don't think it will be til April. I will aim to get the first 3 months out the way and then see what I feel like. I could be elsewhere earning money after this so I think this will start to really on grate me after January. Financially it is going to hurt a lot if I stay for months on end here.

My uniform saga continues. I now have to wear mens trousers and mens shoes with a female spa top. Everyone keeps pointing out the mismatch as if I am totally unaware of it. If only. One thing you must not be in India is lacking in self confidence or have any kind of body issues. Not if you are my size. Colleagues walk up and stare and touch at my shoulders in wonder, and the personal trainer told me I had a "big bottom, but a good, firm bottom" the other day after we did some stretching together in the gym. And at the staff party I went to sit down on a bench and four of them got up. As if my arse is that wide?!?!

And so, the staff party. Amazing, amazing, amazing! I was absolutely not in the mood - I was on an 11am-8pm shift and so closed the spa and had to get straight on the staff bus and onto the party without going home first. I had a hipflask of rum as backup, but had been told there would be drink. It was held in a hotel down here in Rishikesh and on arrival there were most of the tibetan staff, who sat on one side looking quiet as they do not drink. Slowly the other therapists, yoga teachers and ayurvedic staff turned up - and most of the indian blokes started drinking whisky and turned into lunatics on the dancefloor, jumping around like a school disco. Food was served at midnight, by which time anyone who was drinking was completely off their faces, crazed with the surge of alcohol. I was completely amazed and in awe at the range of dancing styles displayed. It was incredible. So were the woollen pullovers and polonecks on show. The most shocking jekkyl and hyde change was one of the yoga teachers. I actually took a class with him when I was staying as a guest at Ananda, and he held an early morning outdoor class in the ampitheatre. I was totally in awe of him during that class and felt quite nervous around him, as he came across as the ultimate yoga guru. At the staff party all that changed. He got properly on it. The next day he proudly told that he had lost 1kg at the party through dancing and sweating. It is amazing to think that the yoga teachers at Ananda, supposedly one of the highbrow places to come and do yoga, also like to lose it occasionally and work their way through cheap rum and bad ravepop classics at staff parties. Bravo!

The food so far is great. I go to the staff building every shift and get a meal. Always indistinct dhal, some veg and non-veg options, but the tandoori rotis are amazing and made fresh by a man with a poker who uses it to stick the dough on the inside of the tandoori oven wall, and once it has bubbled and browned he skewers it and aims at your plate where it lands with the force of a harrier jump jet. Fantastic. We also have a massive vat of masala tea served at 10am and 4pm which is the sweetest, spiciest, yummiest tea I have ever had. It is lush. It is even better than good coffee. I have been turned.

My colleagues at the spa are also wonderful. The rest of the hotel area I find some bitchiness but mainly from girls whispering and giggling somewhere in the vicinity and as soon as I turn round and say "yes?" they fall silent and look ashen faced and scared. It's quite amusing. There are also an amazing amount of indian lookalikes of faces from elsewhere here. One of the managers here looks like an indian version of Blakey from On the Buses - but I can't tell anyone as no one will understand. I can't stop staring at him?!?! The likeness is incredible. And the bus driver is an indian version of one of the Mario Brothers. Same hat and nose.

I had a pervert guest last night, who was very persistent in asking for his 'favour'. He was an 50-something south african, who looked indian to me, holidaying with his wife and mother in law. He was booked in for a 90 minute swedish and I knew things were going to be awkward when whilst face down he started writhing around moving his pelvis side to side, because he had obviously become alive in the groin area. It is most disconcerting giving a therapeutic massage but seeing the receiver actually getting off on it. I know these things happen, but then he seemed to almost want me to know, and he asked if I had ever been to Bangkok, because they are very liberated there and really finish everything off in the spas. By that I hoped he didn't mean what I thought he meant. He then asked me if I did 'extras', and I told we didn't do that sort of thing here sir. Then he came right out with and asked if I would do hand relief like they do in Bangkok. He also asked if I hypothetically I could come to his room for a 'treatment'. Just as I was about to kick one of the legs off the massage table and skewer him with it, the dreaded moment came to turn him over to the face up half of the massage. I was absolutely dreading what I would find. As he turned over I piled on loads of heavy towels on his groin to disencourage any life there, and he asked me "so there's definitely no chance of any peekaboo?"

It was turning into the most uncomfortable 90 mins I have had for a long time, but I got through it and listened to him waffle on about how good it was to have a family as you get older because you can go to Bangkok and get serviced but when you are back in the hotel room alone it eventually gets very lonely. I take it what he means by this is he now has a wife to do it for free whenever he wants. Poor woman. Dirty old b*stard. After the treatment I told my manager and everyone else who was working the closing shift. Everyone was suitably repulsed. The guest had no idea and even found me after the treatment to give me his card. And a pawltry 100 rupee tip. Ergh.

Anyway, this sort of thing happens every so often when you massage people for a living, but I am just amazed that people come to Ananda and STILL ask for it. Surely it is obvious if there is one place they don't do hand relief it is here?????

Moving on, I am on early shift this week so have to get up at 4.30am/5am to get the 5.30am bus which gets in to work at 6.30am, to start my shift at 7am. I finish at 4pm and then wait for the bus and get home just after 5pm. That is basically how it goes, 6 days a week, on varying shift patterns.

I am happy to stick it out for 3 months like I say, but I really think after that I will be ready to explode. I have started having visions of a lost month on the beaches of Kerala living on 20p a day doing nothing apart from swimming in the sea an drinking coconut juice, and the more I think of it the more I want it. This is basically what I did in Mexico when I was due to work somewhere and had a bad feeling about it so went south to surf last minute. It was the ultimate remedy for a stressed out mind. I have found a course in Goa I want to do which takes place in Feb or March - this could be perfect timing for a change of scene for my last month or so in India. So I am soldiering on - still a great experience but struggling with the pain of non-EU working hours and generally having my backside owned 6 days a week by the boss man.

Thank god for masala tea.

Ananda: first impressions

2008-11-14T05:56:00.006Z

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The night train was as bad as I expected. It could have been worse though; I could have been in a cheap seat. I was in AC class in a 4 berth sleeper, but couldn't work out which cabin I was in. In the end I went in with 3 middle aged indian men who seemed alarmed at me being there but we got chatting and they eventually told me I could stay. It was only for 4 hrs anyway as the train left at midnight and I was due to get off at 4am. They snored in stereo so I didn't sleep at all. On getting off at Haridwar it was like a refugee camp with bodies strewn all over the floor under rags. It was worse than any station in Delhi for people sleeping rough. My lift was nowhere to be seen so I was easy pickings for the beggars/taxi drivers/nutjobs. I fended them off and eventually found my lift. Another one hour drive through Haridwar and up to Rishikesh and finally I reached Ananda. It was in the pitch black but I could tell the scenery was spectacular and we crossed the Ganges several times I think.

It was about 0530 by the time I got to Ananda so I was feeling very spaced out indeed. It is a maharaja's palace on top of a hill, and the estate spreads out for miles around so no one is allowed to build anything anywhere. It is a most serene and other-wordly place, enshrouded in mist and beautiful landscaped gardens all around.

My room in the hotel is plush, and this is one of the basic ones. I fell into bed at 6am and got up at 10am, and headed over to the spa, where I will be working for the next six months. Oh my god. It is amazing! I had a few treatments to get the feel of them and they were fantastic.

Uniform is another matter. I have to collect it every morning from the staff building laundry section and even though it is a LARGE, indian large still only fits a 4ft person. The trousers, meant to be baggy indian style, ride up my calves and look like capri pants. Although a conversation with my boss today gave me hope - I look such a horror I think he is willing to get some trousers tailored for me. Yippee.

I am about to check out of Ananda and get the staff bus down the hill to Rishikesh for the first time. I have been staying on site for the first few days to get a 'feel' for the place. I also get to see my flat tonight for the first time. It ould either be very good or very bad. I will know in 90 minutes.

Back in Delhi!

2008-11-11T10:15:00.003Z

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Having had a fantastic week with the Carnegie crew in northern India, but alas not finding any Carnegie-Rajs on our retracing of Grandfather Carnegie's 12 year stint out here in the 1920s/30s, I am now back in Delhi, feeling rather confused and disorientated. I popped back to UK last week (popped!?) to deal with stupid indian visa nonsense and managed to get my business visa sorted for my job. Also managed to end up hideously out of pocket due to ridiculous visa fees but that's another story. Also got to see some faces I have been missing terribly since being away (*swoon*) albeit spectacularly briefly...but it was enough to buoy me up for the next six months!!!

My flight from Heathrow last night was really empty. I moved into my own aisle and had 3 chairs to myself, stretching out with my legs up the wall. It was more comfortable than business class?!?! I landed at 11am and am now in a holding bay in a house in south Delhi suburbia, like human cargo, waiting for my night train up to Haridwar. It has the most amazing antique toilet, that is an absolute delight to use.

I start my job tomorrow and am well up for it. Especially because I have been informed that for the first two days I will be staying at the spa/hotel as a guest, in my own room, receiving treatments, in order to get the 'experience'. Bring it on. I am dreading the night train tonight only because I am completely over sharing train cabins with nutjob strangers and going to sleep straddling my rucksack in my bunk to combat thieving hands, but at least this will be the last night like this for a while.

Currently I am watching 'The Shaolin Road' on telly which is basically teaching me how to be a martial arts master in one hour. Without moving off the bed. Brilliant!

Tibet - Nepal overland

2008-10-22T16:12:00.002Z

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It was a lovely 10 day trip from Lhasa to the Nepali border. Our guide was so wonderful I fell in love with her and wanted her to be a member of my family. Lahkdun, she was so sweet, and really gave us a great tour. I have seen as many monasteries as I want to for a while but just travelling through Tibet with such a nice guide really was an enlightening experience. .

After Lhasa we drove out towards Gyantse, passing the Yamtrok Lake. It was really my first taste of rural Tibet not through a train window. The lake is incredibly blue (and massive), making it seem like a caribbean patch of water and for several minutes I was thinking about jumping in it. Then I got out of the jeep to take a picture and realised how frigging cold it was outside.

We headed onto to Gyantse, stopping for lunch along the way in a little town. I had yet to dress properly; as we were travelling in the jeep most of the day I had travel comfort clothing on. Thick woollen socks pulled up over my jeans to knee level, and on getting out of the car I slipped on the trusty old flip flops, wedging them over my wool-clad toes. The sight brought a woman over who began to stroke my socks, and asked my guide if I was married, because if not she had a friend who was looking for a wife. It must be something to do with chunky knitwear out here. On every other level I was looking like a proper wrong 'un. But still, it felt a better and more dignified prospect than the one in Egypt ten years back where I was offered 5 camels for my hand, whereas my friend standing next to me was offered 60. They asked me after she said no too. Bitter? Yes.

But still, it was nice to know that if it all goes wrong, I can smuggle myself back into Tibet and become a yakherder's wife (!?!) It does mean I can wear all manner of clashing knitwear and no one will bat an eyelid.

Onto Shigatse, Tibet's second biggest city. We were taken to a rather glitzy-looking hotel that looked very out of place. On entering it became apparent it was more in keeping with a communist vibe of all polish and no substance, but still I slept well enough. The lack of wifi forced me out to a smoking internet cafe where I inhaled for one hour and left with a hacking cough and eyelids like sandpaper.

From Shigatse we were due to swing by Everest Base Camp. I was not entirely looking forward to this. It has never been on my list to do before I die. Too much machismo and self-proving involved. It really doesn't mean anything to me to make it up there and I am only on this tour because it was the only way I could get through Tibet on my timescale. So it was with delight that I received my canny guide's suggestion that we don't actually go there, and just drive by it instead. The weather was really bad up there, and it would save us the 180yuan entrance fee. I began to love her even more. So it was that we did this, and headed onto Old Tingri to spend the night.

Old Tingri is a huddle of brick homes in the middle of nowhere, gathered under the impressive and imposing Everest skyline. It is dusty, remote and has extremely lairy livestock. But it has a loo with the best view – a stone shack over a hole in the ground with open views to Everest.

We stopped off in one of the old brick courtyards which had rooms round the edge to rent. No heating of course but a huge pile of megablankets were on offer. The 'restaurant' was a little shack where the family ate, cooked, watched TV and sat around chatting. I was in there like a shot and they fed me up with very sweet masala tea. They were watching a ridiculous kung fu film in chinese with tibetan subtitles. It had a gang of kung fu kids in it, an alien in a motorbike-less side car, and Jet Li in his early 20s. The children got properly beaten up by the alien, blood spurting out of their faces etc. It was wonderful. No western censure here. I got the name – Shaolin Shouts – and now it is my mission to get it with english subtitles to enjoy in my own time.

There was a rather dead-looking newborn calf lying in the corner of the courtyard on arrival, and some cows were sniffing round it, but it was gone when I went to dinner. I hope there there was no correlation.

After a fantastic night's sleep trussed up in yak's wool, we left to head for Zhangou, on the Tibetan side of the border with Nepal. Today was when the pain started. we got as far as a one-horse town called Nyalam, about an hour before Zhangmou. There was a back up of trucks and the road was closed, apparently. We waited for about 3 hours and then finally got let through, only to be told vehicles could not pass after all. We got our stuff out of the jeep, bid farewell to our driver, and carried everything across the damaged road. It was one of those windy ones that clings onto the side of a mountain like a helter skelter. Well this one had a huge crack across it, it looked like it could snap off the side of the mountain at any minute. It was rather nervewracking.

On the other side of the crack was a steady stream of people awaiting lifts. We didn't manage to get one. It was spectacular scenery, right in a crevice between two mountains – there was a tibetan sky burial site up to the right and the clouds kept closing in and reducing visibility to a few metres. It was getting very cold and dark and I began to wonder if I was to die up here, when Lhakdun waved at me and we got into a truck that took us down the potholed track, 20km, to Zhangmu. It took about 90 mins to get down there because the road was so bad. On arrival at Zhangmu it was dark, late, there were loads of people trying to get a room for the night and we ended up in a horror of a place with bedbugs crawling over everything. Luckily we found somewhere else, right next to the chinese immigration at the end of town, and bedded down there.

Next morning we headed through chinese immigration and down to the Nepali border, got through pretty painlessly, said goodbye to Lhakdun, and walked across the Friendship Bridge into the Nepal side. It immediately felt very different. Nepali immigration was fairly quick also. The visa took 5 minutes and cost 2500 rupees and is a dodgy bit of dog-eared cardboard stuck in my passport.

I bartered with an old dude on getting a lift to Kathmandu and we agreed on 1500 rupees per person. For a 5-7 hour drive that seemed fair. As we descended down the windy, mountainous track away from the border, rural Nepal opened up all around and the colours of the houses, people, food, and countryside etc really hit me. I hadn't realised how subdued some parts of Tibet felt looking back – mainly due to the chinese military presence of course. Even the Nepali pop on the radio was groovy. Which is a good thing because any more chinese pop and I was ready to jump off the nearest precipice.

And so we came to a town about an hour into the drive, and the familiar sight of trucks parked up along the road came into view. We pulled over just by a cafe so I got out and ordered some food. It was a pleasant place and lots going on in the street to keep me occupied. Apparently there was a traffic accident on a bridge ahead that was blocking the road, so we were waiting for an update.

4 hours later, nothing had happened. I walked up to take a look and a truck was indeed on its side, blocking off the bridge, but by now there was a burning tyre right next to it, people were sitting inside the truck eating their lunch and an angry crowd of people were shouting a lot. A truck of policeman sat next to it doing nothing, and most nepalis seemed to carrying on their journeys by foot.

It was becoming apparent that unless a miracle happened, I would be spending the night on the roadside. I had learnt that the driver had killed an old man washing on the roadside and that the angry mob were his family arguing with the driver for compensation. The driver was so far refusing to pay up, and until he did the villagers wouldn't let the road be cleared. The tyre was a sign from the villagers that it was all about to kick off – apparently a fairly usual sign of protest in Nepal!

Then, a miracle happened. A young nepali dude walking past took pity on me and invited me onto his bus, which was the other side of the crash, and heading back to Kathmandu. I was delirious. His bus was meant to be taking tourists rafting but they could not get past the crash so were heading back to the city. I climbed on, sandwiched betwen some wetsuits and paddles, and off we went, with people hanging off the roof, and even sitting in the dinghy on the roofrack. I was saved, by strapping young nepali watersports enthusiasts. Bravo.

They pulled over after an hour at a little roadside shack and ordered some food, then informed me they were staying there for the night. I didn't care, I ordered in the beer and settled for kipping there for the night. Then another rafting bus came past and offered a lift to KTM so luckily the beer hadn't taken over and my sense prevailed, and I hopped on, and made it to KTM around 10pm. The bright lights of the city were a real shock after the last week in mountains with minimal electricity. I found a room at Hotel Karma, and fell into a very deep sleep indeed.

Kathmandu is a real assault on the senses but pretty safe as far being a tourist is concerned. Thamel is the tourist strip, loads of bars, hotels and cafes, western hippies and trekkers everywhere and the amount of fake North Face clobber on sale is quite inspiring. Everyone speaks english, nepalis are seriously good-looking lot and really friendly, everything is cheap, and the Himalayan Blues Fest is currently on. I have definitely landed on my feet. There is an amazing selection of second hand bookstores and I have found one with an amazingly eclectic section of holistic health books from the 70s. Some of the titles are freaking me out – including the classic “Self Urine Therapy” and other horrors.

The food here is lush and I have just checked into the Tibet Guest House which has satellite TV and dirt cheap room service. I am lapping it up. I was meant to get on a 10hr bus to the border at 7am this morning, stay the night in a godforsaken border town called Bhairawa, then cross the border by foot in the morning, take a 3 hr bus to Gorkhpur then try and get on a train to Delhi (16hrs). I did look at flights but none were available. Then yesterday something in me told me to get online and have one more look – I found a Jetlite flight to Delhi on Tues for US$200 so I booked it and am now relaxing in KTM til then.

I made it to KTM from Bristol without flying – except for a little internal flight in China due to all the trains being booked up – so I am more than happy to hang up my hat and stop flogging myself for principle's sake, and am now looking forward to a 90 minute flight and an airport pick up at the other end. All the while I can give myself shivers at the thought of the alternative route I very nearly took from Kathmandu.

And I meet the Carnegies tomorrow night as they arrive from Heathrow – a spectacle I cannot wait to encounter.

Lhasa

2008-10-12T01:08:00.003Z

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Hmmmm...where do I start? This place is something else! The train was comfortable, and oxygen masks were supplied. I didn't get round to using mine. I was kind of relieved at that for they were of the type that have two small tubes that go up your nose. At one point I looked around my cabin at my fellow travellers and it looked like some weird adult version of Great Ormond Street hospital, with oversized children sitting around on cabin beds looking pale and weak. The highest we got was about 4972m I think, although it could have hit 5000m at one point. I spent most of my time playing Solitaire on my laptop (having only just bothered to look at the games applications on it!) and being abused/ignored in the restaurant car by the superbitch waitress/matriarch dictator of the catering area.

Lhasa is now one ugly city, similar to Ulan Bator in terms of (lack of) modern town planning. The han have ploughed roads as wide as motorways through and around it, thus carving up the place like spaghetti junction. But still the Potala Palace looms overhead, ramshackle and massive, surveying the city like a watchful buddha. Inside it is a rabbit warren but quite honestly one of the most amazing sights I have ever seen.

The tibetans are as a rule, so friendly it makes you think they must be a longlost relative. The poverty here is obvious; people look hungry, haunted and cold, but the spirit is very high. I have discovered the Summit Fine Art Cafe, which is really out of place amongst the rest of the tibetan quarter, which could be unchanged from 500 years ago. It's like a one-off tibetan take on Starbucks. It has wifi which is really handy and the people who work there are so nice to me I think I might move in.

On the traveller/tourist front, Lhasa seems pretty quiet. My two travelling companions and I had the Potala Palace to ourselves yesterday morning, except for few tibetans doing their thing with candles and prayers. And I am noticing that tour groups that I do see are mainly of 'mature' americans or scandos wearing beige and/or head to toe logo-d hiking garments. I have only seen about 5 people of my age group who are not Tibetan so far.

Altitude sickness finally caught up with me yesterday and I conceded to a temporary period of madness, looking back. My travelling companions have been dosing up since we left Chengdu with pills, oxygen canisters, and god knows what else. A pill is being popped every other minute as far as I can see. Apart from horrific heart palpitations when I attempted to walk at my normal pace to a shop on the first day, I have been relatively untouched by it. But yesterday evening I got a pounding headache, and looking back I was babbling nonsense for much of the afternoon. Maybe that was why they took me under their wing at the Summit Cafe... Also I was out in the sun most of the afternoon and my skin was chafed and sore last night even though I put on loads of suncream. I keep forgetting we are so high up here! So that explains it. Heatstroke and altitude sickness. Marvellous.

I have yet to find deodorant. I cannot believe that it is the singular thing I need so spectacularly, yet no shop seems to sell it?!?! I can't get used to the disgusting smell of B.O, I find it disturbing and repulsive on other people, but now I am the culprit I have reached a new level of self-loathing. I even went into a big shiny supermarket yesterday. As usual, there was no obvious section for deodorant, so I did the universal sign language for it (lifted arms up and motioned a spraying action) and they shook their heads rapidly, saying "No no no", like I was asking for some kind of rare tea made out of essence of yak's bladder. That was that.

The food has been lush so far: lots of soups, lush dumplings called momos, sweet tea, and more dumplings. There is a comedic amount of yak meat on offer but so far I am finding veggie options everywhere so no need to resort to it just yet. Have just ruined an excellent breakfast though by sprinkling what I presumed to be shredded coconut on my pineapple and yoghurt. One mouthful confirmed that it was actually pungent pungent shredded cheese.

*heave*

Goodbye to China

2008-10-08T04:00:00.003Z

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I'm off today, finally getting the train to Lhasa tonight, onto the Promised Land and beyond to Nepal and then Delhi. China has suprised me endlessly. I knew it would be fascinating but I didn't expect to like it so much. It is so accessible for travelling, public transport and domestic travel is really good value, you can survive on street food for next to nothing if you need to and it will be tastiest thing you could have, and the chinese people are really quite welcoming. English isn't spoken outside the major cities but then why should it be? I have been holed up in Chengdu for the last week and it's given me time to reflect on my time here. I would definitely come back - there is so much more of China I want to see.

The birthday excursion to the giant buddha and onto Emai Shan, the massive mountain, worked out lovely in the end. I hooked up with a dude from Plymouth on Sunday (5 October) and we met in the cafe at 7am for a bracing breakfast to prepare ourselves for a hectic 36 hours ahead. He casually said, "Do you know what day it is today?". On this trip, this has always been a valid question to ask, because anyone travelling for longer than a few weeks genuinely has no idea what day it is, an is always really keen to know the definitive answer once the suject is brought up. I simply answered "Sunday?", and he replied "My birthday". I nearly fell off me stool. "Bugger me, it's my birthday tomorrow!!" I screamed. We gawped at each other in amazement. And so there we had it - a perfect yet completely unplanned birthday crew on a mission. Excellent!

The giant buddha at Leshan was... too good. He has the most amazing eyes, lazily peeking open with lovely big soft dark eyes sleepily looking out from his low slung eyelids. He looks like he is pleasantly stoned, or from Bristol, or both. Carved out of the cliff face, and 71 metres tall, he sits at the point where 3 rivers meet. The mad monk who started the project decided to create him to help fisherman pass safely at this dangerous clashing of undertows and currents. It is a lovely idea but having been there, I can't see how this buddha can do anything but increase water traffic accidents. How the hell you are supposed to sail past without looking at him I don't know, and if you do look at him you become mesmerised, leading to certain capsizing and drowning (surely?)

When I got to his feet I fought off the chinese tourists to get a shot reclining up against the front edge of his big toe. The top surface of his big toenail was about 1 metre above my head. That's a big pair of feet right there (as my good friend Texan Bob would say).The rumour that his fingernails are the size of a man is untrue, unless you are talking chinese midgets (there were none about so I couldn't be exact on this). But the fingernails are definitely equal at least to my waist height.

Then we got the bus to Emai Shan, but missed the last bus up the mountain so stayed at the bottom for the night. It was a relatively uninteresting village so we felt slightly crestfallen, my travel partner so because it was his birthday, and me because I had really wanted to wake up on my birthday up the mountain. We found a bar and sunk some beers but admitted defeat early. We got an early night and took the 6am bus up to near the top. It took 2 hours, and we got a cable car up to the top. Nothing could have prepared us for what was up there. The summit reaches out above the cloud cover and there is a HUGE golden temple thing up there. It is a pilgrimage site so loads of chinese tourists and buddhist monks up there having epiphanies and quite honestly I can understand why. The cloud rolls out below you like a carpet out to the horizon and the golden, blinding sun above makes the whole place seem otherwordly.

What wasn't otherworldly was the monkeys that are trained to pick your pockets that we encountered on the way down. We walked some of the way as had the whole rest of the day to get to the bottom, and had heard about them. One bloke at our hostel came back from this trip last week with his bag ripped where a monkey tried to lift his camera and drag his bag off of his back. I didn't see any on the way up so was presuming they were having a day off, but on our descent there they were.

The adult ones are pretty big - I didn't want a scrap with one, put it that way. They are tibetan macaques, and seriously lairy. If you loiter near one for too long it assumes you are fairgame and will just launch itself at you, taking anything in your hand, or your bag off your back, or just goes for your pockets. It is most unnerving. An old chinese litter picker with a massive stick provided one of the most bizarrest moments of the day when he fought off the monkeys in a mister miyagi stylee and then turned to us and shouted "Mon-keh!" in uncanny Johnny Vegas style, before cackling to reveal minimal teeth and nearly falling over because of himself. Someone must have taught him this saying. It freaked me out for the rest of the day.

So now I'm packing up and pissing off. I am going to miss China. I still haven't managed to change any of my redundant currency on this trip, and the further I go, the more useless wedges of bank notes I find stuffed in any crevice my bulging rucksack offers. I tried a bank in Chengdu the other day to change it up and they merely laughed at me in mandarin, loudly. I still have 16,000 mongolian tugriks (I got excited when I counted them out but it is actually only £9.98) and a shitload of rubles. I am on chinese yuan through Tibet and then I will get some Nepali money, whatever that is, and then will end up with rupees coming out of my ears when I hit Delhi.

I'll just stick it all in a pot for one of those very dark depressing mornings in the UK when I realise I am so skint I can't afford toilet roll, or washing up liquid. Then I can remember my useless pot of foreign currencies and spend all morning finding a bank who won't laugh at me and will actually change it up.

I arrive in Lhasa on 10 October and will still be on China time (UK +7 hours) until I hit Nepal. My route takes in Everest Base Camp which I am not really prepared for, but ain't that the story of my life. I do have some superb purple legwarmers and my woollen poncho from Mexico so although I will look like a total gyppo I should make it through the night without contracting frostbite. Will also stock up on local booze to help the cause too...

I have run out of deodorant today and am uncomfortably smelling vile very early on in the day. I must go and get some before I get on this train otherwise it could be highly unpleasant for all involved...

Tibet or bust...

2008-10-03T05:19:00.005Z

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I have found a way to Tibet!!! Although I had already been told it was a no go on my timescale by several agents, yesterday everything changed, mainly my luck! I had resigned myself to not doing it and was researching ways to get round Tibet from China. It was looking like getting myself across to the south east of China by hideous train route to Hong Kong and flying into Kathmandu from there. I realised that Nepal is still a wonderful place to be my backup choice and that I should stop being a spoilt brat and stop sulking. And then I could pick up my original route from there over to the Indian border. But deep down I was really gutted. If anything this trip was about going through Tibet, as the longer time goes on the more the place is being irrevocably changed by the Chinese occupation.

So there I was, surfing the net looking for cheap flights to Kathmandu, when someone came into the hostel looking to do a Tibet trip as soon as possible, arriving in Nepal by the 17 October. The timing was perfect. But I didn't let myself think it was going to happen as so many things could still get in the way. I went downstairs to meet them, a jewish couple from NYC, and as we got talking it was apparent we had the same itineraries in mind. We both wanted to get the train into Lhasa, not fly, and both of us planned to head to the Nepali border, and bizarrely onto Delhi. It was fate intervening, I like to think! The other good news is that we can leave on 8 October, unlike the 12th, which is what I was originally given as the earliest that my Tibet Travel Permit could be issued.

So it does mean hanging around til 8 October, which was slightly annoying, but the trade-off of getting to Tibet means I am more than happy to do it. I am nervous about my budget now so will try and lie low, do lots of reading, hang out in tea houses and avoid beer for the next 5 days. There are definitely worse places than Chengdu to kill a few days. I am going to rent a bike, check out some temples, and try and get in with the old people doing tai chi and playing mah jong in the park. They ooze coolness.

My 30th birthday (6 October) is also on hold til I get to Lhasa. I will arrive there on the 10th I think so it's going to be shifted back 4 days. It's good as I haven't really celebrated my birthday massively for most of my 20s as I didn't really feel like it. This is a nice way to get the ball rolling for the next decade and get back into it!! And no I don't feel old. It's only 30. Come back and ask me that when I'm 90. Everyone asking me if I feel old needs to get a grip. To an 80 year old I am barely out of the womb. Let go of your age-ist hangups and you will be free, like me! (Also get some good moisturiser to help the cause)...

But 5 days doing nothing is a long time, so I am going to make the trip to Emei Shan and stay here at the Teddy Bear Hotel on sunday night in order to wake up above the clouds on my actual birthday, give thanks to the mountains, and also to mum for squeezing me out all those years ago, despite the linen strike at Derby hospital (I was born into a paper bag, after being pulled out by pincers - hence the paperclip marks on my cheeks that involved me being asked on a daily basis at school if I have been sleeping on a paperclip). And also visit the giant buddha at Leshan, whose fingernails are the size of a man. That is probably the best birthday setting I will have had yet. And then official celebrations when I get to Lhasa!!!

Chengdu, Sichuan

2008-10-02T06:09:00.003Z

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Chengdu is great!!! It's got a really nice feel to it. Very laidback. Maybe it is the Bristolian city of China?? It is in Western China if that is any help. My Hainan Airways flight from Beijing was excellent. Considering it was only a 2.5 hr internal flight, I got a lovely hot meal, a free newspaper and beautiful stewardesses coo-ing over me the entire time. It certainly beats Sleazyjet and Ryanair back home.

As soon as I beat off the taxi touts and got a decent deal at the airport, I felt a warm feeling at being in Chengdu. It was early evening and darkness had fallen. Although it was hard to tell because Chendgu has the most magnificent taste in over the top, rave-tastic neon lighting. It is everywhere. All the buildings are lit up, some things that move are, but it is in an aesthetically pleasing way. Lot of complimenting soft pinks and cool blues emanate from intrcate tubes that curve softly and create an ambient feel, as opposed to tacky and head-ache inducing. I was lulled into a dreamlike state within 5 minutes. Then I arrived at Sim's Cozy Garden Hostel and the ecstasy kept on coming. This is a great hostel. More of a full on travel centre. It is huge, has an excellent bar/cafe with amazing terrace overlooking a chinese neighbourhood, and the beds in dorms are custom made bunks that are at least one and a half width of a single bed, and brilliantly come equipped with curtains round each one. Thus you can climb inside your oversized bed, pull the curtains (mine are green silk) and you have your own den/lair. In a hostel environment this is golddust. It means I can have my bedside light on without anyone telling me to turn it off, get changed without having to take everything into the bathroom with me, and experience the feeling of privacy that I forgot existed since leaving Bristol due to living in train carriages and open plan dormitories. All this for £2.48 a night.

Last night I went to the chinese opera. Oh.My.God. Wasn't too sure what to expect and to be honest, I wasn't really in the mood for it, but off I went, and it might be one of the best evening outings of this trip!!! It was like a showcase of chinese and Sichuan opera and entertainment. 5-10 minute acts came on and did their stuff, all the while my tea cup was being refreshed by a cute lady in traditional chinese dress standing 4 rows away from me with her watering can with a really long and thin 4 foot spout on it.

The hand shadow show was my favourite. He did INCREDIBLE things with his hands!!! And also a great little dude in an amazing midnight blue and gold jacket came out and played a strange string instrument that looked a tin of paint with a long stick and string coming off it. There was a dubious act towards the end that involved something like the village idiot/jester playing the fool. It was quite pantomime-esque - he kept putting a small bowl with a flame coming out of on his head and limbo dancing under a bench, whilst being screamed at by a geisha-type with foot inch thick make up.

This morning I hit the panda breeding centre. It did not disappoint!!! AGGHHH! They are too cute!!!

Beijing

2008-09-29T17:35:00.004Z

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I've just had my last night in Beijing, with my train buddies Sue, Roddie, Disa, Nami and Travis. We all got on and off at different times from Moscow but some of us ended up in Mongolia at the same time and everyone met up at the end of the line in Beijing. We have become a four headed monster, doing everything together and becoming like a strange family here in Beijing, with family outings, dysfunctionality and a hierarchy of parental roleplay (Sue = toilet paper provider, Roddie = protector of women and polygamist when we had unwanted male attention at all) and so on.

We have turned into Japanese tourists: at first for a laugh, but now we are all slipping into cheesy poses and making V signs every time a camera is pointed at us, without even thinking. The chinese people seem to be gobsmacked at any one of us and keep taking photos. I feel like a prize exhibit. I still haven't worked out whether that is a good or bad thing.

I feel totally at ease in Beijing which I really didn't expect. Just zipping about on the metro or buses is great and so cheap (1-2 yuan!). I have developed an unhealthy obsession with the Silk Market, and went back today to buy 2 more watches, and pairs of Diesel and Miss Sixty jeans for 200 yuan, plus some bootleg raybans. Thank god I am leaving tomorrow...

Due to the public holiday here all hell has broken loose and suddenly where there were 2 people per square foot in Beijing there are now at least nine, plus several food stalls. Because the entire country moves around during this week, public transport is severely booked up. My original plan has been scuppered and I was told that the first train I could get get out of Beijing was on 4 October. Way too late as I wanted to leave by tomorrow at latest. So I have booked a flight to Chengdu in western China leaving tomorrow, and will loiter there for a few days whilst deciding on my plan to crack Tibet.

At the moment it is looking very difficult because it takes 7-10 days to get the Tibet travel permit, and they won't start processing it until after the holiday is over, and I need to find other people wanting to do the exact route I want at the same time, and I think they need to be fellow national passport holders. All this means just about everything is against me but I just need to get to Chengdu, see what the gossip is there about entering Tibet and see if I can find any groups to attach myself to.

Trans sib - Moscow to Ulan Bator

2008-09-27T03:39:00.002Z

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Mongolia to Beijing

2008-09-26T11:30:00.001Z

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Mongolia to Beijing

This leg was like a trip from heaven. Having endured the 5 day stint Moscow – Ulan Bator, with its russian restaurant car staffed by someone with huge boils on his face and a chef whose clothes were so dirty he may as well as have been an abbatoir worker, this Mongolian train was something else. It must have been brand new stock. I had my own TV at the end of my bunk, the entire train was spotless (including the windows, which you could even see out of) and the toilets were cleaner and more deluxe than any I have seen since leaving Bristol. The restaurant car was like a 5 star dining area, with a menu to match – I felt underdressed in my shabby outfit of unwashed garments with array of food smears down the front. It was like a luxury aeroplane on wheels.

The views out of the the windows were breathtaking, and sunset across the mongolian steppes viewed through the restaurant windows in the jampacked car actually produced an awestruck, collective, appreciative 'oooooh'. Everyone was rammed in there trying to spend the last of their mongolian tugriks before hitting the chinese border. I had 4 beers without even realising it, having hooked up with a couple of swedes – one a young death metaller called Jonas who despite his menacing appearance was sweet and lightness itself. Another mature swede joined us – she was a tour guide but was a chain smoking party animal who produced a pot of 'snooz' – small teabags of tobacco you insert inside your upper lip. When Jonas realised she had them he begged her for one as he had been without it for two weeks. Intrigued (and drunk, obviously) I asked for one and shoved it up my philtrum, waiting for something to happen. It was actually quite pleasant, flavoured with liquorice. It was obviously my first 'snooz' though because whilst the other two continued to look normal, my upper lip bulged out on one side and my teeth were involuntarily displayed, creating a lop-sided sneer. I only realised this when I went to the toilet after another beer.

During the Mongolia-China border crossing we were shepherded back to our cabins. Because my agency in Ulan Bator had managed to lose my ticket and got a replacement at last minute it meant I was in the Mongolian carriage. All the others were packed to the rafters with international backpackers. It turns out that my mongolian room-mates were very welcoming and when I returned from the restaurant car they were really worred as I had been gone for several hours and they knew I was travelling alone. I was feeling quite inebriated and they offered me their food – homecooked delicious stuff – and gave me juice. I only remembered the snooz too late when it became mixed up with the dumpling I was eating and I chewed on it for about 30 seconds before spitting it out. I don't think I could have been more disrespectful to my mongolian friends. Then they asked why I was travelling, and I told them, and then I asked them, and two of them were brother and sister on their way to Beijing for medical treatment for some kind of terminal illness. I felt like such an arse. It sobered me up quite quickly.

When I thought I could not be more of a waste of space, ever, they then started to grill me about english football. I don't think it could have got any worse. I felt like such a failure. There can't be anyone less informed about football than me, but I struggled on, making uninformed and madeup statements statements about Chelsea and Gary Lineker, and the mongolians corrected me continuously, but ever graciously. I eventually crawled up to my bunk with a newfound level of self hatred and disappointment and fell unconscious with a bag of biscuits open in my sleeping bag, so that on waking this morning I had them stuck at various locations across to my body and face. I think this must be karma of some sort.

They changed the wheels on the train last night – I thought they did that in Russia too but I was mistaken. Last night we got shunted into a big shed and they lifted the train carriages up on hydraulic lifts and slid out the wheels then replaced them with different width ones in order to fit chinese rail tracks.

This morning we woke in China proper – and I am beside myself with excitement. It is everything I imagined – I really cannot recommend the train journey and experience from Ulan Bator to Beijing enough. We have passed through tunnels cut straight through the rocky hillsides, suddenly revealing lakes nestling deep within the mountains, and now we are less than an hour from Beijing. ARGH!!!!

I have located some people on this train who are staying in the same hostel as me so we will club together on the platform and venture forward as a group to get ripped off by a hookie taxi driver outside the station. I can't wait!!!!!

Terelj National Park - Ger Camp

2008-09-24T06:41:00.005Z

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After the ugliness of UB, all my prayers were answered, and the trip to the ger camp provided the perfect tonic. I shared a ger with 4 others (german, dutch and kiwis). We were in a small camp so only four gers in total, and it was so peaceful. I went horseriding and had must be my most awkward experience on a horse. Ever. The stirrups were way too short (ludicrously so), the horse was way too small, so my knees seized up and I flailed about completely out of control like a total beginner. Not a good look for someone who once represented Ivel Valley Pony Club in cross-country and showjumping teams...!!! Ahem... But the pain was worth it just to see more of the national park the our immediate surroundings - herds of cows and horses roamed freely, we bumped into loads of lairy sheep and goats, and stopped at a stream so the horses could drink up.

Dinner back at the camp was a delicious huge serving of some kind of hot pot of rice and unidentified meat. Only small bits of meat were involved so it was easy to digest, whatever its origin.

The gers got roasting hot at night due to the wood burning stoves inside. I sat stargazing outside my ger after dinner with one of the dogs to cool down.

Every so often a herd of horses galloped wandered pat, and one morning as I lay in bed looking out of the open door a camel ambled past in the distance.

I finished reading Shantaram too, six days after receiving it, which shows how much downtime I've had on the train and at the ger camp (it has 933 pages). It is perfect timing too as the owner, who gave it to me on day 2 from Moscow, is arriving in UB from Irkutsk today so I can give it back to him. I am definitely not lugging it around as it weighs a frigging tonne...

I'e definitely got fatter in the last week. On the train, you lose the need for limbs as each day goes past, settling into an alternative reality where you sit up to eat or look out of the window, then lie back down to sleep, read, drink vodka, play cards or talk nonsense with fellow travellers. Everyone I met on the train became like thi, and by day 4 you forget that you are actually on a journey with a beginning and an end. You become brainwashed into the idea that the train ride is never ending, and will just continue going round the world forever, stopping only for 10 or 23 minutes several times a day so you can buy unidentifiable dumplings and potato doughnuts from stern russian ladies with metal teeth, on the platform.

When Roddy, the first of our motley crew to break the spell and get off at Irkutsk late on day 4, we all exchanged a look of fearful unknowing and terror. Even he seemed to be in shock at the idea of actually getting off the train, our steel cage of self-imposed security, that had become our universe. Facing the outside world seemed more scary than meeting the devil himself.

But saying that, 24 hrs on and cabin fever had set in for me so Ulan Bator couldn't come soon enough. I left my companions continuing onto Beijing on the train, unable to hide my relief at standing on still ground, and watched the glossy-eyed stare of the soon-to-be-mad eyeball me with more than a hint of darkness. They still had 30 hours to go before getting off. Ouch.

I've got that to look forward to tomorrow morning when I catch the No24 to Beijing. But with my Mongolian break I am looking forward to it. And also the prospect of arriving in China on a train, being dropped off in central Beijing, is just incomprehensible at this point.

Mongolia

2008-09-24T06:21:00.004Z

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Mongolia is the business. I awoke 4 days ago, still on the train from Moscow (5 days straight) to the rural steppes and plains of Mongolia. It was jut before sunrise and the rocky horizon glowed pink. The grassy yellow plains swept past in a blur, dotted with the odd lone or cluster of gers (yurts). It was a different world to the grimness of Russia. With it land-raping policies of open coal mines, chemical plants dominating vast rural areas, huge industrial chimneys belching out black smoke across the landscape, and desolate, gargantuan disused factories ruining any chances of a pleasant view from the train. Couple that with the shifty-eyed locals with the look of the experimented-on, full of disdain and rudeness towards any living thing not Russian, and Mongolia was a treat and a half.

The Russia-Mongolia border crossing took 7.5 hours. It was nice to get off the train for the first couple of hours and stroll about, visit the local shop, queue up for 20 minutes to buy some biscuits and marvel at the selection of tinned horsemeat on sale. But then it dragged on. So waking this morning was waking into a different realm.

Ulan Bator is a hideous dint on the landscape, thanks to Soviet town planning intervention, but relatively low-rise with gers intertwined with the city outskirts. My hostel is very well-run although the place itself is quite cramped. Free breakfast of white bread and Mongolian bootleg Nutella tasted like amber nectar after 5 days on the train with Russian bread and supernoodles.

Moscow breakfast No 1

2008-09-15T09:29:00.002Z

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This morning, found a lovely little cafe to have breakfast in. I was accompanied by two from the hostel, a german called Tobias and a Canadian called Pete. Tobias speak russian and works it at every opportunity. He also knows ludicrous and highly debatable stories about everything. An excellent companion (in short doses).

We went inside once Tobias had agreed that the coffee, whilst not cheap, was not expensive (which took several minutes). Inside we found a cavernous little grotto and slunk down at a corner table. The place was on the bohemian side for Muscovite culture; dreadlocked people with yellow wellies populated one table. The menu was excellent and I ordered a cherry, espresso and yoghurt smoothie, and hazelnut latte. Pete ordered a spinach pie which came out like a half pie/half pancake, with pine nuts and delicious pastry. I took a picture of the menu because it was all in russian and looked really nice scribbled on the large blackboard. Then heaven ended and the previously friendly man making my smoothie demanded to have my camera and made me delete the photo I took of the menu. It was a fantastic smoothie selection admittedly, but I felt his need to protect it was slightly overzealous. He was shouting and everything. Talk about not blending in with the surroundings. I stiffened myself and picked up my bag, readying myself for the imminent iron grip round the back of my neck and the obligatory kicking out onto the street. He gesticulated a lot and made me feel very scared, then Tobias asked if we were about to get kicked out (which I thought was obvious at this point), and the man said no, and told us to sit down in no uncertain terms. I've never had a breakfast like it. The smoothie was excellent, thank god. I would have hated to have some kind of complaint (and probably would not have left able-bodied).

Afterwards we headed to Red Square, which was within sight behind a small church. Despite this Tobias asked every russian that walked past for directions. Hilariously everyone was non-russian and answered in english. You could almost see the steam coming out of Tobias's ears. Eventually he found a russian lady on the steps of the metro and talked to her for 10 minutes about her family. By the time we got to Red Square I was exhausted. And we had only moved 100 metres.

Moskva!

2008-09-15T06:41:00.007Z

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Another amazing night's sleep! What's going on???? My dorm bed in Napoleon Hostel was amazing. I lied in til 10.30am. I'm in a mixed dorm, and this morning realised it was basically a male dorm with me in it. Everyone else went out on the piss last night but I didn't hear them come in. This morning I heard a german and russian arguing over whether the window would open. An american stepped into the room and said 'it smells like dead bodies in here'. I realised I was unaware of this change since I had been in the room since last night. I went out to have a shower and there was a queue, so I just washed my face, went back to the dorm, wrestled with the eastern bloc window frame and yanked it open. Everyone is in there now standing around discussing that it actually DID open.

Out on reception is a strange militant russian of oriental origin. I couldn't work out if he was guest last night. He was at in front of the TV watching some kind of game show on his own, shouting the answers out aggressively. but he is sitting behind reception this morning playing cossack music really loudly. I suppose there is a chance he still doesn't work here and is just a regular. I'm just avoiding him in general. I got in his line of communication earlier as I came back from the sink where I thought he was saying to me "Are you using this?", motioning to the iron. I said a simple 'no', and he turned to look at me with disgust and shouted "No, nyot you!".

Whatever.

Anyway I'm off out with a couple of people to a cafe nearby for some brekkie. It is rather cold here - I thought at this time of year it would be warmer. But winter clothing is needed. I am still braving it in my flip flops but it takes a lot for me to put actual proper shoes on. I checked out Red Square yesterday and it was great walking around it. The traffic here is hideous but strangely silent. I think everyone had their engines turned off. Cars sit in seven or eight rows across the huge streets, nothing moving and everyone pointing in different directions, but it is really quiet. The metro is definitely the way to go in Moscow...

The train journey from Amsterdam to Moscow was great. It was a little crampe in my cabin due to the unfortunate luck of all three of us inhabitants having huge bits of luggage. But the time zoomed past and it was great moving through Germany, Poland, not so great going through Belarus but that is a personal thing of mine, then on through Russia and arriving at Moscow Bellorussky station at 11am yesterday. I am now 2 hours ahead of the UK. From now on I am entering time zone hell, as it changes every hour on the trans siberian.

One thing I will not be doing again is forgetting to take water and money on the train. I stocked up on fruit and tea bags in Amsterdam and jumped on the train thinking I was sorted on Friday night. I went to get some cold water and they only sold it in small bottles for E2.90. That cleared out all the money I had - not a good look for a 37 hour train journey. So for the rest of the trip I survived on hot water from the frau attendant's hot water heater. I sneaked in a couple of times ewhen she wasn't there and ran the cold tap and actually got some cold water. It was heaven. But she was one stout and firm russian woman who was taking no nonsense, so I daren't try it again. She had already reprimanded me for using the teaspoon she gave me to stir my tea to eat my pasta with. She walked past as I was eating it and whiped the teaspoon out of my hand, cursing me in cyrillic.

More finished earthship pics

2008-09-12T07:30:00.004Z

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These are ones from around the world

Earthship Days 3&4

2008-09-12T07:18:00.008Z

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This week has been great. I've learned some hands-on skills like tyre pounding, making glass bricks out of old wine bottles and also laid a wall with wine bottles and cement. The project is really coming along and I think early next week the trusses will go on and then it will really be taking shape.

The effects of using wine bottles cut in half and stuck together to make a cylindrical brick is shown above. Here are more pics of this earthship in progress:

Zwolle Earthship Day 1

2008-09-08T19:11:00.003Z

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I finished day 1 of the earthship building project today. The site is in the early stages so it involved lots of pounding of tyres. The external walls are made from rows of old tyres filled with earth which pounded to reinforce them, before eventually being covered with clay. I got busy with a sledgehammer this afternoon and it took me ages just to do three of the buggers. Everything was going great until one of the american earthship crew chastised me for killing a wasp. It had just taken a swing at me and then landed on the tyre that I was working on, so I sledgehammered it into the mound of earth. The dude looked at me in disgust and asked “Why the hell did you just hurt that little bee?”. I said “it was a wasp and it went for me” and he said “no it didn't, it would never go for you” and made me feel highly uncomfortable and I just wished for another wasp to land in front of us so I could pound that one too, in order to prove a point. Then he checked my tyre position with the plumbline and spirit level and a small spider crawled out. He said “are you going to kill that spider too?”. Unbelievable.

I am looking forward to tomorrow though because we have a talk on the systems, ie water filtration, solar panels and wind power. I sound like a nerd but I really am excited about it.

I am now in my chalet on the campsite watching a classic episode of Knightrider where Kit goes showjumping, following a horse round the entire course, clearing every jump.The countryside round here is lovely. Loads of pigs, goats and miniature shetland ponies in people's gardens. Cycling is a total joy here because cycle tracks are equally main thoroughfares as the car lanes. So many people are on bikes here it is amazing. I even got caught in bike gridlock at a cycle path junction outside a supermarket called Boni in town earlier. Bonkers.

One of the women on the course used to be a coffin designer. She started exploring encouraging people to face their mortality and paint their own coffins ahead of time with scenes from their life. It got quite dark and so she went off to train as an art therapist in order to deal with the nutjobs painting teddy bears with needles for teeth on their investment etc. She never returned to expressive coffin design which I am very sad about. It must be one the best job title I've come across yet.

Nightbus to Amsterdam

2008-09-06T06:22:00.004Z

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With no thanks to the Belarus Embassy in London, which is staffed by Alan Partridge's wife, (who forgot to process my visa, and when I went to pick it up on Thursday my unopened application, lay under a collection of dirty coffee mugs, despite my paying £113 for fasttrack service, and she told me to do it in Amsterdam which I later found out didn't have a Belarus Embassy), I have made it to Amsterdam. Because of the Belarus Embassy, or maybe just Alan Partridge's wife, I missed my pleasant morning bus from London and had to get the dirty stopout night trawler which left Victoria at 8pm last night. It wasn't as packed as I feared, and was peopled with a strange mix of african christian missionary types reading books entitled "The Divine Light" and "The Lord Giveth Life" etc, and a few aussie stoners up the back by the toilet, which was fine by me. I have fears of getting stuck on one of those seats next to the bogs on long journeys, after a particularly distressing London-Bristol trip a few years ago where it go blocked within the first 20 mins and everything slopped all over the bus floor for the rest of the journey... We went via Dover, where I don't think I have been since a child and was amazed at how huge the ferry port is. Mind you the last ferry I go was the one from Oban to Mull which is miniscule...

For some reason the bus arrived at Amstel station in Amsterdam 2 hours early, so at 6am I stumbled into the dark morning, blinking and wondering what the frig to do next. My original bus would have got me in at a sedate 7pm last night, where I could have gone and checked straight in at my hotel and got amongst it straight away. Instead this morning I loitered at the bus station til 8am and then got a cab to the Hotel de Filosoof, where I am now residing in the lovely lobby. The whole place is far too nice for me, especially as I've been in the same clothes now since Thursday, but can't check in til 2pm so will continue to stink until then.

Anyway, the initial pain is over, I am here now, London is thankfully far away, and my trip has finally started. I am off to find a suitably stimulating breakfast and start my musing of life up until now and where the hell to go from this point.

Olde Englande for ye summer...

2008-09-01T08:34:00.009Z

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Well I have been back in Blighty for just over two months and it has been surprisingly brilliant. So many wonderful things have happened. My sister's book came out two weeks ago - a masterpiece of raunch and filth set in the make-believe village of Churchminster in the Cotswolds - plus I finally got to own a sweet little Mk II VW Golf Driver. It has been many years coming and only two months of ownership but for still so wonderful that I am swooning as I look out of the window at it now. I also did a great roadtrip up to the inner Hebrides to camp on the Isle of Mull, and hit Bloom festival in Cheltenham on the way back. Despite the cockups at Bloom it was a fantastic few days, probably because I was spending time with great friends who I realise I miss like mad, and making new buddies too. My tent blowing away was admittedly not great though.

Originally I had to come back to the UK this summer and get a massage job otherwise I was going to forget everything I learnt in Crestone earlier this year. I managed to do that by getting a job at the Babington House Cowshed Spa. I still can't believe they let me in, but they did, and I have been their resident pair of summer massage hands since June. It was a beautiful idyllic place to be, I worked out of a log cabin in the woods and got to swank around in the infinity pool after my shift and generally soak up the perfect rural bliss.

Because of this job I have been living with my great friend Blair in Radstock, a mere 4 miles down the road from Babington House, in his amazing country pile/batchelor pad. Therefore I have been cycling to work on the old Bath - Frome railway, making the journey off road and breathtakingly beautiful through the rolling hills of the edge of the Mendips, and generally living a life so stressfree that I can't remember life as it once was (in London, stressed, miserable, homicidal, bitter, and generally hating all humanity). It has also meant that I have been a mere 30 minute drive away from my beloved BRistol so could pop in after work for a cuppa or just go out and get leathered at The Apple whenever the need took over. Despite working weekends I have had such a wonderful summer that I have had a strange mental shift, in that I have actually got complacent and partly forgotten that I am only here temporarily. I am getting all misty-eyed about leaving - a first for me, as packing my bags and fecking off has always been the easiest and most pleasurable actvity in the world that I can do.

I have so enjoyed having my friends and family around me, and met some amazing new people (you know who you are)... I really didn't plan for this to happen and shock, horror, it is giving me mixed feelings about leaving. This was not part of the plan. Part of me thinks I need to get back on the road and beat it out of myself, but the other part knows this is probably something that is not going to change and will in actual fact only increase so I'm going to with the flow, not ignore/beat down these feelings as I usually do, and see where my head is next May!

Anyway, having put together the next trip (just about - just one more visa to get...ergh), getting through the logistical nightmare that is my bonkers brain and its illogical ideas, I am looking forward to getting on the road, reading loads of books on the trans siberian (including my sister's bonkbuster Country Pursuits! - out now - and doing a whistlestop tour from ye olde England to Mother India, overland, in about 7 weeks.

The itinerary is as follows:

5 Sept: Bus London to Amsterdam. 11 hrs
A perfect start to the trip and a chance to reflect on time up until now. Amsterdam in Autumn is possibly the best place to be ever.

8-12 Sept: Earthship building project in Zwolle, Northern Holland
I first saw them in Taos, New Mexico, in April and haven't been able to stop thinking about them since. So I have enrolled on this course to learn a bit about building houses out of rubbish and pound some tyres

12 Sept: Amsterdam to Moscow sleeper train
14 Sept: Arrive Moscow
16 Sept: Board trans mongolian train
21 Sept: Arrive Ulaan Baatar, Mongolia - woohoo!!!
26 Sept: Board trans siberian train
27 Sept: Arrive Beijing
I then have an undecided itinerary but will be making my way across China towards Tibet, over to Nepal, and then a hideous 3 day bus journey to the Indian border
21 October: Arrive Delhi
22 October: Meet the Carnegie crew at the Connaught Hotel to start our 2 week family trip retracing the steps of Grandfather Carnegie and search out the line of the illicit Carnegie-Raj side of the family! I am determined to find some cousins even if Dad is in denial about the whole thing

Due to visa issues, I will then be boarding a flight back to the UK on 2 November, to reapply for a business visa, then flying back out to Delhi a few days later to start my six month work placement at Ananda in the foothills of the Himalayas!!!

I am getting woozy just writing this. This may be the mother of all trips. Who knows, by next May maybe I will have had enough of it all and just be gagging to go on a package tour to Shagaluf. Hopefully not.

Cuba!

2008-06-05T00:41:00.001Z

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Jamaica Jamaica

2008-05-08T21:47:00.002Z

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Jamaica Jamaica

Yes I do want to move here too if someone would give me a job please... Kingston is crazy but cool - just walking to the local supermarket was a hair-raising experience, and within 20 seconds of leaving my guesthouse to walk to the Bob Marley museum I had an offer of a date from a young boy on a scooter delivering chinese takeout. I don't know why teenage boys seem to think I am a worthy crack on this trip and I suppose it should be flattering, but really why on earth am I attracting the advances of pubescent males and not adult ones??

Anyway, moving on, my next stop was the other end of the island to Treasure Beach. complete contrast to Kingston in every sense, this laidback rural outpost is everything you want from Jamaica with none of the hassle. The locals are also arrestingly mesmerising to look at – many people here have light skin and green eyes, freckles etc – a beautiful mix. On the roadside yesterday I passed a bonafide redhaired, sunburnt, Glaswegian drunkard stumbling along the road, but as I cycled past he was engaged in indecipherable patois. He was a ginger jamaican. The story behind this is that years ago a ship with scottish sailors wrecked here and the sailors decided to forget bonny Scotland and settle here (unsurprisingly...). And so the descendents are a veritable melting pot of various complexions.

I just got back from the beach where I watched the sunset chatting to a local rasta with a blonde beard and freckles, and saw two dogs get stuck together whilst they were having sex. It was very strange. But the rasta dude told me he sees them do it all the time.

I got a lift direct to Kingston at 1am this morning with some people I met. I was paying them for the privilege. And my worst nightmare came true – I couldn't get any money out on the way to the airport, and the cambio office was shut when we got there – so I couldn't pay them!!! ARGH!!! They were friendly locals too who had driven me all the way in their own car, not a taxi, so the guilt was monumental. They must have thought I was the biggest scammer out. Anyway I hope to god my money transfer goes through as that was all I could promise them. Poor gits. They had no petrol and had a 3 hour drive back to Treasure Beach at 4am and it was costing them out of their own pocket. Retribution stood in though as my 6.30am Air Jamaica flight was cancelled so I had to wait til 12.55pm for the next one. And now I just had the once/twice/four times over from US customs at Miami airport, the gits. They really tried to make a scene about my PG Tips tea bags being some highly illegal substance. Idiots.

One amazing discovery I made in Jamaica was Devon stout icecream. It really did taste like stout, and really did taste good as icecream. Yes man!

New Orleans/Chazfest

2008-05-02T17:48:00.004Z

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well my prediction of continual and persistent imbibement in New Orleans was completely correct. I have had the most amazing luck so far – Bob's friend Chris totally sorted me out and I had the most wonderful time in New Orleans. I LOVE THIS CITY!!!! I got there 3 hours late, at around 6pm, and Chris picked me from the station and took me back to his amazing house in the Garden District. Later that night I met him down a little street called Pirates Alley. I was highly excited to find out that the cafe/absinthe house there has its own pirates club, and even does pirate weddings. When I saw that it was the first time I have ever had the pang to get married. But luckily it passed quite quickly.

From here we headed onto another absinthe house called Pravda, as I had forgotten to bring out my passport and they actually ID-ed me in Pirates Alley and then wouldn't serve me. Unbelievable. Real pirates would never have stood for it. After Pravda we headed elsewhere in the Fench Quarter to a great little bar on Frenchman where there was a live jazz jam. Here I met Washboard Chaz (complete with washboard round his neck) and another local favourite, Uncle Lionel. Chris and I sat around at the bar sinking Jack Daniels' and lapping up the great music.

The next day we left the house around 1pm on bikes, and Chris gave me a tour of New Orleans by bike. It was amazing. Then we tracked down Chazfest, a small budget alternative to the more famous Jazzfest, organised by no other than Washboard Chaz. It was in a collective of gardens off a street in the Bywater district, and it was pure bliss. I felt as if I had died and gone to heaven. It was really lowkey, amazing jazz and blues musicians playing, it had the air of an english country fayre/Mayday thing going on, and the homemade margaritas and sangria stalls were dishing up the goods brilliantly. Washboard Chaz got up and jammed with each band, and everyone was having a merry hoedown. One band sticks out for being utterly brilliant – Loose Marbles. Chris had by this time gone back to work at his refined cocktail bar, and I realised I needed to leave Chazfest before it got dark so as to reduce the chance of getting my bike stuck in tramlines or hitting a pedestrian at high speed. Amazingly I was drunk again, and how I rode the bike without colliding with anything, and also wound my way through the streets of the city to find his bar, I shall never know.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, I found it, and after Chris's shift finished we hit another jazz gig and lo and behold, it was Uncle Lionel playing. It was such a brilliant day/night and to top it off we managed to bribe a jazz dude to give us and the bikes a lift home in the back of his van. Well Chris did – I just stood around looking drunk.

The bus journey down to Miami was less interesting and more tedious than the previous trips this week, but I am here now and loitering in Starbucks whilst I wait to check into my hostel. The woman at reception told me to take my woolly cardigan off as just looking at me made her feel hot. I have been wearing the same clothes for the last 3 days though so am reluctant to take anything off without being able to shower as I know I have collected a unique layer of scents from the last few days. She doesn't realise how merciful I was being by keeping it on. I am still reeling from such a huge dose of fun in Memphis/New Orleans. Sometimes you just take a chance and it all comes off, perfectly in every sense. And all I have to do now is hang around til tomorrow AM to ge my flight to Jamaica. I think I can do that....

Memphis, Tennessee

2008-04-29T03:58:00.001Z

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Holy moly. I loooooove Memphis!!! The bus trip was great! 26 hrs but for some reason it just rolled on and was not traumatic at all, apart from the numb bum thing. I changed buses about 5 times and had some really dodgy places to hang around in during middle of the night whilst the bus got cleaned etc. As my good friend Rachel says, “the buses are basically where the homeless and the destitute live”. And I confirmed this theory with my last Greyhound experience, so this time I was braced for a few hairy moments during the 26 hrs. Not so! Everyone was dodgy and mental of course, but all so friendly towards me! There must be something about an english accent that turns muggers and weirdos out here into helpful community-minded types. At Amarillo a heavily-tattooed young man (including his neck) who had been ogling me suspiciously on a stop earlier walked over to my table in the canteen at 2am and I was rather apprehensive. He sat himself down and started telling me about himself and how he was on his way to Houston to 'start afresh'. Then a 20 stone thugged out mofo shouted across the crowd and said “hey english lady you need to be over here to get your bus to Oklahoma City” and the crowd parted for me to get to the gate. I have no idea how everyone knew my plans but they were all mucking in. On the bus from Elk City in the morning a very handsome but shifty individual got on, sat next to me, we started chatting and it turns out his dream is to visit Paris. He was immensely shocked that I had no kids or husband yet. And on the bus from Little Rock to Memphis, a young hoodie gave me a commentary on the route as we passed things of interest.

I got to my hotel in Memphis at 9.30pm and realised I hadn't really eaten since the sugary blueberry bagel in Oklahoma City 10 hours earlier. So I went next door to a microbrewery with the intention of sampling a beer or two, getting a bite to eat, and coming back for an early night in front of the TV (have not had TV for 3 months so highly thrilled at having TWO in my hotel room). Well, that was the plan. I crawled in at 6am. Somehow I managed to hook up with some local Memphis drunkards and join them in some general hellraising. They were so nice, they even got me a lift back to my hotel at 6am, even though I couldn't really speak properly and was dribbling. I knew the beast would unleash itself after this 3 month hiatus, just not so soon.

So I woke up this morning wondering if it was all a dream, but the hangover reminded me that it did happen. I looked at my clock – 1.30pm. I couldn't believe I had slept in so late. I faffed for ages in an alcohol-soaked stupor before going out and was wandering around aimlessly when I saw a hotel so decided to go in and order a taxi to Graceland. When I got in the taxi his dashboard clock said 4.30pm. I nearly freaked out – my alarm clock was on Colorado time and I am now in Memphis! Graceland shut at 5pm so we raced across and they let me in at one minute to 5pm. Phew! It turned out to be perfect – I had the place to myself – Elvis's house!!!!! The bus driver even said that Priscilla was having a function there so I could probably just stick around and mingle if I wanted!!! WHAT THE???? I ended up leaving as I needed to check out downtown – plus the amount of Elvis suits turning up was getting disturbing (but of course not suprising). Graceland is a really great place to just wander around. It was fantastic just being there.

I'm getting the train to New Orleans tomorrow, arriving at 3.30pm. Jazzfest is on, which is second only to Mardis Gras. Bob my texan coursemate has hooked me up with a place to stay in the Garden District, and his friend that I am staying with works in a distinguished cocktail bar called French 75, and with Jazzfest on there are parties every night. There is no possible way that I will remain sober.

Certified Massage Therapist !!!

2008-04-29T03:11:00.001Z

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Yesterday I graduated from Crestone Healing Arts Centre!!! By all rights that makes me a 'healing artist'. Now that is something for my gravestone. The day was long. It started with the final test that stood between me and my shiny certificate: the marathon massage. Back to back clients from 8am-1.30pm with no breaks. I knocked out a straight swedish treatment for the first person, then swedish with with some reiki on a broken finger for the second – this was very interesting – as my hand came close to her finger I felt a huge rush of heat go straight up my body and my cheeks turned bright red – then whilst resting my hand over the affected part my palms were sweating and extremely hot. The girl on the table also said out loud “that was intense...”, even though I hadn't told her what I was doing. She said she felt immense heat and lots of tingling in a finger that had been numb and swollen under a plaster cast for days.

The time actually zoomed past, and instead of feeling totally knackered as I expected, I was flying high. I was brought back down very quickly with the mammoth task of cleaning the dojo. End of the session, students clean the dojo for the next group and to clear the energy. I have never been into housework, so this was a painful experience. We even had to wash the walls???!!! Everything was cleaned, no corner left untouched – it took five of us about 4 hours. Hideous. Then we had our graduation ceremony, where my teacher gave each of us a final psychic transmission and cut the energetic cord to end the student-teacher relationship. This was a very special moment, as we all finally realised we had made it, marked with this wonderful ceremony. I realised at this point that my training here has been very special.

Now I am sat in Alamosa, the town I arrived in on a snowy dark night back in February. I am sat in Milagros coffee shop and have 4 hrs til my bus leaves for Albuquerque. The bus office was shut so I have not been able to pick up my ticket, but the staff at this coffee shop have adopted me and one of them is giving me a lift back to the office when her shift ends. So very nice!I will get to Albuquerque at 9pm tonight then get on the bus to Memphis via Oklahoma City. Should get to Memphis tomorrow night – although I have just been told there are storms out that way so there may be delays!!!!!

Crestone nearly over and out

2008-04-16T15:05:00.000Z

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I have just over ONE week til graduation and then I will officially be certified to manually handle people for a living. Brilliant! I have had so many exams and tests and things to get my head round on this course my brain is still smarting. I also had to teach a kundalini yoga class this week as part of the course which really is a strange and painful experience. Actually, teaching it isn't as I found out – as the teacher I got to wear a turban, sit on a sheepskin on a raised platform at the front of the class and recite the instructions of my chosen kriya, never once breaking into a sweat because I am required to sit there and do nothing excpet that. All the poor buggers participating in the class have to hold strange postures whilst pumping their navels in and out for the breath of fire, or hold their hands above their heads with index fingers pointing to heaven for 18 minutes whilst shouting some kind of repetitive meditation and all the time fixing eye focus on the third eye or end of the nose. As the teacher I got to just sit there on the lovely sheepskin, surveying the pain I was inflicting on those in front of me, and flick through the iPod searching for suitable bonkers bhangra music or a prayer by Yoga Bhajan, with his voice from the grave interspliced onto inexplicably dated disco tracks. Who needs drugs?

Much as my time here has been incredibly educational, opening, positive, strengthening, connective and enlightening, cabin fever has inevitably set in. My dodgy attention span is now refusing to behave itself. I did so well to get into meditative mode when I first arrived back in February – after 2 months of being a beachbum in Mexico I was positively ready to knuckle down. Now my brain is struggling to concentrate on anything except rum, a Jamaican sunset backdrop and a dream soundtrack of Delroy Wilson classics. I am getting lax – even though I am trying to hold it together for the last week or so. I don't get my certificate til graduation on 26 April so I am keeping this in mind when my brain gives up after breakfast every day next week.

So I leave here on 26 April (hopefully with my certificate!) and head to Del Norte, (still in Colorado) for a night. My wonderful coursemate is taking me there to stay with her daughter who lives on a cattle ranch, and they are even going to let me loose on a horse. Western saddles have never been my forte so this is my chance to master the long loopy stirrup vibe and throw the reins around whilst screeching out loud for no reason. I am then heading to Santa Fe, New Mexico for a night or so, then over to Arizona to visit Sedona, where several energy vortexes are located and even more nutters per square inch than Crestone.

If I am not abducted by aliens and funds permit I will fly to San Francisco to meet Weston and Lee (get in touch if 1 May suits you?!!) and the next stop is Jamaica on 2nd May. I can't think past this latter point as I have already pointed out. My brain is fixating on material possessions and shallow behaviour and no amount of meditation is going to get me over this rum-pining hump more effectively than a large bottle of it. My body has been a temple for 3 months. It's time to level the playing field again and have the pendulum of equilibrium swing wildly in the opposite direction of self-control. As I advance in my years, I have learned to accept this as part of the Carnegie family lineage and something to be catered for, not restrained/fought against. Restraint nearly always results in much much more carnage than ever imagined possible. I have come to realise this by observing Father and his on/off relationship with chocolate caramel squares – denial leads to disaster for both objects of consumption and consumer (still M&S or maybe he's found another supplier since I've been gone...)

Next phase

2008-03-23T03:01:00.002Z

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I;m sat in a cafe called Bongo Billys in the town of Salida listening to a bluegrass band who are really quite good. Yes, I'm the geek with the laptop and cup of tea at a gig. There is the sweatlodge tomorrow so I should really get back but the dojo is full of native american indian elders who are in Crestone this weekend for a series of prayer meetings and a medicine wheel gathering to raise support against imminent govt drilling in the area. So I'm not desperate to get back as it will be mayhem with people and blankets everywhere and people using my teabags. Grrrrr. There is also an ex student staying in the dojo this weekend with her husband, kid and crappy little dog called TJ that kept sniffing inside my sleeping bag this morning. I haven;t kicked it yet but I have a feeling my foot will connect with it at some point over the next 12 hours (sorry mum).

I am researching my next stage after Colorado as time is slowly ticking. Jamaica is looking likely - especially as I've just realised there are a few surf spots there although it is out of season. And Cuba has a few surf spots too! I see a plan forming...

Anyway, this band has started to slow down and play ballad-like crap so I'm off. Hopefully I will survive the sweat tomorrow and be back with some pix or something!!

2008-03-16T20:49:00.001Z

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My address

2008-03-04T18:28:00.001Z

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Just in case anyone wants to write to me, send chocolate, or anything of interest to get me through my intensive study pain my address until the end of April is:

Ali Carnegie
CHAC
PO Box 156
Crestone
CO 81131
US

Sweatlodge!

2008-03-02T18:40:00.003Z

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I have been suffering every friday night when we make our weekly trip to the hot springs. The hot pool is good for a while but after 20 mins I feel faint and queasy and have to get out. Pathetic. So it was with this in mind that I accepted an invitation to the sweatlodge. My coursemates, both sweatlodge attenders back in their various places of residence, had filled me with the horror stories of when the sweatlodge gets the better of you. Bob said he thought he was going to die in the last one (from heat), and this is coming from a man who made it through a viciously strict Baptist upbringing and four years of seminary against his will. The sweatlodge apparently can be what seems like a life or death experience. Indeed, one of the reasons for doing it is to return to the womb of the mother (Earth, I think, but it also represents your physical mother's womb -weird huh Mum!) and the idea is that you suffer and die several times, shedding old traumas and baggage, being reborn and coming out fresh, healthy and spiritually clear. So I suppose with a menu of claims like this pain of some sort is inevitable.

Anyway, I got into the car not quite knowing why, and off we went. The sweatlodge was in the middle of the Bloodless Valley, about 5 miles down the road from my place. We turned down a little mud track, and followed it to the end where there were a clump of leafless trees and a log cabin/barn style house, the mountains surrounding us on all sides far away. So far, so normal. We were greeted by the sweatleader and lead round the back. There was a pit dug out of the mud with a fire roasting away in it, around the firepit was a semi circle of haybales, and several men with pitchforks wearing rural yank gear. This was alarming in itself – the redneck qotient was highly unexpected and it made me feel uneasy. One of them was even called Buddy. Then I laid eyes on the sweatlodge. A small structure made of a branches and musty tarpauline layers, it lay a few metres from the fire in the midst of lots of mud, as the ice was melting all around and making everything very boggy. It was like an igloo, probably about 4-5 metres in diameter. I don't know what I was expecting but this gave me the jitters. Big hole. tarpauline mound, hicks with pitchforks... My overactive brain suddenly considered the possibility that I had just walked into a mass murder scene, delivering myself as the next victim...

I snapped out of it and went to help stack wood. After about an hour of this, which was long enough to really accept I could be about to make a fool of myself in public if I freaked out in the sweatlodge, not to mention cause some damage with some white hot stones, we were called in to the circle – it was time. I got smudged (burning white sage is wafted around you to purify you) and got changed into my sweat attire. I had been told that women must dress modestly and cover arms and legs. With my extremely limited wardrobe I pulled an outfit consisting of a batic kaftan and Primark pyjama bottoms. Classy. Combined, these two items involved around 17 extremely garish colours. Self-consciously I waded through the ice and mud to take my place in the lineup as women enter first. I got smudged again at the entrance to the sweat, took a piece of white sage and crawled inside. You must be on your knees inside so I continued to crawl clockwise around the central rockpit and took my place. It became apparent that this was going to be a rather gritty affair. I managed to sit against the tarpauline and had one person in front of me and the rock pit so I was doing ok. Everyone else piled in, making it 17 of us in there. The sweat leader then summoned the first rocks to be brought in from the firepit and we were asked to set our intentions for the sweat. These seven rocks represent the seven foundations of the universe and are referred to as the Grandfathers. This being a Blackfoot lodge, they have various Blackfoot rituals and they asked us to pay respect to the seven generations of our grandfathers, so I got the Carnegies and Coopers in there straight off. We were also encouraged to pray for all our relations, people, animals, trees, birds etc – the whole shebang, so I got stuck into that. The hot rocks got shovelled in by someone outside with one of those pitchforks. The sweatleader threw some herbs on the rocks and they sizzled away in the little pit in the centre, white hot and cracking, and the heat began to circulate. Then after some prayers etc the sweat leader asked for THIRTEEN more rocks to be brought in. The flap went down, I could hear layer upon layer of heavy tarp being pulled over the doorway by the doorkeeper outside, and inside it became pitch black and muggy. It was pretty hot, but I was doing ok, with my back up against the branch framework and my eyes closed, just concentrating on breathing deeply. The sweat leader started some native american singing/chanting that everyone apart from me seemed to know the words to, then he started throwing water on the rocks to create steam. This is when the real heat hit. Someone started moaning and it was getting rather intense. Eventually the shout of 'mitakuye oyasin' which means 'all my relations' signalled the end of the first round and the flap went up. Two people crawled out – they couldn't take any more. I was amazed – I wasn't the first to crack!!! Unbelievable! With this newfound if somewhat unspirited boon I braced myself for the next round, bouyant from someone else's downfall. This was a matter of survival so I was going with whatever I could!

Thirteen more rocks were brought in, flap down and chanting etc then dammnit he started chucking water over the rocks again, and the wall of heat rose up and hit me like a tonne of bricks. I put the white sage under my tongue as previously instructed, as it reduces the feeling of heat and thirst. It seemed to help a little I must admit. And so on to the third round, where yes, thirteen more white sizzling rocks were brought in, and then the fourth and final one. I knew by then that I had to stay in – it would only be 15 mins max of pain and my ego insisted I try it. During these rounds people were scrabbling around trying to get low - to get their heads to ground in the darkness as it is marginally cooler there. I felt so weak and dizzy I didn't dare move so I remained upright through the whole thing. Finally 'mitakuye oyasin' was shouted by all of us in unison, the flap went up and we crawled out clockwise into the snow and mud, blinded by the sun, to sit on the haybales around the fire. I could not believe I actually made it. It was obviously freezing outside, and my clothes were dripping from sweat so I went and got changed back into non-Crazy Person clothing and came back to sit around. It turns out people thought I was especially resilient because I remained sitting up throughout. I didn't have the guts to tell them it was because I was too scared to move that I remained like that! And so there it was. I was reborn and purified, having come out of my mother's womb for the second time ever. Well I was feeling extremely hyper after all this but not much else. That night I slept like a baby though so I would say if nothing else the sweatlodge is a damn good insomnia cure.

Crestone Week 2

2008-02-16T19:13:00.002Z

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Have made it through the second week and my god do I feel knackered! This really is a full on curriculum. I will probably say it in every blog entry I make so I apologise now. This week I started my massage practicum on the local people – they offer their bodies for me to practise the current modality on every weekday evening 5-7pm. I'm still honing my Jin Shin Do skills. It's interesting doing the locals round here because they are all so into their wacky holistic lifestyles that even the local farmer's wife has extensive experience in acupressure massages and energy work so getting feedback from these people is really useful (if a little daunting). The great thing is that anyone who comes to practicum has to reciprocate with something - people bring us food mainly. This week I received some homemade zucchini bread and two tubs of Ben & Jerry's ice cream – yum.

Last Sunday we headed up the road, which turns into a dirt track, past the dojo for a couple of miles to the Shu Mei International Centre. This is the japanese spiritual centre that I mentioned previously. Our teacher had told us if we had time we should go up there as they were doing their monthly Joy-rei ceremony. I had no idea what to expect, but we drove along the icy track very slowly and eventually came to Shu Mei International. Most buildings in Crestone are of similar materials and mainly quite humble from the outside, I presume due to the remoteness limiting the building materials available. But Shu Mei International is amazing – beautiful modern, light architecture with clean lines, built out of light-coloured wood and glass and built into the mountain so it almost blends in with it. Their game is natural agriculture – they don't even use manure, but rely on prayers and intention to grow naturally and organically.

We were met by two tall thin young japanese men in suits who ushered us in and gave us a book each, and in we went to the temple. Inside it was so clean, precise and modern – with a ceremonial shrine at the front decorated with flowers and state of the art TVs at each end, plus a traditional japanese gong hanging in one corner. It could have been a cult HQ, but I was there for the free food served after the ceremony so was willing to take the chance. Shu-Mei International is a non-denominational organisation whose beliefs are based around art and beauty and this natural agriculture trip. It was very odd to be up a dirt track in the snow in this remote part of Colorado, yet suddenly stumbling into a mini rural Japan, and more strangely, having a backrow seat at this ceremony amongst a load of Japs who didn't speak engrish. Anyway, the ceremony started, we attempted to join in the singing/chanting (in japanese), the main leader dude offered something to the shrine and then did a healing ceremony emanating positive energy/life force from the palm of his hand out to everyone, then an american guest speaker came along and asked us who was a child of the earth, loads of bowing ensued, then we all made our way to another hall to eat the goods they focus their attention on growing. The food was amazing – beautiful vegetable stew and rice, salad, amazing bread, and then little green tea biscuits and tea to finish off with. They ask for a donation but you only pay what you can afford. Naturally I stuffed my face.

I've just been up there again tonight for their film evening to watch Sicko. It was fascinating watching this with an american audience because when the bit about the UK and the NHS came on they were all gasping. They couldn't believe the low price of our prescriptions, nor could they believe that we don't pay anything when going to hospital – the bit that got the biggest intake of breath was when they showed the cashier at Hammersmith hospital whose job it was to reimburse patients' travel costs. It made me realise that although we slag off the NHS, it is a world away from the nastiness of the US healthcare system.

This is a really boring blog entry and really long too. I write it simply to keep The Olds updated in their retired state - with so much time on their hands they have to temporarily live vicariously through me. Or something.

This week there is a fire ceremony on wednesday night at one of the ashrams to celebrate the full moon. I tell ya, I really am in seventh heaven here – for once I am the conservative uptight one with rightwing views compared to this lot round here.

Crestone - week 1!

2008-02-10T15:59:00.001Z

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Crestone is a strange little town nestling in the foothills of the Sangre De Cristo mountain range in Colorado. The area is highly sacred in native american indian culture, and the population of Crestone is made up of several Buddhist communities, several ashrams, a Japanese spiritual centre and a high priest of Bhutan also has his summer residence here. How they all found heard about Crestone I don't know – it is really remote and tiny! The plateau that runs through the middle of the area was apparently known as the Bloodless Valley by the native indians, as warring tribes refused to fight here because the area was considered so sacred. The modern day sees equally spiritual gatherings going on but with a global denomination represented.

I have been here a week and completed my first week at Crestone Healing Arts Centre. Wow is it intense. We start at 7am with two hours of kundalini yoga (violent breathing and strange singing/chanting) or chi gong (like tai chi). Then we are sent out into the snow for a silent walking meditation to offer gratitude to the mountains for no less than 15 minutes. I have not made it past 15 mins so far as my feet are frozen by the 10th minute and I have to hobble back to the dojo and defrost my feet on a warm cup of tea. When I landed in Denver from Mexico I was still in my flip flops. I nearly died of shock. The snow out here is severe, and apparently this is the coldest winter in the area since 1970 or something. Thank god I stocked up on winter clothing in Denver before heading out here, although my feet are still constantly freezing!

I live in the school dojo with the two other people taking my course. The dojo is about 4 miles from Crestone, facing the mountains and is a purpose-built barn thing with a large central spongy floor that is used for yoga/aikido. I live on the mezzanine level around the top looking in – it's very peaceful. I have my own sleeping space screened off, and share the kitchen. There is no time to do anything else as teaching starts at 10am and goes through til 5/6pm, and then we have study/massage practicum and of course there is the need to cook dinner at some point – time is very tight!

Today was my first day off so I got a lift into Crestone and hung out at the local internet cafe, called Shambhala (yes). Whilst here I was informed of Crestone Free Box over the road, so I went over to have a look. It is like a free clothing deposit that people take from and donate to. I have been desperate for some snow-proof boots for the morning meditational walks, as potential frostbite is certainly biting into my karmic abilities of staying centred and respectful. Brilliantly there were a pair in the Free Box, slightly too big but that is perfect as I can wedge up with thick socks and have the joy of the feeling of my feet in the mornings now.

I am currently learning a japanese acupressure technique called Shin Jin Do. It involves using various pressure point formulas around the body to deal with various ailments. It's a great treatment and really works on an energy level – I am currently memorising 45 Jin Shin Do points and several more general acupressure ones. My brain hurts.

Last night was our first night free so we hopped in the car and drove 40 mins through the snow to a natural hot springs called Joyful Journeys (the names just get worse...). It was great – sitting in a hot pool under the stars, but my hair and towel froze, and running through snow to get to each pool was quite shocking for my tootsies.

I can only check emails at weekends now on my weekly pilgrimage to Shambhala (snigger) so that is why my correspondence will become virtually non-existent over the next 3 months.

Colorado - first impressions

2008-02-04T08:30:00.001Z

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Today I went shopping for winter clothing and supplies for my massage course. Denver seemed really relaxed, and it was totally empty due to the Superbowl taking place today. At 5.20pm I got on a Greyhound bus and have just spent 5 hours getting to the town of Alamosa. From what I can see, bus stations here attract exactly the same sort of substandard population of weirdos as the bus stations back at home. Add that to the fact that when you get out of prison here you get a free fare on a Greyhound bus to get home and it makes for an interesting crowd jostling in line when the bus pulls in. Someone even asked me if they could eat the rest of my salad that I was eating. I gladly handed it over because it was a really bad salad from 7-11 anyway, and he proceeded to eat it with his hands. And he was one of the respectable looking ones.

On the way here the bus slowed right down as the snow was quite thick on the road, and now I'm here in Alamosa there is a crisp layer of snow over everything. It's still really shocking to me! I just checked into the Super8 motel and decided to try and find some food. The only option round here without venturing out in a car at this time of night seems to be the 24 McDonalds Drive Thru next door, so I went over there and checked out the menu. The door was locked so I had the ridiculous task of ordering at a Drive Thru on foot. Note to self - don't. I loitered around the speaker for a while but nothing happened, then knocked on the kiosk window and got no answer. Then I went back to the speaker feeling very stupid indeed, and a car had pulled up so for some reason I went behind it as if in a queue. Then another car pulled in behind me so I was looking really very odd, maybe like a nutter who pretended to drive a car that didn't really exist. In the end I lost my nerve and slunk off back to the Super 8. I have just raided the breakfast bar in the lobby and stolen some bran flakes and a sachet of hot chocolate so have necked that and have managed to stem the flow of idle hunger.

Tomorrow I am going to the little town of Crestone to start my course at Crestone Healing Arts Centre. It's about one hour's drive from Alamosa. Hopefully I don't hate my coursemates and ideally none of them will be weirdos. Seeing as we have to live together communally on site for 3 months it will be interesting to see what they are like, and whether I sleepwalk or sleep-hallucinate and scare the living daylights out of them. Oh the joys of a nocturnal behaviourial affliction. Here's what a local website says about Crestone:

"Flush up against the flanks of the gothic and mystical Sangre de Cristo peaks, far from the everyday life of most of the rest of the world, lies the abundantly spiritual community of Crestone. Likened by many to Sedona, Arizona, visitors flock to Crestone for its sacred energy and high concentration of diverse spiritual centers, including a large Buddhist community. Add to that the raw and magical beauty of the area, its well-known festivals and events and active arts community - and you've got a recipe for a visit to remember."

So that's about it! I better go to bed now as it is way past my bedtime...

The last few days in Mexico...

2008-02-04T07:40:00.001Z

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I left Mexico City yesterday morning and felt really sad to be leaving. Luckily I will return in May to get my flight home so I can get to play for one more month. The last week was amazing - I forced myself to leave my comfy existence in Puerto and went on a little road trip down the coast to a hippy village/beach called Zipolite, and its even smaller neighbouring village Mazunte. On the way there we bumped into some hippies who had just come from the Rainbow Gathering that was taking place up in Vera Cruz. By all accounts it sounded a fairly challenging experience. This time it was held on private land which had previously been deforested for cattle. It meant that the site was infested with tics and also having suffered from continuous rainfall, very muddy. One of the girls we met was covered in tic bites! So we hooked up in the back of camionetta/ colectivo taxi van and got out together at Zipolite, and went and lied on the sand by the beach. I had heard the water was deadly here - apparently Zipolite even means 'beach of the dead'. and on paddling in up to my knees I understand why. The undercurrent was so strong, and the wave curls up from nowhere really close to the beach and then crashes down. There is some kind of shelf only a few metres from the sand which causes this. It is a strange contradiction to an otherwise laidback hippy paradise. The other strange thing about Zipolite is that the lifeguards are all voluntary. Up to 80 people die a year here but the lifeguards are voluntary?! Then on meeting a few I was further confused... One had a tattoo on his neck and eyebrow and looked more gangsta than lifesaver. Another one I saw wearing a lifeguard t shirt was severely obese. I don't think he was in any state to save anybody. Yet the lifeguards spend all day on the beach, zooming around on a buggy. I wondered how they financially could manage it, and the only conclusion I could come to is that it is all a front for some kind of ludicrous drug peddling. Turns out this isn't that far from the truth!

Mazunte is much calmer but hilarious as it felt like I was walking around some kind of hobbit village. All the little houses are carved out of wood and there are some lovely dwellings, but there are mainly matted hair hippies triping down the street, and the volleyball net on the beach had been squatted as some kind of community action zone. It's not overrun though, there aren't enough people to have that happen. It is a lovely place to be, and there were some great places to eat.

Heading back to Mexico City I took the 12 hr nightbus which passed surprisingly quickly despite the elderly mexican woman next to me snoring like a trooper. I headed for the neighbourhood of Coyoacan which is where the houses of Frida Kahlo and Trotsky are. It was nice but strange to be back in town. At 9am I got my flight and went through Las Vegas to Denver. I totally forgot that the rest of the world was not a beach because I arrived in Denver last night in my flip flops. Oh my god, it was cold! Apparently there is not much snow in Denver for the time of year, but it was still a shock to my beachbum system.

Puerto Escondido 2

2008-01-24T02:18:00.000Z

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World´s smallest cinema?? I managed to watch Y Tu Mama A Tambien here in Mexico so I now feel like I can die happy!! And bizarre healing properties of the pineapple in action...

Puerto Escondido

2008-01-16T02:18:00.000Z

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Wow I´ve been here over a week and I didn´t even notice! It was definitely a good move to fly here from Playa Del Carmen. Mexicana was a great airline, it was only a 2 hr flight to Mexico City and I still got a free meal, and then the flight down to Puerto was 55 minutes and they STILL gave me a free sandwich. Genius. I hope I never fly another Ryan Air flight again now. Puerto Escondido is another beach town but very different in spirit to Playa Del Carmen. It is a beach bum paradise with lots of surfing, palapa bars on the beach and everyone is pretty relaxed. I´ve landed on my feet with my accommodation at Tower Bridge Hostel, just out of town, but near the best beach which is called Carazilillo. It´s a lovely little cove about 15 mins walk from here and really is paradise. Tower Bridge hostel is an experience in itself. The owner Steve is a Brit from Devon who shouts at everybody and scares some, but is wonderful underneath it all, and his dog Blackie. Between them they run the most amusing hostel I have ever stayed at. Saying that I have just had to catch a tarantula that was sitting on the washing machine - it was bigger than my hand and that really is no exaggeration - I have never ever seen anything like it. I caught it in a 750ml yoghurt pot, and its legs wouldn´t even fit under the rim so I crammed it in and waited for Steve to come back to dispose of it. When we told him it was there he said "well what you gonna do with girl? You keeping it for a pet?". He seemed to find it funny. He then took it outside and killed it with a large broom and it took several whacks to get it.

I have been having spanish lessons 6 days a week, which is going surprisingly well. I do 2 hours a day at where lessons are no more than 2 people per class, and take place outside on a cliff overlooking the main Zicatela beach. I am just about stringing sentences together now. I am also taking surfing lessons and today was Day No 4. I actually caught a couple of proper waves without drowning in the process. I found the first 3 days incredibly scary but for some reason today I didn´t even mind getting hit in the face by a wall of water and pounded underwater for 30 seconds at a time - all I was thinking about was trying to stand up - and I managed it! Í´ve just found out one of the instructors has a bad neck/back and is paying for reflexology so have engineered a trade off. This is great as it is my last lesson tomorrow and I really want to keep going. So I am going to go round to his family´s house tomorrow and do his feet in return for another lesson and use of a board. That´s a good trade!!!!

I am staying here til end of January, so will be here for around a month in all. That means I should be able to actually hold a (basic) conversation in spanish by the time I leave, and also be extremely relaxed in time for Colorado and 3 months of intensive studying on the massage course.

All in all, it´s turning out lovely.

PS The PC at my hostel won´t let me send messages or write or do anything on Facebook except read, so Rachel if you are reading this please email me as every time I try to email you it bounces back! I don´t know what you address is these days?? Come on get a grip and email me please. Especially with so much to discuss about Mehico!!

New Year and still alive - just

2008-01-02T04:55:00.002Z

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Well I have made it through - just. I don't think I could have been more hungover (or still drunk now I think about it??) for today's 7am bus trip, which turned into 9hrs thanks to THREE stops by police/military along the way randomly checking baggage. Last night was a truly great new year's eve - I think it always was going to be good seeing as I was in a jungle with a bar within walking distance! We went for the meal that the guide arranged, and quite frankly I'm amazed I got to see new year in at all. Lots of people dropped out so only 7 of us ended up going into modern Palenque for this meal we had been told so much about. "A real cultural experience" our dodgy guide promised us. Well, it was cultural alright, but not particularly mexican. I believe gangster culture transcends any culture and is recognisable on any continent for its similarities and mob tactics. Tonight was no exception. The restaurant was actually someone's garage with plastic tables and chairs - rustic but so far so good. The fish was amazing, but the proprietor, a huge mexican called Salvatore with piercing blue eyes and a scar across his philtrum, was a seriously dodgy type who was blatantly into much murkier business than just catering. His mother was out the back cooking so I felt tht was a good sign, but then a table of mexican men got a bit rowdy in one corner of the garage, and one of them started to try and climb up the wall. Salvatore threw him out, then ejected the rest of the people on the table, and then apologised to us about it. We said no problem, and Salvatore then said "yes but I am sorry about this - usually I fight hard.". Then he flicked a switch which activated the electric fence on the wall the bloke had tried to climb up and said "we'll see if he tries to come back."

The food came out and it was really good, and I ordered more beer as Salvatore cackled in the background. He turned up the music (this hulking maniac turned out to have surprising penchant for terrible 80s pop) and I downed my beer extremely quickly. I decided that being not sober would generally help the evening go more smoothly.

Then he brought a baseball bat to the table and put it down next to my plate. He turned it round and used it to open my bottle of beer. I relaxed once more. Then he said "who wants tequila?" This is not the sort of man you can say no to, even though none of us really felt like tequila at this point. He then said "do you want a shot, or the dentist?" Just as it occurred to me that he might be offering to knock out my teeth with the baseball bat, he said " shots you pay for but the dentist is free." It turns out that the 'dentist' option means tipping your head back whilst Salvatore pours straight tequila down your gullet until you scream stop. He then rubs your head roughly so it is even more difficult to swallow, before he falls about laughing and moves onto the next victim. Seeing as Salvatore was staring at me with a scary grin, I opted for the dentist. Oh dear.

At this point most of my group were looking highly uncomfortable and had resisted the dentist treatment, which was upsetting Salvatore. He lso kept shouting "Uma Truman" at me and it took me a long time to work out he obviously thought I looked like Uma Thurman. The man was plainly mad. We had planned to eat the meal then head back to El Panchan and the jungle bar by 10pm. It was now 10.15pm so we started enquiring about getting back to camp. The bill needed to be paid, so Salvatore brought the baseball bat back to the table and totted everything up on his calculator. His 10% was added and all of us happily paid up withough quibbling. We left fairly quickly, and rushed out, leaving our guide in there in a headlock with Salvatore and his unique take on dentistry.

Finally we got back to the jungle camp where the rest of our group was, it was wonderful to be back but I was still slightly disorientated wondering whether the last few hours had really happened. Serves me right for seeing the dentist 3 times in 90 mins. There was live salsa and cuban music at the jungle and it was full of stinky hippies, mexican families and random travellers - a great international crowd and wonderful for seeing new year in. Midnight came and went, unfortunately I didn't, instead continuing to prop up the bar supping cuba libres til 4am, occasionally stepping onto the dancefloor to dance badly and knock over several mexican men wearing muscle vests. Luckily most of the men here only come up to my elbow so it never got nasty. Most of them seem to be scared of me towering above them. I got dragged to the hut by my room mate who also helped me pack 2 hrs later when she woke me up as our bus was leaving at 7am. Ouch. Then the 9 hr bus trip. Double ouch. But now I'm in a lovely town called Merida, in a truly bonkers hotel that is decorated with lot of garden ornaments, inflatable dolls and strange relics from the film industry. And there is a lovely pool which I'm going to hit tomorrow AM. So, hopefully everyone at home had a great new year and feels equally as rough as I do. I'm going to bed now to sleep off the rest of this tequila stupour. Here's to 2008!

NYE in the Mexican jungle!

2007-12-31T20:57:00.000Z

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Hola, still no pix as my camera is still RUBBISH and apparently knackered. I{m in Palenque, which really is in the middle of the jungle! The modern town of Palenque is hell, but we are staying at the gates of the National Park where the ancient hidden Mayan city of Palenque is - my accommodation is a hut in the trees!! Very basic but brilliant for a couple of nights. No roof in the bathroom, just mosquito mesh, and whilst showering last night I heard the (not) dainty foot/clawsteps of a howler monkey! The hut enclave is called El Panchan and is a stinky dreaded type hangout. How I enjoy receiving their looks of disdain whilst they think I am a mainstream cog with normal hair, when I had a matted barnet when theirs was still short back and sides. Ha! Anyway, despite this there is a great open air restaurant amongst the trees with cheap cocktails, so tonight we are going into town for a meal at a place the guide assures us is worth going to, then heading back to El Panchan for midnight. Hopefully I can contain myself and have no drunken stumbles into bushes which contain scorpions etc as got a 7am bus tomorrow for 8 hrs (the logistics of this trip are ridiculous) so I will be staying up past midnight tonight but not for much longer (I hope. Can{t take another hangover like the one in Oaxaca...)

I have just got back from the ancient ruins of Palenque. Oh. My. God. They basically got forgotten about for centuries and a whole forest has grown over the site. Only 10% of it has been excavated - and it is an other-worldly experience to see this small portion - which is still huge to visit. Some people there today said it was very similar to being in Macchu Piccu. There is still so much of the site covered by jungle - it is amazing to see.

OK better go as this pikey travellers joint charges skyhigh prices for internet use and my time is nearly up. It{s 3pm here and therefore 9pm in UK - happy new year!!! Will be in Merida tomorrow afternoon hopefully not feeling like death. XXX

Zapatista village - San Cristobal

2007-12-29T22:44:00.000Z

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The dreaded night bus was actually ok, and I arrived high up in the mountains at San Cristobal de las Casas at 9am yesterday. It was freezing. I piled on the layers, including my thick woollen poncho, and set out discovering the town. By 11am I was feeling sick with heat and sweat and had to go back to the hotel to take my shoes and socks off and change my jeans for shorts. Holy mother it gets hot here during the day. It's a very traditional town with most locals wearing traditional dress. There are lots of other traveller/backpackers wandering around, a large portion seem to be Scandinavians, so I'm getting my Scando-fix with so many marvevllous fringes and knitwear about. The cafes are great and do loads of lovely fruit and yoghurt combos for breakfast, and there is a coffee museum which I visited yesterday which has a very good cafe selling its wares.

This is now in the Chiapas region of Mexico, which is (or aims to be) autonomous in many ways, especially with workers unions etc getting together to sell regional goods as collectives. I went to the Mayan Medicine museum which was very interesting, but highly scary. It had a video showing a woman giving birth in the Mayan style (on her knees kneeling on the floor, hanging her arms round the husband's neck who is sitting on a chair facing her) with the midwife behind yanking away. Then just in case you didn't get the message there was a papier mache model re-enactment in a mock up hut. It has only heightened my phobia of childbirth and I didn't think that was possible.

Today I went to visit a Zapatista stronghold, high up in the mountains. The Zapatistas are identified by the Bush administration as a terrorist group. They are indigenous communities, originally from the Chiapas region but their support and allies are now worldwide, who are fighting the Mexican government for recognition of their lifestyles and customs. The govt arrest Zapatistas as they protested and took over several towns in this region (including San Cristobal) in 1994 because the govt was ignoring them and threatening their way of life. It sounds like the govt is trying to ignore and/or exclude the indigenous communities by not providing them with schools, amenities and sending out of date food supplies to them. I also know that by taking several towns in 1994 a war was fought for over two weeks and hundreds, maybe thousands, of people died in the conflict. The Zapatistas used weapons and will do so again. Therefore I wanted to find out more about this whilst I was here and in a relatively peaceful period.

We were met by village leaders wearing balaclavas who took our passports and were taken to a small room for a basic lecture on the movement. From this I could gather that after the 1994 uprising against poverty and exclusion of the indigenous people, a treaty was drawn up where the govt agreed to certain conditions, most of which it has since failed to honour, The Zapatistas now live completely separately from the rest of Mexico, running their own schools (bilingual with native language Tzotzil and spanish), clinics and communities. The govt gives them no support so they have to make everything themselves. They are keeping their languages and traditions alive but it seems they are struggling. I felt completely safe up there today and understand their cause absolutely, but I don't know enough to comment on the morality of this situation. As far as I could tell, they still have weapons just in case. They will use them again if the govt doesn't budge. The likelihood of them taking San Cristobal again in the future is very real.

So all in all it's a typical terrorist quandry. I wouldn't call them terrorists but they are a movement that uses force and kills. I'm going to have to do a lot more reading on this before I can say, write or think any more on the subject.

On the way back I went to a strange church which is Catholic mixed up with Mayan beliefs - a product of the scheming Catholic missionaries who noticed the local population coincidentally used crosses and other Catholic images in their traditional worshipping. So they introduced Roman Catholicism as a form of the local beliefs. It is totally bonkers now and has principles from all sorts of influences. The people worship St Christopher mainly and Christ is on the sidelines as less important. In the church there was healing going on with medicine men and women cleansing people with eggs, or chickens, if their illness was more severe. The strangest thing is that everyone drinks Coke in the church because burping releases the bad spirits, and plastered all over the villages in the area are Coca-Cola ads/signs. I also noticed in the town that many people had metal teeth - a side effect from drinking so much Coke??? I shudder to think. Whatever, I'm sure Coca-Cola are very happy about their dominance in the area.

This post sounds like an anti-establishment rant but I'm just reporting what I've seen today. Despite all this San Cristobal is a lovely place - possibly my favourite so far. Am heading to the complete opposite tomorrow AM - down to Palenque, a huge Mayan ruin in the middle of the jungle. I have been told to expect bugs, mosquitos, hideous heat and humidity, and howler monkeys who steal things. I'll be there for 2 nights so will be seeing new year in wrestling my beer from monkeys and trying not to get eaten alive by insects. Bravo!

Oaxaca - Boxing Day

2007-12-26T23:22:00.001Z

Well I made it to the hotel last night despite my desperate mescal-fuelled tragi-poetic attempts of not going mad on a bus driving through 5 hours of cactus-festooned desert, and this town is an absolute treat. Nothing is above 2 storeys due to the high frequency of earthquake tremors, which in turn means the whole place looks a spaghetti western film set. I had the best meal yet last night and my first pudding so far - cheese-stuffed peppers with rice, guacamole and refrito (refried beans) followed by a moist almond cake thing - a perfect Xmas Day meal. Tonight there is a reggae/roots live band session in town, and thanks to a tour at a mescal factory this afternoon I am stocked up and ready to go. Others in my hostel also stocked up so we have a rendezvous on the hostel roof in a while to savour the different blends - how marvellous. I also bought a poncho today from a family of weavers using natural dyes and lovely smelling wool - I am so happy I could cry. I might later, depending on the mescal intake.

Horror of horrors tomorrow night I have a 12 hr bus trip - a night bus - to get to San Cristobal in the mountains. Leaving at 9pm tomorrow, I arrive at 9am the next day (I have no idea what day it is, I can only guess in a linear sense). It's going to be harsh but San Cristobal is worth the effort I am told. It's also cold up there so I get to christen my poncho!!

Hope everyone at home is having a good Xmas - and Carnegies please say happy Xmas to the Aunties for me!!! XXXXXX

2007-12-26T23:22:00.000Z

Xmas Day - Somewhere in the Oaxan desert

2007-12-26T22:44:00.000Z

Spending Xmas Day on a long distance bus trip is never a great idea (although mescal helps pass the time) but today I found love for the humble cactus through the bus window.

Ode To The Cactus - A Xmas Day rhyme to an unlikely saviour

There you stand, indifferent yet proud
Smudging the horizon for miles around
Your shape so clean, even on a slant
Respect is due oh mighty plant
Oh Saguaro your silhouette so iconic and fine
You are a gringo's dream - certainly mine
For all it takes is a hillside hemmed in
With a patchwork of you to remind me again
Gone is the Tube, Gordon Brown and sleet
I am where I should be, in the searing heat
With refrito and spanglish to keep me going
Getting fat on tacos, and the mescal flowing
Quick, - I'm sobering up, I need some more
Before my face smashes into the bus floor
*THUD*

Xmas Eve, Puebla

2007-12-26T22:28:00.001Z

Puebla is a lovely place with a beautiful zocalo/central square (although every town in Mexico seems to so far). It's Xmas Eve yet it still feels nothing like Xmas, although there are more hints of the festive season here than in Mexico City, with huge pinatas hanging in the streets and more decorations around town. Life went on as normal today though with shops showing no sign of closing early, although lots of restaurants were not operating.

We found a nice cafe called Vittorio's on the zocalo to sit on the outdoor tables and have celebratory Xmas Eve cocktails this afternoon in the sun. It all started off innocently enough, then ended in total chaos. And for once it was nothing to do with me.

A brand new Audi pulled up alongside our pavement table and a well-to-do Mexican gent in his 40s wound down his window and eloquently called out to the waitress, ordering a beer from his car. Whilst still sitting in his car he bagan, chatting to various people around my table and rightly guessing where each one was from by their accents. French Canada/Quebec, Korea, Florida, and so it went on... We began to realise he was a highly educated man to be able to recognise accents so precisely. He was well-dressed in a Ralf Lauren shirt, with style notes from the school of Magnum, with a dapper moustache, rayban sunglasses, and chinos.

He began to tell us that he was a surgeon and had just got back from a week in Austria. Still from the comfort of the driving seat, he offered to buy us all a beer (ten in total), and suddenly the cracks in his otherwise cool veneer began to appear - revealing the madman (or a misunderstood saint?) lurking within.

Maybe it was his boast that he had two or three children (he couldn't quite recall), or the brag that he could perform any operation in the world and had the handbook in his car to prove it, that made it apparent that he may well be drunk, or mental, or both. Yet he was displaying no signs of intoxication, spoke excellent english and was obviously loaded. The waitress had not brought him his beer and the police had noticed his car pulled up on the sidewalk, but instead of moving on he just put his bonnet up so it looked like he had broken down. Now out of the car, he became more animated, and more excitable at guessing people's nationalities.

He began to assess my heritage – and his astonishing accuracy came to a grinding halt. I was plainly Greek, he announced. I mentioned I was from the UK. He was bereft that he had got it wrong, then told me about his love of Scotland, particularly Aberdeen. I foolishly told him I was half scottish, and the flood gates opened. He began to shout "Rod Stewart" and nodding at me, flung open the door of his car and turned up his stereo which was playing some terrible 70s acoustic rock. The tranquility of the zocalo came to an abrupt end. The rest of my group, and restaurant, started to look uncomfortable - I was just flabbergasted. He then reached into a shopping bag from his car and pulled out a cellophane-wrapped Rod Stewart CD – and handed it to me. It was one of his wife's Xmas presents but he insisted I have it.

Then he turned to the pale blonde irish girl next to me, the last nationality to decipher, and started goosestepping/hailing Hitler. The atmosphere became tense. The restaurant staff came over and told him to move on. His music was drowning out the restaurant saxophonist who had been employed especially for Xmas.And so he got in his car, blew us all kisses – and vanished into the traffic. And we sat there in disbelief. Did this really happen? Was it a dream?

The weary-looking restaurant staff closed the edge of the restaurant off by pulling screens around our table, and then one of them muttered: “he does this all the time”.

But still, I got an unexpected present hand-delivered to me on Xmas Eve, even though my hatred of Rod Stewart increases with every picture of him from the 70s that I see. This CD is covered in classic soft-focus romantic shots of him - my kind of hell in every sense. But the plus side of this Mum if you are reading this - look out for an exotically sourced 'Rod Stewart The Best Of...' in the post fresh from Mexico some time soon...

10 days on...

2007-12-23T15:53:00.000Z

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I'm back in Mexico City and back to reality after my little trip to the countryside. I arrived yesterday morning from Malinalco, the peaceful rural bubble where cows walk across the road with no regard for oncoming traffic, and there was a live nativity scene with children and animals built in the church grounds in a lifesize re-enactment of a village with pens and stalls and everything, and where I did loads of yoga and not much else - bliss. The bus I was on got steadily more packed as we picked up people from the roadside towards Mexico City. When I got to the Observatorio bus station I remembered it is nearly Xmas - it was thronging and seriously hectic - it was a bit of a shock. I really have been in my own little world this last week! I have now hooked up with the GAP group but we have no agenda until we leave Mexico City tomorrow so I've been happily doing my own thing and taking it easy around town.

And so from one world to another, I went to check out the Zocalo in Historio Centro in Mexico City yesterday. It is a massive plaza hemmed in by variously impressive architecture from Aztec, colonial and prerevolutionary eras. The square is also the ceremonial centre of Aztec Tenochtitlan, although the ruins aren't as impressive as I'd hoped - more a mound of rubble really. In normal circumstances it would be exciting to have even this remaining from such an ancient age, but in Mexico there are so many impressive ruins that this one is a bit of an anticlimax! On the way back I popped into a couple of art galleries and strolled through the Alameda which is a lovely peaceful park dotted with fountains and lots of shaded areas to laze away the time under the poplars. I did so involuntarily due to some particularly nasty blisters I had acccumulated. So I lied there waiting for the pain to subside before squeezing my sandals back on and wincing all the way back to the hotel.

I have one more day today in town and I'm heading to Chapultepec, 'hill of grasshoppers' in Nahuatl, which is a huge park with a zoo and the Anthropology museum. This avo I'm planning on heading south to the San Angel neighbourhood to see The Frida Kahlo's Blue House which featured in the film 'Frida'. I have decided to save the day trip to Tepotzotlan, which is an hour outside of the city, to when I am back in town next year. There is so much to see in Mexico City - I don't want to rush it. There is no point now that I am in the rare position of being a bum for the next few months!

Tomorrow AM I am heading to Puebla with the group where we will spend Xmas. It's strongly Catholic and conservative, with a Spanish affinity maintained here for much longer than other parts of Mexico, so I imagine Xmas will be a full on affair there. Although there are Xmas decorations around Mexico City it feels much more lowkey here and therefore is easy to forget the time of year. In some ways I like this as I get to avoid the Xmas mayhem of UK high streets, but it also makes it easier to forget that I won't be at home for Xmas. Maybe when I get to Puebla tomorrow afternoon on Xmas Eve I will feel sad that I won't see the Carnegie crew for the first time at Xmas! I have no doubt they will make up for my absence by consuming my share of alcohol at The Crown on Xmas day and more though. Any excuse. Ahem.

Not sure if I will be online at Puebla so if not, Happy Xmas to anyone reading this!

Made it to Mexico City!

2007-12-14T19:50:00.000Z

I´m here, although only just. Air Canada were great for the Heathrow - Toronto leg, then it all went downhill. The plane started to freeze in Toronto whilst we were waiting to take off, so then had to wait for a slot in the de-icing bay. Then we were too heavy so had to burn off some fuel (actually these two may have been the other way round) so eventually we took off, then on arrival at Mexico City baggage hall it was clear that many of the bags had also been, well, misplaced. Not ideal at 2.30am when you have been on the go for 23 hours!

I have filled in a form and handed it someone at a desk in the airport, and apparently the luggage will arrive tomorrow AM. So I am staying an extra night in Mexico City at my lovely hostel http://www.hostelhome.com.mx/ and fingers crossed my bag gets delivered - I am in limbo til they do as I can´t leave! It has all my chargers (laptop, camera etc) in it so I am punching away at the hostel keyboard right now which has many stiff keys and is most fatiguing for the fingers.

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Mexico City smells lovely. Sultry, thick with intent, the morning air wafting in the window reminded me I was somewhere new and suddenly I felt highly excitable and finally on track.

Tomorrow I am heading out to my first WWOOF placement at the Earthsoundz project, which makes instruments out of vegetables, 2.5 hours southwest of Mexico City near a place called Malinalco.

I am highly excited about this little trip, for the obvious vegetable utilising factor but also because it looks beautiful out there and I can´t wait to get stuck into some countryside.

I had my first surreal Mexico experience this morning when I was walking around the Colonia Roma neighbourhood looking for a supermercado to buy some emergency toiletries and clothing. At a huge intersection with loads of traffic were eleven 7 foot pink Duracell bunnies banging on drums clogging up the sidewalk. They looked pretty lairy, pushing each other around and generally owning the pavement. I got a bit closer, and I still couldn´t tell if they had men inside them or if they were inflatables. Two started humping each other so I think they were humans who had obviously reached the boredom threshold that I imagine one would reach with this as a day job, but the rest were in a line banging their drums, then they would start to deflate, then jump to attention and start banging all over again.

If it wasn´t so early I´d put it down to the Mescal. Just wait til I do get stuck into the Mescal...

Mmmmmm...Italy

2007-10-11T15:15:00.000Z

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Italy was wonderful, of course. I flew into Pisa on Ryanwhore and got a train straight to Florence where I stayed here http://www.hostelarchirossi.com/ for two nights. No complaints, but it was like being on a US summer camp. Everyone was american. Or canadian. Plus I was kept awake by two snorers flanking each side of my dorm bed like sleep grim reaper twins but that was my own fault for forgetting to buy earplugs. They were very polite when they were awake so I just about managed to contain my nocturnal rage and just wandered round in daylight like a zombie.

Florence was lush - did a free walking tour then hopped on a train over to Lucca and Pisa. I wanted to stay in Lucca forever. Unfortunately I only had two hours. A walled place that feels quite magical, and it seemed to have a disproportionate amount of young people amongst the 40-50 people I saw (it as torrential downpour so everyone was holed up inside whilst I was darting between awnings like some oddbod trying to see as much as possible before my train left).

I love Italian trains too. They work, they are really easy to use, and always give you an option on fares. If you are in a hurry and can claim back expenses, then you have the Eurostar trains to choose from. If, like me, you are a lone bum floating about on no timescale and not much money, you just choose the local trains. I did this from Florence to Rome, which took 3.5 hours. It was lovely to see how the countryside changes going south, and also gave me the chance to see the area dear Kate worked, the wee village of Sarteano in Siena. I only saw the view from Chiusi but that was enough. It was nice to see.

All this time I was chewing on the world's largest choc chip cake/biscuit thing I picked up in Florence. It was about as large as my head, but luckily as we neared Roma, I had managed to get most of it down (my front, my book, and some down into my stomach). It's not a good look, travelling alone and eating something decorated with chocolate chips, especially if your journey starts off somewhere cold and ends up somewhere warm. I had chocolate chips drop all over the place, and in Tuscany that was fine as it was chilly, but as we neared Rome the air warmed and suddenly I was developing soft warts and moles all over my arms and face that I never remembered having before. Maybe it is a good thing that I didn't notice the facial ones til I looked in the mirror that evening. It was too late to be embarrassed.

I was going to Rome to get a train out to the near by Sabina hills, to the village of Collevecchio and an old monastery where I was staying for an ashtanga yoga retreat. It was amazing, and I even got my own nun bedroom. Being out there in the hills was so peaceful, and of course being in a monastery does more of the same, and I slipped into the way of life for 3 days so well that coming home on Monday morning was a very rude awakening. It was interesting to note the differences in demographic: here in London, ashtanga classes are populated by miserable looking, childless, media types desperately trying to 'get' the yogic state of mind but still spending £185 on designer 'yoga trousers', whose diets consist of wheatfree crackers and yeastfree mushroom pate - all they really need is a good feedup . On this Roman retreat, it was predominantly middle-aged Roman women whose kids had left home (some were glam grandmas), all very bendy, who were massively advanced in class but at mealtimes ate pasta, bread, pudding, several went out to smoke after dinner and everyone tucked into the wine, plus a strange liquer after dinner each night. They were all fine looking ladies. I don't know if they were all minted so could afford to look good but I got the impression they were all just chilled out. I must move to Italy as well some time...

My flight back was from Rome so I got a lift back into town from one of the ladies on sunday afternoon and then lost all yogic calmness at Rome Termini train station (which is like being in an airport - it is HUGE) as I found Benetton and some shocking oversized jumpers in lurid 80s knit - I had some Euros to use up (I told myself) so I got one. As soon as my sister saw it when I got back she mentioned Su Pollard, but at least that means we won't be wearing the same outfit any time soon. She obviously can't tell a design classic (of Nancy Dell Olio influence) when she sees one...

Inner Hebrides

2007-04-24T09:38:00.000Z

15 April doesn't mark anything in this 12 months of frugality and if I'm not careful it could turn into something of the complete opposite. Having spent last week doing a whistlestop tour of all things Inner Hebridean, I feel I could have stayed up there and started my little trip six months early (but with less than half of the funds needed as I still need to earn another £8k or so before I can go!!). Luckily I did not do a runner whilst up there.
There aren't many great things about being the materialistic daughter of a true scotsman, but if he also happens to be a pilot, recently semi-retired, who has realised he doesn't have to do much more saving now there's a pension to be spent, who am I to stand in his way?
So Captain Carnegie and myself booked out the 4-seater Cherokee from the Britannia Flying club, which gives subsidised flying to its employees meaning we can go up to Scotland and back for less than the train fare. It was fantastic, and my travel sickness didn't kick in til the journey home, where dad informed if I was going to be sick, that my plan of channelling it down air vent on my door was a bad one as he could reach over and reverse the direction of the vent and blow it back in my face. For a laugh.

Anyway, fun and games aside, we left Cranfield and got up to Islay for mid afternoon. Dad had a free landing voucher from Flight Magazine, so he excitedly raced up to the control tower to book in. They didn't seem that annoyed, which in turn slightly annoyed Capt C, so to cheer him up I took a picture of him outside Islay International terminal (pic to be added!)

Then we went over to Colonsay, and finally landed on this tiny island after years of wanting to but not being able to. The reason being that the tiny airstrip has been tarmacced, with EU money, as part of some bonkers plan by the local council which they didn't research properly and having spent several million on tarmaccing this and other tiny airstrips on other islands, they now realise it is still too short for the air ambulance to land, let alone commercial flights. So it is a disaster for just about everyone except me and my dad, who could finally land on the fresh tarmac and marvel at Colonsay International terminal. A very nice shed of Swedish influence.

Colonsay was amazing, great sheep, Lovely meal in the Colonsay Hotel and amazing B&B called The Hannahs. Highly recommended! We left Colonsay the following morning, quickly finding out just how short the runway was, and narrowly missing the sea at the end of it. Captain C was naturally unflappable but I was feeling less centred.

Next stop Isle of Mull, where we had been many times before. The landing strip at Mull is grass but extremely well kept and we zoomed in to land with the sea hemming us in to the right. The air up here is so clear that everything seems so much brigher. The sea, the grass, the sheep...

After securing the Cherokee we headed to Tobermory, social centre and hub of all things on Mull. Nothing had changed, it was as great as ever. We booked into the Harbour B&B and went for a walk to find a solar powered lighthouse round the coast that I had read about. That evening we hit the MishNish for a pint or two before dinner, and shared a bag of chips from the Routier awarded van on the harbour front (www.silverswift.co.uk/van.htm). For dinner we decided on a new restaurant called Schmooze. Everything about it seemed wrong, but it was the only place that wasn't freezing and actually had people in it. The decor was such that it could have been orchestrated by an 80s yuppie who fell into a coma before Black Wednesday and recently awoke, realising his dream yet not realising a decade and a half has passed since people have paintings of wine bottles and sparkling martinis on black backgrounds hung on the walls. The ceiling flashed constantly, festooned with acres of white Xmas lights, and the waitress was made to wear a silver mesh tie to go with her black shirt that had "Scmooze" written on the back in diamante studs. But despite all this, the food was absolutely brilliant. We left, blinking and stumbling into the night to retire to the B&B.

We left the next morning, got airborne and headed for Oban on the mainland to pick up some fuel. From there we headed to the East Coast to Dundee, where we pitched up and went into Angus to see family and visit the amazing But 'n' Ben fish restaurant at Auchmithie. It's soooo good there and the dessert trolley really is something from another world.

The next day we flew out of Dundee and headed back to Cranfield, Beds, laden with haggis, tablet and some interesting chutney from The Hannahs proprietors (thehannahsbandb@aol.com ), who have recently started producing Colonsay Naturally, which include Mushroom Ketchup and Tomato, Apple and Nettle Chutney. Highly recommended too!

Grenada, West Indies

2007-04-24T08:36:00.000Z

30 March 2007 marks 6 months of self-imposed social exile and saving/paying off (£4.5k down since September - a break highly needed (this was the excuse I told myself). I was bored, had 3 weeks til my next reflexology exam, and my recruitment agency had no work lined up for me for the next week. Whilst looking on www.Travelzoo.co.uk scouring the deals for a last minute European city break, I noticed a price for Granada that seemed quite high for Spain at £160. I clicked to have a look, and it was Grenada in the West Indies! Wanderlust took over my index finger as I pressed the "hell yeah" button and I booked the flight leaving Gatwick in less than 24 hrs. I have been good and sensible for 6 months, a temporary blip was not only scheduled but inevitable.

I ended up, via Lonely Planet's Thorn Tree, finding www.cabier-vision.com, a little lodge run by a crazy Austrian couple and very affordable. On the southeast edge of the island, it is away from any tourist areas and for the whole week the only tourists I saw were at a restaurant near the airport before the flight home. Cabier has a lovely little beach cove right next to the rooms, which is mostly deserted so you can have it to yourself. This is mainly due to the road to Cabier being so bad that you need 4WD to get there so most of the locals give it a wide berth. .

In retrospect going to Cabier Lodge saved my life. I couldn't get money out for the first 4 days of arriving on Grenada. After a couple of highly expensive phone calls to UK customer service on my mobile it was revealed that Barclays had cancelled my card as they thought it was fraudulent activity abroad. This meant when I got in the shared taxi to Cabier from outside the airport, I had no way of paying my way. Luckily it was a shared taxi and we were all going to the same place and the other travellers covered me. Then when I got there I found out everything at Cabier was on a tab so I kept racking it up, presuming the next day I could actually get some money out to pay for everything (room included)... I was relaxing into the Caribbean way of life so well, I was in my element with reggae blasting out of every radio/shop/car on the island, and the stresses of life had melted away. Then on the 4th evening, whilst putting another rum punch on my tab and down my gullet whilst reclining on the terrace overlooking the moonlit bay at Cabier to the sounds of Jimmy Cliff, the terrible realisation hit that maybe I didn't have enough funds in the bank which was why I wasn't getting any money out. Cold sweats prevailed that evening's sleep, quite a rare thing as there was no air con and the only way to get to sleep every other night was by wetting the bedsheet under the cold tap and then wrapping myself in it, without pulling the mosquito net down.

Luckily the ATM finally belched some Eastern Caribbean dollars into my sweaty and desperate palms on the 5th day and I set about buying anything I could as it was such an alien feeling, actually exchanging money for objects. I ended with some very poor fake D&G sunglasses from a crap shop in Grenville next to the bank, as I had broken mine on the way to the airport and had been squinting since I got there. I cherished the new ones for at least an hour until I realised they made everything brighter when looking through them. Ho hum, such is life...

It was a great week, nay stupendous, and also very educational. I went to a nutmeg factory, a cocoa processing plant, a rainforest, but the Grenada Chocolate Company was shut for refurbishment (argh!). I got in some amazing beaches at La Sagesse, Grand Anse and a private bay by sicilian/Caribbean restaurant La Luna whose marvellous Sicilian chef gave us a free plate of parma ham to start with and some handrolled truffles for dessert (being in a group of three scantily clad girls had nothing to do with this I like to think). I did miss Buju Banton playing at Moonlight City in Grenville on the saturday night, which I would have loved to attend. An old rasta called Terence fishing at the Cabier Lodge beach told me about this one as he was going down too (as were most Grenadian residents it seemed!). But to make up for it I went to the island of Carriacou the next day and swam on Paradise Beach, met Banana Joe who ran a "brunch bar" on the beach but was too stoned to get out of his hammock to do anything except giggle and wave, and decided that I really should make an effort to move here at some time in the near future...

The dreariness of reality and saving: Part 1

2006-10-23T14:47:00.000Z

The 12 months of saving/living like a hobo/all roads lead to the bank deposit box has started!

I've packed up, rented out and f*cked off as Peter Kay would say (or would he?), and am now back in London freelancing as a PR for 12 months, trying not to stab my eyes out with a rusty teaspoon in order to avoid sinking into the squalid and toxic sewer that is PR in London.

Now i'm 7 weeks into a 3 month freelance contract at my first job. How time flies! But not quickly enough... I want the next 11 months to be over so I can finally get out on the open road. To say I'm itching is an understatement. I can't think of anything else. If I don't realise this dream I really will just wither away and cease to be. An even greater fear than working in PR in London.

Anyway, I'm struggling with being a responsible freelancer. This 3 month job is hugely stressful but I just need to get through it and financially I will have paid off 1/3 of my debt for the whole 12 months. What keeps me going is visualising where I'm headed. This morning on the train to Kings X, sandwiched between balding, overweight, stressed out commuters (and that's just the women) with hacking coughs and windows sealed tight on the train, I looked out of the window at the grey sky and flat landscape of Beds/Herts borders. I imagined getting the ferry from Tenerife to La Gomera, heading to the misty heights of the island and just sitting on the coastline and looking out to sea. That moment will come but until then I just hope I don't accidentally die in the next 10 months before I get to realise the dream. That would be truly awful. Especially considering if I am to kark before I have paid all my debts off then I should have just legged it with a load of bent credit cards in the first place. Arse.

Who gives a Trout?

2006-08-01T09:54:00.000Z

Not me, but then I am one. Had enough of landlubbing UK, been trying to hold it down in 9-5 land for 7 odd years since my last gallavant through the Middle East, and can do it no more. I'm off on global walkabout and this 'ere is to tell my mum where I'll be.

The route at this stage, has been plucked out of my mind, but will be amended many times before the departure date looms.

TRIP 1:
Start Luton, UK
Train/fly/coach to Sicily
Bum around Italy seeing some old friends
Go up the northeast coast of Italy and round the corner to Lublijana, Slovenia
Berlin for May Day Riots (May 1st!!)
Copenhagen
Train/coach to Norway for Numusic festival, Stavanger
Iceland to volunteer on organic farm
Bergen, Norway
Across to Sweden and Icehotel
Finland - catch train from Helsinki to St Petersburg
Train St Petersburg to Moscow
Moscow: pick up Trans Siberian railway!!!
Take Trans-Mongolian route
Get off at Ulaan Batar, Mongolia
Hustai Nuruu National Park in Mongolia: volunteering at wild Przewalski horse sanctuary helping to collect data on these lovely animals and live in a yurt
Trans Siberian railway Mongolia to China arriving at Beijing
China
Tibet
Nepal
India - chilling out at an ashram to improve my yoga and state of mind
Sri Lanka
Thailand - 4 wk thai yoga massage course amongst other things
Cambodia
Vietnam
Trans-Siberian back to Moscow
Limp home to UK any which way I can

TRIP 2:
South America, baby

Trouty Love X