I’m alive and well in Hampi, a small town south central India. I haven’t been affected by any of the devastation and tragedy that has affected so many thousands. I’m thankful that friends in Thailand and Indonesia are all accounted for also. I should make a small apology for not posting this earlier, thanks for all the emails of concern. Internet connections are hard to find here and power only runs for a few short hours of the day.

On another note altogether, Ive disabled comment submissions to my posts until Moveable Type resolve the comment spamming issue that has beset sites running this blogging system. So just email me or click the ‘contact’ link for the meantime, as many of you do anyway.

Take care
cheers, beers and happy New Years
Rog

I had a fever and got no sleep the night before. I stumbled onto my early morning train anyway knowing I could lie down and sleep to Goa. I met a pretty cool, but similarly sorry looking crew of 4 on the train. We perked up by midday and I got off the train with them destined for Anjuna.

Kamal (Aus), Ross (Can), Ronan (Isr) and Becks (Eng) are all good sorts. We’ve rented a basic house, hired some scooters, and dropped some beer in the fridge. Sorted. Anjuna, an ex-Portugese colony, is an unashamed hippy hangout but a little quieter than some of the other nearby beaches where the parties bang on all night.

With the beach just a stones throw away we’re not doing a lot else in the daytime. And all of us still seem to have our health in the balance, a reason to take it easy on the brewskies. As the beaches here are a bit of tourist mecca I’ve reverted back to eating seafood - all you can eat seafood buffets for 200 rupee ($6nz) or the good Tandori Tuna I had the other night.

I wasn’t content just vegetating so on day 3 I took a day trip to Panaji and Old Goa, the capital and old capital of Goa. The crew all decided the fieldtrip was a good move and came along too. We unwittingly timed local buses to perfection and stood among the other armpits to Panaji. It was an interesting look around, if just to see a different India with Portugese styled architecture and Catholic chaples. Old Goa was different again, dominated by markets with all sorts of plastic religious paraphenalia and a number of European style Chapels.

By chance on display was St Francis Xaviers body (the patron saint of Goa), that is bought before the reverent masses once every ten years. He died in the 17th Century and supposedly his body would not decompose - a miracle. The miracle is over now- standing behold the body is one thing, watching believers kiss his decomposing feet (through the perspex) is quite another.

Anjuna is known in these parts for its Wednesday flea market, a big, colourful atmosphere with some cheap buys if you play it right. From the beach Ronan, Ross and I caught a boat over to Baga, a much more packed beach with more Indian tourists than Westerners. As the evening draws closer parties at the beach bars flair up and pump into the the small hours.

Christmas eve and the hilarious sight of Indian Christmas carolers stumblingly through ‘Stary Night’ inspired a Christmas spirit. Or Spirits. We headed out to a dance party at the Hill Top and took to the cheap vodka triples. The music was relentless, mindless, thumping trance crap but we stayed, met some cool people and shot the bull.

And when I woke up it was Christmas! Becks had bought us Santa hats filled with goodies and Christmas bindies. We gorged on a great improvised Christmas breakfast of Camenbert, Tomato, Salmon, Olives, Crackers and Pawpaw. The Vodka didn’t leave the fridge.

After some family phone calls around the world we chilled out on the beach and soaked up some sun until the pink disc sunk. To those of you who thought I’d be spartan and have a curry for Christmas dinner you couldnt have been more wrong. We tucked away the best seafood dishes in town - King Crabs and Giant Tiger Prawns. Yummo.

Boxing day is boxing day - eating leftovers. Im leaving Goa tomorrow for Hampi on a night bus, so really Im back on the road solo and back into the real India. This post stops here, I have to run to the Drop Dunny.

Merry Christmas to all, Rog

It all went surprisingly smoothly. I landed, a bit dosed, and passed briskly through customs, organized a guesthouse in Colaba and grabbed a black and yellow pre-paid taxi into Mumbai’s traveler district. The cab offered my first chance to see Bombay by night, the darkness and street lighting intensifying every scene. Men were still out on every street corner peddling, arguing, laughing. The homeless, a majority in Mumbai, were making preparations for sleep, lying in lines on rags under bridges or on the roadside.

My guesthouse is in Kamal Mansion; mansion by name only. Accommodation is expensive here so even my Spartan box of a room is a pricey US$10. At breakfast on my first morning I chanced on meeting some Swedish girls Eida and Anna and spent the day with them, the perfect orientation on my first day. We caught the local bus into the Kalbadevi district and its markets. The streets are packed with vendors peddling their wares and pulse with colourful vibrancy.
Here in the street I met my first cow, first charlatan guru, and sampled my first street food. I saw my first Indian movie with all its pomp and dance (with a storyline that mostly doesn’t go anywhere). The movie, in the grand Metro Cinema, had a wakeup intermission halfway though the 3 ½ hours. Already I’ve found Indian people helpful and friendly (and curious as to what you’re up to). Some have got all the time in the world for you. A few drinks with the Swedes capped a nice first day; it wasn’t the baptism of fire I had prepared for.

I spent my second day in the Colaba district around the majestic Taj Mahal Hotel and the Gateway to India (a large colonial marking facing the sea conceived after the 1911 visit by King George V). I seem to be just as popular here as in Asia. With my pseudo celebrity status I’m often clicked in photos with Indian girls, guys, and groups. In this area the disparity between rich and poor is extreme. The Bollywood and business rich live one life and the frail street families live through another.

I ferried across to Elephanta Is on Wednesday to view the rock-cut cave temples here, dating between 5th – 7th C AD. The bold relief carving of Shiva as creator, preserver and destroyer impressively dominates the main cave. I met some Danish girls on the boat back, who’s noses for chocolate cake led us on a comic trail. We found the chocolate cake behind the doors of the Taj Mahal Hotel. The doorman let us in, myself particularly underdressed for the plush hallways and upstairs café. I think this was the first chocolate cake I’ve had in 3 months since I left NZ. It tasted divine with a fine Nigerian Coffee to swish it down. We had a great time, though when back on the streets we had a pang of guilt when so many here have so little.

I woke up feeling unwell and weak. I had met Lorena (Columbian) the night before and had gone out for a beer (unrelated) with her Indian friends that I think she was trying to shake. Luckily I had some sympathy from Lorena who bought me some hydration salts, vitamins and medicine. I rested up, just reading a bit of Catch 22.

I’m much better this morning. I finally received my new Visa card and put it to work. I caught a local bus to the train station and booked a train to Goa for tomorrow morning. Goa is a bit of a traveler’s Mecca, but still should be fun around Chrisy time. Chowpatty beach isn’t much to look at by day but is supposed to be a hive of activity in the evening. It could be a Mission Bay if this wasn’t India. I had a lie down at the hanging gardens, surrounded by cut animal hedges. I didn’t get offered any extras roles in the Bollywood studios, only an offer of doing english voice overs. I was turned it down, Im leaving tomorrow.

Of course I’ll post again before Christmas to give you my cheeriest seasons greetings, but in case YOU don’t check back know that I’ll be thinking of you over my Christmas curry, slightly envious of those lapping up a kiwi summer.

Ps. I’ve been a vegetarian for 5 days
Pps. Congrats to WD04, would love to see your sites

I had a clanger in Ko Chang. Only hours after arriving on this tropical island I realized my Faux Pas. My visa card was missing, lost, left in the ATM machine on the mainland. I might outline this sorry episode later in this post, more for my own therapy, and with the promise that Ill give you the option to skip that bit.

Of more interest to you, and usually to myself, is what Ive been up to in these long days where the sun always shines and the mosquitos always bite. I popped on to Ko Chang, partly on your recommendation Vick, to see what I could see see sea. A good place to decompress after Asia before India and a good place to do an Advanced Dive course.
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The air was humid and still and the only sound the high shrill of Cicadas. A black passage lay in front of me, beckoning me to explore it. Large stone blocks lay piled up in my path. I clambered over the fallen stones, all wedged immovably on the backs of one another for god knows how long.

Whooooseeekki!!! flflflflfflflf ththttht ffff - Around the corner it screamed, faster than my eye could trace it. There were more though the darkness prevented me from seeing how many. I continued, and as I encroached I caught sight of the next bat as it shot out overhead from its resting place. Around the corner the passage this time was blocked, a window streaming in light was not wide enough to fit through and climb out of. On the other side was another courtyard also subsumed by the jungle. I backtracked. The others, close by, had explored other rooms, passages and potential routes through the jungle temple. Regrouping we moved on following the path with the most light.

Beng Mealea lies more than 60km from the rest of the Angkor Temples and has been left as it was found. The jungle has taken over; its roots entrenched in the matrix and foundations of the stone slabs. Light shafts filter through the trees. Few travelers find their way here due to its remoteness and the fact that it was only cleared of mines two years ago. For these reasons Rich, Berna, Debbie and I, not yet done with temples after 3 days in Angkor, set out with the spirit of Tintin. We sat and ate lunch on the temples highest point near the collapsed central tower overlooking the surrounds and spared a thought for what the rest of the world might be doing right now.

The temples of Angkor, built between 800AD-1300AD, rate amongst my highlights of all Asia. The high point of the Khmers architectural exploits is Angkor Wat, the largest religious building ever conceived. The approach into Angkor Wat along the bridge and across its massive moat gives you plenty of time to soak in its size and grandeur. We returned to Angkor Wat 3 times in 3 days, viewing it among the myriads of other tourists, again at first light, and again at sunset on day 3. With each viewing the light changed, my experience of it differed and its awe became more impressed on me. Intricate Bas Relief’s, hundreds of meters long adorn the walls telling of religious stories and the culture’s histories. Today Cambodia is predominantly Buddhist; however the temples of Angkor are more influenced by Hinduism, recalling these myths and worshipping the Gods Vishnu, Shiva, Brahma and their female deities.

Our modes of transport differed on each day. Day 1 we cycled from Siam Reap town to no fewer than 4 major temples covering maybe 30km. The gateways into the ancient city of Angkor Thom are watched over by massive carved faces sitting a top the tunnels. Cycling through and beneath these massive heads was a magical feeling, and the prize on the other side was just as good. The temple of Bayon is a close second place to Angkor Wat and was a favorite of the four of us. We returned here twice, once in the blackness of the morning to experience it as the light came up. Bayon, inside the ancient city wall of Angkor Thom, stands with its many giant carved faces looking out. These faces give the Temple a unique character among the dozens of temples of Angkor. We cycled past the walls of the Leper Kings and elephant carvings, and spent time in the afternoon at Ta Prohm and Preah Kahn.

Outside every temple are hordes food and drink vendors and even more children selling postcards and bracelets. They see you coming and start running, first to get to you has first dibs on trying to sell to you. The kids are cute, and smart too. A conversation might go something like this:

Child: Where you from?
Me: New Zealand
Child: I’m from Wellington
Me: laughs
Child: If I tell you how many people in New Zealand you buy from me?
Me: I do not want to buy anything
Child: Buy a bracelet for your girlfriend
Me: I don’t have a girlfriend
Child: You don’t have a girlfriend because you don’t have one of these! If you buy my bracelets you will get a girlfriend…

This emotive selling coming from a little 5 year old girl!

Day 2 and the modus operandi was a tuktuk, a very slow tuktuk, that we took to sites a little further a field. After an Angkor Wat sunrise we chugged to Bantei Srey, one of the most ornate temples of Angkor whose sandstone composition had some pastel tones. Tourist buses had descended upon it so we had returned another day for a fuller appreciation. The Roulos group is the earliest cluster of Temples some distance to the east of Siam Reap. By this stage under the suns heat we were getting a little Wated out and not so easily impressed. Call us spoilt. The ruins weren’t in as good condition (being older) but were interesting stylistically as precursors to the great later Wats. They also boasted intricate Sanskrit engravings on their doors telling a history of the people and their King, the first God-king of the Khmer. On the drivers recommendation we finished our day at sunset at the Beyer Temple. This really was a sight – tourists crammed a top the temple like a gannet colony pointing their cameras at the sinking golden disc. I preferred my photos of them.
Seeking something different the four of us took motorbike guides out to Kbal Spean, to see the riverbed carvings. Our city bikes bucked on the back roads like untamed broncos. We skirted around holes in the dirt roads, some filled with water, others heavy with sand. Kbal Spean is an idyllic spot, adorned with carving worn by the rivers flow. Sadly, as a symptom of its beauty and remoteness, a carving was hacked and stolen only last year, the latest theft in the Angkor area. The area leads down to a waterfall where I took the opportunity after lunch to have a kip after consecutive 4:30am rises.
Returning after sunset we got another sight of Siam Reaps big bats gliding over the roads in dim light.

***

With Berna, Rich and Debbie, I left Angkor after 4 days of wonder. The road out to the Thai border was the worst I’ve ever taken. I’d been a little sick the night before and now on the little bus we were thrown around like a washing machine. I said my sad goodbyes to Berna and Debbie at the border, Debs whom I have been traveling with for about 2 months now. (Ill be sure to read wonderful life

Things have gone a little awry in recent days. I lost my visa card which has been a real hassle and I’m now a bit stranded on Ko Chang island until I get my replacement. I’ve had to extend my India departure (again) till the 12th. Since I’m feeling a bit disconnected I’d love to hear the odd yarn about what’s been going on in Aotearoa (or London).