Finding Nemo: Nha Trang

After a few cold days in Dalat, we were excited to find the sun again. The bus journey was long, but it was interesting watching the green hills turn into flat, red sandy coastal towns again. After out visit to Mui Ne, we were hoping for something a little better from Nha Trang.

As the buildings grew larger and the traffic got worse, we knew we were getting close. Once in the city, we were, again, dropped a few miles from anywhere of interest. We had to quickly get our bearings (google maps), grab our bags and start walking. At first it was nice getting back in the sun. Our bodies had quickly grown accustom to the drop in heat that we experienced in Dalat. There’s too much Scandinavian blood in Malene and British blood in me for it to take too long to get used to the cold again. Walking down Nha Trang’s main road, with the beach on our left and huge, elaborate hotels on our right, we knew we still had a while to go.

Beach days.

There was really only one thing on the itinerary for us to do here in Nha Trang. Malene was dying to do here open water dive course and after a lot of research, she had previously set her mind on this place. Why? 20 meter under water visibility (more than Thailand apparently) and the lack of sharks and other big fish of which she’s not so keen on. With Malene set on this, we headed towards the place she wanted to book it through. We thought, if she was going to do a 4/5 day course, then we should really be living close to the dive centre. I could feel her excitement rise in every step we took. For me, diving isn’t really on my shopping list. You could push me out of plane, off a waterfall or even off a bridge with a piece of elastic strapped to my ankles: I wouldn’t have the slightest of problems. But when it comes to underwater activities, be it diving or even snorkeling, then that’s where I draw the line. I like air. I feel I need air to have a good time and also to live too. Take that away and replace it with a big cylinder fixed to my back and something to inhale on and it just doesn’t feel right. I will be staying on terra firma as Malene dives into the deep and I wished her all the best.

At the dive centre (apparently the only National Geographic approved one in Nha Trang) we spent a long time going through the course and spoke to the guy that would be guiding Malene all the way. As I wouldn’t be there to help her with anything, it was crucial that she felt comfortable and happy, especially considering the cost of it all. We both felt a little nervous and didn’t know if it would be enjoyable or not. Still, I was fine. I knew it left me time to kick back, hit the beach and have a few lazy days, bring it on!

Around the block from the dive centre, we found a lovely little guesthouse that was owned by an elderly lady, but run by her niece. The rooms were a good size, with tv (ready for the F1 that weekend!), bathroom and fan and cost us 6$ a night: not complaining. The family also had two little children that were a delight and made us feel part of a family.

For a full account of Malene’s dive course, you’re going to have to ask her yourself. From what I’ve heard, she loved just about every minute. The first day was spent in the ‘classroom’ where she worked through a series of written tests (all in English). She of course passed them with flying colours and was itching for the next stage: the pool. This was her first experience using all the equipment, but in the safety of a pool rather than out at sea. Again, learning all the time, Malene got to grips with the different skills and sign language used whilst under the water. The final 2 days is where the real experience takes place. After an hours boat ride, she performed multiple dives and saw a myriad of underwater life. She particularly enjoyed playing with the little Nemo fish as they swam between her fingers. Back at the dive shop, together we went through the book of fish, and like a check list, she told me about all the beautiful exotic fish she saw, as well as the colourful coral. I am so proud of Malene for accomplishing something like this, and in English as well. I have so much respect for those that go out diving as its something that I can’t get my head around and I’m so glad that Malene had the opportunity to do it in this amazing part of the world.

Kitted up and ready to go.

Showing off her new paperwork.

As for me, it was a quiet, yet productive week. Instead of waking up at the crack of dawn to catch buses, I could take it easy, wonder the streets and meet locals. It gave me time to get up to date with this blog, although I think I need far more time to really make a dent in the work I still need to do.

Best smoothies ever.

Nha Trang was quickly becoming a favorite of ours. With clean, beautiful beaches, a relaxed atmosphere and the strange backdrop of the mountains, it was a stunning place to relax and live in for a week. What could make it better? Mud baths! One evening, we hired a scooter (yes, I have the scooter bug!) put on what looked like ex-military helmets and climbed through the deserted back streets to a quiet spa. It was like a little piece of heaven. Tucked away between gorgeous mountains we were definitely excited to plunge into the brown baths. Supposedly very good for the skin, but I didn’t really need an excuse to try them out. The mud was warm and quite thick. In fact, it was a very strange feeling as you can float in the bath and obviously what we needed after a very *cough* stressful few days. Life is so good! We then washed off and proceeded to a natural spring water bath and felt like royalty. Unfortunately there was no one willing to feed us grapes as we bathed in the silence of the mountains and so took a nice swim in the equally impressive swimming pool. As my first ever spa experience, it would be one that’s going to be hard to beat.

Relaxing in the mud.

After Malene’s diving course, we had one final day in Nha Trang and one final box to tick: Vinpearl Land. Situated on an island just off the coast and accessible via the worlds longest over sea cable car; reason enough to go we thought! Suspended 40 meters above the water and with jaw dropping views over the city, it felt a little bit like we were on a ski trip, but this time we were in swim shorts and on route to a huge theme park. It was time to feel like teenagers again! In the theme park, there are some pretty cool rides, including the Alpine Roller coaster that hoists you up the mountain in a little 2 man bob sleigh. From the top, the views were incredible. And as you race down the tracks, you control the speed with a little hand break – you go as fast as you dare! We literally skipped our way around the park, trying everything, eating cheap burgers and playing old school arcade games. Bumper cars was an obvious hit, but as midday crept up and with it the heat, the water park would be our next stop. With a maze of walkways and hundreds of water slides to try out, we felt giddy with choice. We tried everything. Twice. Sometimes more. At the end of it, we relaxed on the little beach with a beer and watched the water lap the sand.

Hollywood style sign at Vinpearl.

Young at heart.

Head over heels.

There is also a wonderful aquarium with a long tunneled walk through whe you can watch sting rays and sharks as the circle above your head. I might not be game for diving, but this was incredible. I felt like I was part of a David Attenborough documentary and even found some little Nemo fish – Malene wasn’t the only one! This place comes with our highest recommendations, its not difficult being young again here and we’ll take home memories that will last forever. Ok, it might not be a typical Asian experience, but nice for a change of scenery.

My type of diving.

With more bus problems, this time a little more serious, we in fact spent an extra night in Nha Trang. We weren’t complaining, as it meant the bus company had to pay for our, now upgraded, room. Hello A/C! The following day, we would head up the coast to Hoi An, apparently an old, French styled town situated on a river. Not really sure what we would do there, but had heard some pretty good things. Goes without saying: excited? Check.

First steps in Vietnam: Chau Doc

Our first bus of the day took us to the border. We had heard horror stories of fake visas, but everything went without a glitch. This bus dropped us in Ha Tien where we waited at a little cafe for another bus that would take us to Chau Doc. This second, local bus was packed full of people, it was hot, fast and incredibly bumpy. The countryside already looked different to Cambodia and everywhere seemed to have a lot more energy and life. Unfortunately, the bus dropped us a couple of miles outside of the centre and so we had to take 2 motorbike taxis. As we raced through the traffic, Chau Doc wasn’t really what either of us had expected. Very busy, built up and noisy is probably how I would describe it. Still, we found a hotel quickly and although the room was basic (at best), we used it only for sleeping.

That evening, we strolled around the market in the center of town. Everything comes to life at this time, when the locals come out and eat on little plastic chairs that cover the pavement, often spilling out onto the road. With the food being so cheap, all the locals eat out rather than in their homes. This creates an amazing atmosphere of togetherness and friendliness. It’s also great to sit down and watch the buzz around us. This was also the first place where we tried sugar cane juice. Pressed right in front of you, this drink is full of sugar (obviously!) and tastes so good. It also keeps you buzzing for a number of hours!

Crushing the sugarcane. Sweet and delicious.

Fruit market.

Chau Doc is in the middle of the Mekong Delta. An area covered by river networks and where the real life happens. Everything from fish farming to vegetable markets, all is found on the water. Our second day here, we hired a guide to take us on his boat and explore the area. This was definitely the hi-light of our stay here. The life on the water was far more relaxing than the busy streets, but so much was happening. First we visited a little fish farm and got the opportunity to feed the fish through a hole in the floor boards. The fish then proceed to go crazy as they struggle to be first to the feed. That was certainly a wet experience!

Loving life on the river.

Fish feeding frenzy.

From there, we continued along the river and saw the houses on stilts or built directly on top of old, disused boats. Everything was so basic and pure. A civilisation built on the water and totally self-sufficient. We visited a market on the water and watched as locals haggled and exchanged products. Fruit and vegetable stocks were being thrown from boat to boat. There was a lot of shouting and it all seemed so natural for the locals, it was a great insight into their day-to-day life. On the way back, we watched a local fisherman cast off his net with great precision and technique. Obviously a life long role that he and his wife had perfected, again, amazing to watch.

Boat. house.

Floating petrol station.

Pass the parcel.

Staying mobile.

Traditional fishing.

Although Chau Doc town didn’t really impress us that much, the river certainly made up for it. We had set our expectations high for Vietnam, but it was a slow yet promising start. The next place was certainly a biggy for us: Saigon, the city of 4 million motor bikes…expectations were again, high.

Paradise found: Koh Rong Samloem

The last time we were able to walk down a sandy beach and gaze across the blue ocean was in Goa, India. If you’ve read that post, then you’ll realise why why weren’t so impressed with that place. On the other hand, the beach itself was dreamy, and that was something we definitely missed. Our beach shorts and bikinis were repacked to the top of our bags and we set off for Sihanoukville; again by bus.

5 hours later and after more never ending Cambodian musical films, we reached the outskirts of Sihanoukville (named after king Sihanouk). Unfortunately, we were dropped about 3km out of the center, and being midday, the sun was way too hot for us to walk it. The haggling began. After attracting a crowd of tuk tuk drivers who all wanted us (we felt so special!), we agreed on a price and actually got a taxi, with A/C to take us to our first guest house. It was a charming little guesthouse, covered in trees and potted plants. The 3 French guys who were there were very welcoming, even if they were more concerned with smoking the greenery rather than watering it.

That afternoon, Malene and I took a long walk down to the coast and explored the thriving beaches. It was a busy place, packed full of bars and eateries: hardly the paradise we had expected. Still, after a few hours of walking around and checking hotel prices, we found a cheap place, no more than a minute from the white sands. We booked ourselves in for the following day.

The next morning, we again packed our bags. This has now become second nature to us and although we’re getting faster and faster at the ritual of stuffing our sacks, the sacks themselves never seem to get any lighter. Although it was early, the sun was already raging down on us. We were quick to drop our bags in our new room and head straight for the beach. After a ten minute walk on the burning sand, we found an idyllic spot away from young travellers who were already set on partying. We claimed our sun loungers, ordered a beer (you had to buy a drink to use the seats – I had no choice!) and quickly settled in for a morning of nothingness. The water however was just too inviting. Deep blue and nicely warmed by the summers sun, we often took a quick dip and then returned to the comfort of our shaded seats. We began to wonder just how long we could stay here.

I had no choice but to buy the ice cold beer – honestly.

Practicing walking on water.

That evening, we wondered around the food markets and watched the place come to life. Music blared out, sun loungers were replaced by soft bean bags and tables and travelers came out in their drones looking for a happy hour. They had plenty to choose from too. We took the opportunity to enquire as to the price for getting to the small island of Koh Rong Samloem. Situated approximately 2 hours off the mainland, we studied the brochures which of course looked incredible. They always do. The price: 20$ per person. Included in this price (which was a lot for us) was a return boat ride on the famous party boat, Lunch, breakfast, one free drink and free snorkeling equipment. The prices for accommodation on the island were reasonable and so we booked our tickets for the following morning. It turned out that we wouldn’t be spending much more time in Sihanoukville. A mistake?

We agreed to leave our bags in the tour office where we booked the boat tickets. Chained to each other and in a back room, we presumed they would be safe. In hindsight, this was probably not the best of moves. But I’ll get to that later. We made our way to the jetty and waited in the shade of the bar – not drinking this time. The huge ‘party boat’ slowly edged its way towards us and before long we were on board and sipping on fresh coffee accompanied by even fresher pastries, it was going well. We set off and soon the mainland along with Sihanoukville disappeared into the distance. After an hour of cruising, we reached a small island. We dropped anchor and the mornings fun began: starting with a jump from the top deck into the warm, deep blue sea beneath. We got our snorkels and explored some beautiful coral reef just off the island. Malene was loving it. I couldn’t quite get the hang of breathing and decided to head back to the boat for some more jump offs.

Back onboard, it was time for our free beer as we dried off. Another hour passed and the island of Koh Rong Samloem came into view. It was like something from a movie. As we stood on the bow of the boat, the beach and tropical island grew closer and closer. It looked like happiness and we were eager to get even closer. The boat stopped a few hundred meters from the shore line and a smaller boat came to pick us up. That smaller boat then stopped 50 meters from the beach, and this time we were going by foot. With our bags held high above our heads, we jumped overboard and into the thigh deep, see-through blue water. We waded closer and closer to the beach. It felt like we had been shipwrecked and were now deserted.

Arriving on the beach.

Our dorm room had the greatest views. With one side of the wooden building fully open, we had uninterrupted full panoramic view of the beach and ocean. We were already excited about jumping into bed, but first, beach time! With Bob Marley playing in the bar, we soaked up the sun and relaxed into our new stress-free environment. With the bluest of waters gently crashing against the white sand, it was hard to imagine anywhere more peaceful and beautiful. I have never seen beaches like this before. I thought it was the type of place reserved for films, our overly photoshopped photos…how wrong I was.

The beach hotel

We played pool, sat in wicker chairs and got busy doing nothing. One evening, we crossed through the jungle and onto the west side of the island for a beautiful sun set. We watched the sun slowly sink down the horizon and felt totally captured by the whole place. That night we settled down in our bed and slept like babies. It was 4am when we were awoken by a crack of lightning. As we sat up in our bed, we watched a thunder storm erupt over the sea. Bellowing thunder accompanied by huge flashes of light danced over the calm ocean. It was a strange feeling that we were so safe and dry in our bed, yet we felt like we were caught in the middle of the storm. The rain didn’t last long and less than an hour later, it had passed leaving the skies to turn red as we watched the sun rise.

Sunrise from our bed.

Our days here on Koh Rong Samloem have provided memories of paradise that we’ll never forget. With all the difficulties of travelling around new countries on a tight budget, this place helped us to forget all those worries and reminded us of all the beauty we had seen along the way. Back on the main land, we returned to the tour agency to pick up our bags. Whilst there, we met another couple who had done a similar trip to us and were also collecting their belongings. Unfortunately, a bus travelling to Phnom Penh had accidentally taken their bags thinking they belonged to passengers on the bus. We were so lucky that they hadn’t taken ours. In fact, we were beginning to realise just how lucky we had been at this place. On arrival in Sihanoukville, we tried to stay at a guesthouse that was highly recommended by various travel guides. However, when we got there, it was fully booked. When we returned to Sihanoukville from the island, we actually found out that the guesthouse where we wanted to stay had devastatingly burnt down. No one was hurt, but a lot of luggage had gone up in the blaze. Again, we were very lucky…always a good thing to be when travelling.

On our last night in Sihanoukville, we met up with Jo and Tom for the final time. After here, we would be traveling in different directions and so decided to have some drinks down on the beach. It was an amazing evening, fueled by cheap beer. Meeting local people is always great and you learn so much of country by doing so. But it’s also fantastic to meet lovely, like-minded travellers. Exchanging stories and information is so much fun, especially if you’re travelling alone or as a couple. So, once again, it was time to say goodbye to Jo and Tom. For us, we would be travelling down the coast, eastwards and to Kampot. Here we would get covered in dust, eat incredible sea food and say goodbye to Cambodia…until next time.

Phnom Penh: A Dark History

There were 3 bus options available to us for traveling to Cambodia’s capital from sleepy Kratie: 7$, 8$ and 9$. We went for the 7$ option. This meant that in the mini bus, the rows of seats that usually took 3 people, would actually be taken by 4. It was a bit of a squeeze, but our new friends: Jo and Tom shared the row with us. The journey was relatively painless, with only a few legs falling asleep as the were propped up on the seats in front. As we crawled into Phnom Penh, it became instantly apparent just how quiet Kratie was in comparison. Traffic was already pilling up, skyscrapers lined the river edge and it wasn’t difficult to spot tourists walking down the streets. We felt like very little fish in a daunting and noisy new world.

As we jumped off the bus, the heat quickly inveloped us. We dodged what felt like a hundred taxi/rickshaw drivers and headed south in search of cheap accommodation. Tom and I took the lead (I was secretly just following him!) and the girls had a good chin wag a few meters behind. We had an idea of our destination, but didn’t really know if there would be any suitable hotels/guesthouses there. We walked for quite a long time. At one point, I’m sure someone attached a couple of rocks to my bag and my back was quickly giving way; time for a break. Finding a little cafe, our bags literally fell off our backs and we slumped into the fine plastic chairs provided. A cold jug of beer was quickly ordered and all of a sudden, our problems seemed to dissipate as we gulped down Phnom Penh’s finest nectar. Soon enough, Tom and I were called up by the girls to go find a place to stay. Relieved from our bags, searching the nearby streets was almost effortless in comparison with our earlier walk. It took no more than 10 minutes to find a nice guesthouse. Although it was a little out of our budget at 8$ a night, we felt that it was close enough to Phnom Penh’s main attractions (saving travel costs) and we excepted it with open arms.

Phnom Penh’s most famous tourist attractions include the killing fields, just south of the city and S21 – the school turned security prison ran by the Khmer Rouge and the site of over 20,000 killings between 1975 – 1979.

The 4 of us walked to S21, locally known as Tuol Sleng genocide museum. It was clear to see how this place was once a school. Simple buildings, full of classrooms, playgrounds with climbing frames; it was once a place of learning, happiness, you could almost still hear the children playing. But the Khmer Rouge leader, Pol Pot soon changed this innocent place. The buildings were enclosed with electrified barbed wire, classrooms turned to interrogation and torture rooms and the windows were fitted with bars to prevent escape. The whole place was kept, exactly as it was found back in the late 70’s. The steel framed beds remained with the chains and torture equipment. Blood stains still visible on the cold concrete floors. Rudimentary prison cells still intact for new generations to view and learn from the horrors of the past.

Classroom turned torture room.

Chalk-boards still in place.

Walking through a nightmare.

As the prisoners were captured and brought to S21, each individual was photographed. These mug shots are now on show and line the ground floor rooms. So many innocent faces, including women and young children. As you move through the rooms, the photographs of the captured turn even darker. As proof death, the Khmer Rouge soldiers would use photos of the dead prisoners as proof that they performed their duties for their superiors to see. Brutal photographs showing twisted, burnt and abused bodies line the walls. It was truly gut-wrenching to look at. Innocent babies were killed and photographed, simple farm workers, men and women alike were tortured using rudimentary tools and shown no mercy. So many images, so many faces and so many fearing and tearful eyes. A place, submerged in blood soaked history and a visit we shall never forget, nor forgive.

Barbed-wire holding the innocent in.

Once a school…

From here, we flagged down a tuk tuk and headed straight for the infamous killing fields. An area where both dead and alive Cambodian bodies were brought. Here, the mass graves of thousands are still visible. Walking around the eerie site, it’s not hard to imagine the brutality and suffering that once happened here. It is said that 14000 Cambodians are buried at this site, but no one really knows the exact amount. One poignant place here is the tree in which young children and babies were killed through bashing their bodies against its trunk. It is now used for remembrance of the lost lives and covered in red wrist bands. Although an important insight into the gruesome history that once encaptured this land, it was an incredibly hard and a very emotional day for us.

Mass graves.

Remembering those that had no chance.

The following day, Malene and I had our work cut out. We started off at the Vietnamese Embassy and arranged our visas. This was all very exciting. We were taking the first steps towards visiting what was probably my most highly anticipated country. After all the horror stories of fake visas issued by hotels, it was nice to be reassured that we wouldn’t be turned away at the border. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Vietnam was still a couple of weeks away, and we were loving Cambodia!

Second item on our shopping list for the day was our return flight ticket. We hunted down the Qatar Airways office (hidden pretty well) and began the long and laborious task of changing not only our outbound dates, but the outbound airport as well. It took hours. At one point, it looked like we were hitting an unbeatable brick wall. But our persistence paid off and finally we had our new ticket in our hands. The date was set. The airport now changed to Hanoi, Vietnam. All that remained was for it to sink in. Time to grab Jo and Tom and order a tower of beer. I mean, literally a tower. 3 liters of chilled Angkor beer for 17000 Riels or about £2.80…it was a great night with two amazing friends. Thanks for all the good times guys and even more so, all the fantastic information on Vietnam. I’m sure we’ll meet again soon.

And for you Phnom Penh, what an emotional ride you gave us. We will remember your history and feel for all the families that have lost during your horrific ordeal. A country that lost 4 million people out of a population of just 7 million is a number hard to comprehend. A history never to be forgotten.

Entering a world of adrenaline: Pokhara

14th – 28th February

This adventure actually began in Kathmandu and the second we stepped on the bus. Deciding to use a local bus, we managed to find an ex-formula 1 / adrenaline hunter bus driver with what seemed to be no apparent regard to the welfare of the passengers or the limits of the bus itself. As we tore out of the bus station, 2 things became clear – 1) accelerate as fast as possible and (2) brake as hard as possible at the last minute in order to pick up more weary passengers. This is the way it’s done in Nepal. In an attempt at covering the most distance in the shortest amount of time, this is method of driving adopted by all bus, taxi and tuk tuk drivers.

Without searching for it, adrenaline found us. With 100+ meter drops and no barriers lining the roads, one small mistake, one second of lost concentration, a swig of water or bite of a sandwich would have been all it took for us to plummet to the bottom of the mountain in our uncomfortable metal coffin. The roads themselves are also incredibly poor. I honestly thought the pot holes in England were bad enough to write and complain to my local council, but in comparison with Nepal…WOW…what was I worrying about? In England, a hole as round as a football and a couple of inches deep would be enough to put the tracking out on a car, crack a windscreen, even cause serious suspension damage…but out here?? Stretches of road for miles upon miles constantly test the driver as he weaves in and out of craters and looks for the best route through. Even with his skillful driving, we constantly drop into holes that stretch across the entire ‘road’ and the cracks and smashes even have the local passengers looking at each other with uncertain looks.

A bus ride in Nepal is crazy. A truly exhilarating ride, with breath taking views and a way to mix with the lovely local people. On the 7 hour journey from Kathmandu, we stopped half a dozen times for breakfast, lunch, snacks, toilet stops etc, and each time at more and more incredible locations. The closer we got to our final destination, the bigger and clearer the Himalayan mountains become. Like a photo slowly coming into focus, we watched with open mouths at the beauty and grandeur of the snow peaked mountains. Of course, I could have chosen to sit on the roof of the bus (a perfectly viable option) from where I would have received a much clearer and panoramic view of the countryside, but without making excuses, I simply didn’t have the balls.

Into Pokhara. With the sun out and the temperature back up into the mid 20’s, it felt like a perfect English summer. A cool breeze came in from the Phewa lake (largest lake in Nepal) and we checked into a hotel with prime views of it all: lake, mountains hills, city…perfect! The lakeside area we were stayed in is full of life; restaurants, bars, cafes and a spectrum of shops catering for the abundance of tourists. For trekkers, all your needs are accounted for, if you don’t mind imitation North Face merchandise, but its cheap and tends to look good. At night, the whole area changes as the street lights turn on and the music starts. Clubs (expensive drinking option) open, shisha bars entice and the younger travelers come out to play. With so many adrenaline based sports (mention later) available in the area, this is the place to come and wind down, chill and enjoy a host of food dishes from around the world.

On one of our first evenings, we met a French girl who had just finished a 5 day trek in the mountains. She talked to us about her experience and the pure delight and adventure she gained from it. Originally, Malene and I hadn’t planned on doing any trekking due to the price and time it took to really get the best from the mountains. But this girl was on such a high and talked so passionately about it that by the end of our conversation, we changed our minds. The very next morning, we went to the hotel booking office and brought a very expensive, but all exclusive (apart from drinking water) 5 day trekking package. The price of $230 each included all our mountain passes, accommodation for 5 nights our guide and as much food as we could eat. T date, it was the most expensive thing we had brought and we felt a little uncertain as to how good it would be. We had heard a lot of great stories from people trekking in this world famous Annapurna range of the Himalayas, but it was still a nerve racking time and a big decision to make. Question is, would we regret it? I’ll write a separate post with our experience of the mountains and without giving too much away, let me just say – the most beautiful place on this earth, mixed with sun, snow and ice, an incredible guide an overall memories that will be with us forever…but like I said, I don’t want to give anything away!

Mountain biking has been a passion of mine for a while now (15+ years) and I thought living in Sheffield with the Peak District knocking on my door every weekend was the best place for it. As perfect as the Peaks may be, there is something about riding around Nepal and Annapurna region, with the blue lake to one side and the sprawling mountains to another that really takes your breath away. With some good single tracks, crazy climbs to an ear popping height and full on technical descents, Malene and really tested ourselves. We travelled around the entire lake and up to a world peace stupa that lay on top of a small mountain that over looks Pokhara. At this simple, white monument that ancient Buddhist monks built, we enjoyed beans on toast whilst looking down on everything we had just climbed up. The feeling of achievement and solitude we had was truly amazing, but the beans was the real icing on the cake. After lunch we descended, and then descended some more. In fact, the next hour was a pure descent all the way back to our hotel. With a switch-back track, high beams and awesome drops, we raced down to the bottom. For those interested, Malene had a FS Jamis (1000 rupees per day) and I had a full bounce Meta 55 (2000 rupees) which was plush, well serviced and a pure delight to ride. I have to say thank you to the guys at the Pokhara Mountain Bike shop for being so fantastic. They provide the best bikes in town hands down and helped with organising routes for us…legends.

Without trying to cram too much into one week, the next day we hit the skies and flew with eagles. That’ll be for the next post though…thanks!

Stepping out of India and into…Goa!

Arriving into Madgoan and you’d be hard pressed to notice anything strange or un-Indian about the place. We got off the train at 5am and apart from a handful of white people (spotting them has become a bit of a game) everything felt normal: the heat was sticky, the rickshaws wanted silly money to take us the main bus station and the locals were already in full flow. We found a local bus that would take us to the main station and upon entering it, immediately felt the Goan party spirit. With colorful lights dotted across the ceiling and music from various speakers we chugged our way through the dark city. Luckily, it was only a couple of minutes ride as the bags resting on our legs had started to deprive our feet of much needed blood. Still, everything felt ‘normal’.

At the bus station (known as the bus ‘stand’) we waited for 20 minutes and enjoyed another cup of chai. After enquiring as to our bus, we were pointed to one that was parked across the courtyard. Brilliant! Before all the locals crammed on and took the best seats, we had first pick and after checking again with the driver, we climbed aboard. One thing we’ve learnt that you can never do enough of in India, is to ask for help, especially when it comes to transportation. Ask as many people as possible if its ‘the right train…’ or ‘the right bus’. The locals are always helpful, but often wrong, hence why collecting as many opinions as possible is the safest way. On the bus, we stowed our bags in the drivers cabin and watched him as he prepared his bus; spiritually. Using incense (3 sticks), the man offered the cleansing aroma to pictures of his various gods that were dotted around the cabin. As smoke slowly danced its way to Malene and I, we found it quietly calming as we watched the sun slowly rise. Again, normal.

With the bus packed full of locals on their way to work and school, we took off on the journey which took about an hour. As we climbed mountains and raced down the other side, palm trees and dense forest engulfed us. The sun was already out and our adrenaline was being fueled by the speed the driver was managing to get out of the old bus. It’s like he was always 10 minutes behind schedule and trying to catch up. The winding roads both up and down the hills didn’t stop him overtaking various other motorists whether the corner was blind or not. Even passing an accident between a lorry and a couple of cars didn’t seem to lessen the haste at which he traveled. Everything was still normal.

We then made our way through the small town of Palolem and closer to the beach, of which we still hadn’t seen yet. The shops crammed shoulder to shoulder along the main street and signs for yoga, beach huts and restaurants seemed to swamp the road side. As it was still only half 6 on the morning, apart from the shop owners cleaning their front steps, there were very few other people around. We stepped off the bus and walked down to the entrance of the beach. On the 200 meter walk to the sand, we started to notice something. Something that seemed strange. There were soo many white people! It was still early in the morning, but local Indians were nowhere to be seen, instead, white tourists and very few clothes between them. As we’re got down to the golden beach and started our slow, labored walk, more tourists could be seen. The beach was covered with bikinis, topless men, short shorts and glowing white skin. A little bit dazed, we managed to find our ‘resort’: The Nest.

With a beautiful beach bar and little wooden huts surrounded by palm trees, we made our way to the bar. We met the slightly strange, yet kind owner, Mohal. As our room (or rather hut) wasn’t ready, we moved our bags into the restaurant where we enjoyed breakfast and a coffee over-looking the beach and the glorious sea. We were still so struck to see so many white people. We had come across a few tourists in the past cities, but we were always the minority. Here, the tables had turned.

Our beach hut was simple, yet beautiful. Equipped with bathroom and shower with hot water, a terrace and hammock that looked straight onto the beach, it was as if we had died and gone to heaven. Unfortunately, that feeling wouldn’t last the duration of our stay in Goa. That day, we lay on the sun loungers, drank cold beer and read our books. With the crashing waves like a soundtrack to our peace, it felt like the essence of chilling. Of course, with such a hyped tourism market, the prices, food, drinks and music all represented what the Western holiday maker wanted – we were quick to learn that this was not what we wanted.

With prices double what we had been paying for the last 4 months, we were struggling to keep to our daily budget of £15 each (including travel expenses). Yes, it was still cheap compared to Western standards, but we had grown accustomed to Indian prices and spending our daily budget on the accommodation alone was eating into more than just our wallets. We’re not cheap people, but we also don’t have lots of money to spend on luxury hotels and fancy food. Here in Goa, we were constantly thinking about whether we could afford that meal or how it would affect the rest of our travels. On the other hand (and without sounding too hypocritical), the food was absolutely delicious. On our small beach, there were plenty of restaurants to choose from, all with first class views of the beach and perfect sunsets – every night. Menus were crammed with continental dishes and fresh fish including lobster, prawns, king fish, octopus and shark. Most of the restaurants laid there tables out on the sand, and with just the candle light and the stars, we would spend hours just gazing out into the open sea.

The little shops in town (one street) were jammed full off colorful memorabilia and over eager owners. Although the colorful spices, sweet smell of incense and beautiful dresses looked wonderful, actually browsing through it all is next to impossible thanks to these shop owners. As a potential customer, you are constantly told “good price for you”, or “you look for free” and trying to leave empty handed is almost seen as criminal. It’s a real shame as the items for sale are truly beautiful, but unless you know exactly what you want, I would recommend giving these shops a wide birth. Hard as it may be, ignoring the shop owners tends to be the best policy for all parties.

After many quick dashes between various cities on the way down, we decided to spend a week here to recharge our batteries. Traveling is great fun and you always learn so much about yourself as well as culture around you. But it is tiring, in fact exhausting and spending a week in the sun came as a welcome break. It was just a shame that we had to leave ‘India’ in order to do so. We loved the nights in the mini open-air cinema and enjoying salmon and scrambled eggs for breakfast, but this place is so far removed from India that it feels like you’re back in Europe. In fact it came to the point where actually seeing local Indians on the beach was quite rare – probably in the same way as they saw tourists in the rest of the country.

Monkey Island provided a nice get-away from all of this. Although just a short walk from the beach, this island, covered by palm trees and monkeys, was a nice place to come to. And with a fresh pineapple, Malene and I could sit and watch the crashing sea and feel a little bit lost once again. Perfect.

The white sands and blue seas of Goa is of course a memorable place. The question is whether its memorable for the right reasons. Of course it was nice to recoup, get some ‘normal’ food and speak English again, but on the other hand, isn’t that cheating? The nice thing about India is that it doesn’t take too much from you, but instead gives back so, so much. This isn’t a conclusion we could make of Goa. So, thank you for your sandy beaches and your cooling sea swims, but we’re looking forward to stepping back into India – crazy, I know!

Our next stop is Hampi and its sacred monuments – will we find India again?

The lost caves of Ajanta

After trying the third hotel on Jalgao’s station road, Malene and I left, unable to negotiate a price that worked for us. Luckily, there were plenty of other options on the same road and our patience paid off as we stumbled into Hotel Plaza. It wasn’t late, but the long traveling hours and hit or miss food left us both tired. The Hotel manager was charming from the off and happy to show us the variety of rooms he had in his slightly unconventional guest house. With a modern feel to it, we followed him down white washed corridors and inspected the even whiter rooms, barely decorated, but clean and at 750rs (£8) a night we booked ourselves in for the next 2 nights.

Hotel prices in India don’t make sense. Price, service and room condition rarely go hand-in-hand and most often, we find that the smaller places are the best option and the best price. The Lonely Planet guide helps to plan long and complicated trips, but when it comes down to hotels, there’s so much choice, that shopping around a little can really pay off. And that’s what happened here. Not only was the room perfect, but also the service and the kindness of the manager. He provided us with maps of the local area, a list of restaurants and more importantly, a detailed guide to getting to the Ajanta caves – home to some of India’s oldest artwork.

The next morning was an early one. After a good nights sleep we woke at 6am and were greeted by an early morning chai. The hotel manager even stopped a passing rickshaw for us and insisted that we didn’t pay the driver more than 20 rupees. The journey to the bus stand was quick and uneventful. However, it was surprising to see how busy this little town was at this relatively early hour. On our walks through various Indian towns and cities, we’ve noticed that there are a lot of people who appear to be doing very little, some asleep, some playing cards but most are chatting with each other in what ever shade they can find. With so little to do, why are they getting up so early?

At the bus stand, we had a short wait before leaving and decided to have another chai – the small glasses of sweet chai are so addictive and great for getting the body started. On the bus, we clambered down the narrow aisle, feeling glad that we didn’t have our large bags with us. Unfortunately, the only remaining empty seats were towards the back, a place we will try to avoid from now on! The bus fired up what sounded like a well used V12 and as the exhaust spat out a cloud of black fog, we pulled out of the station and embarked on the one hour journey to Ajanta.

The beauty with traveling at this time is watching the sun rise. It doesn’t really matter where we are in India, the sun rise and sun sets are usually memorable. The sun is so big, like a giant ball of passion and it is always so majestic to watch. Unfortunately, the ride-comfort didn’t match the beautiful scene that was evolving outside. We were being bounced and tossed around like rag dolls. Our heads were close to smashing the overhead luggage compartment as our bums left the seats. It felt like we were on a ship in gale force winds and we didn’t really know where we were getting off. As it turned out, we got off one stop too soon, which meant we had to start walking, hopefully the right direction.

After a 10 minute walk (uphill) we came across a guest house in the middle of no where and asked for directions. Out of pure sympathy, the guy we were chatting to decided to take us on the back of his bike – both man and machine were Hero’s! At the foot of the mountain, Malene and I waited for the shuttle bus that would take us up. After a brief ascent we reached the ticket office and forked out another 250 rupees – the standard price for all of India’s World Heritage sites. Of course, had we been local Indians, the price would have dropped to just 10 rupees each – we call it ‘milking the tourist’, and it happens everywhere! We started another ascent, this time by foot and as we managed to take the first bus up in the morning, it felt like we had the place to ourselves. At the top, we looked down upon the horse-shoe crescent that was formed in the side of the mountain. With a river running along the bottom and lush, green canopies, the place looked a lot like the way it did in 1819, when John Smith rediscovered them after years of being forgotten. The 30 caves dating between the 2nd Century AD and the 6th Century BC, depict Buddha, his teachings and their way of life. With so many paintings so well preserved it was almost impossible to imagine how anyone could achieve such beauty – such a long time ago. In fact these paintings, or ‘temperas’ as their known, are so detailed and beautiful, that no examples can be found from this era in the entire world.

It was a little creepy and slightly bewildering walking from cave to cave. We couldn’t imagine how they constructed these caves so many years ago or how the crafted the stone so beautifully. In many places there were small holes in the floor where it’s said they mixed their paints using animal and vegetable pigments – we were standing on one of the worlds oldest palettes. We wondered between individual rooms that were used to shelter Buddhists during the wet monsoon season and gazed in amazement at the giant statues of Buddha, most of which were within their own stone chamber at the rear of each cave.

After a very thorough study of each cave and finding John Smiths signature, we decided to climb the hill directly opposite the caves. At the top and after wiping the sweat from our foreheads, the view was clearly worth the climb. The horseshoe shaped valley curved its way around in front of us and as the monkeys played in the trees, hundreds of meters above the valley floor, we again tried to work out how they formed the caves in the side of the mountain. Of course, we could never fully understand the mystery behind Ajanta caves, and that in itself was the beauty of it. A true place of peace and tranquility, the sense of holiness was almost tangible. Much like the paintings were engraved on the walls, Ajanta caves is engraved in our memories and we feel very luckily for that.

Next up…Goa, the sunshine state!

A week like no other…

Some weeks are just special, this was one of them. I will undoubtably forget something in this post but as Malene and I sit outside and soak up some of this glorious sun, I will try my best. Strange to think its nearly November and still 35 degrees! I heard its snowing back home in England and Denmark?

Monday and perhaps not so much exciting, but a little nerve-racking for the children as it was dentist day. A new scheme that has been set in play is to get a mobile dentist from the hospital in Ludhiana (an hour away) to visit the orphanage. A big bus/van arrived at a nearby house, plugged in its generators, deployed its stabilizers and rear steps and waited as we arranged the children. It felt like something out of thunderbirds and probably didn’t make the children feel any more at ease for what was, for many of them, their first trip to the dentist.

As the big van started up its generators, the children jumped back and any remaining smiles soon disappeared. It was soon time for the first patient, little Navijot, one of the smallest, cutest little girls was first, instant tears built up in her eyes and luckily Malene was nearby to take her hand. In fact Malene had her work cut out of her as she stayed with each child, holding their hands and comforting them. I stayed well clear, just in case they wanted me in the chair! It was surprising how many children needed fillings and cleaning work done. For £50, Malene and I felt that this mobile dentist was a wonderful expenditure, but the orphanage needs donations to keep it going. They’re hoping to raise £100 so they can use this service twice a year.

If the children weren’t too happy about the dentist on Monday, then they would surely be happy about Tuesday’s plans. A couple of pastors from Bedford (England) arrived at the school and together with their church they had raised some money to take all the children to McDonalds. Arguably, you could say that £200 could have been used a little more wisely, but the children were very excited, as were Malene and I at the thought of a Big Mac! 3 mini buses were arranged to take us all (60) and even though each bus had a maximum capacity of just 10, we all squeezed in. With the small ones sat on laps and a total disregard for any safety, we took a couple of brave pills and set off. The closest McDonalds was 1 hour away, however, at the rate our driver was traveling at, I often wondered if we would make it at all.

After our off-road, cow dodging, pedestrian swerving, 1 hour ordeal, we saw the golden arches. The level of excitement went up 10 fold as we lined the children up outside and took photos with the McDonald clown. A space was set-aside for us inside and we just about crammed everyone in – children, teachers, cooks, cleaners, pastors, bus drivers and us! Unfortunately, there was no Big Mac on the menu, in fact, no beef at all, just chicken burgers or a vegetarian option. To make it simple, everyone had a Happy Meal but for the children it really was a Happy Meal! Malene and I worked hard to serve all the drinks and meals and then afterwards the ice creams. It was a strange feeling being inside a McDonalds in India. Apart from the (limited) menu, it was just like back home, even the toilets were…normal!

Back in the buses, we travelled home. With children asleep on each others shoulders and the sun setting all I could think about was how lucky I felt to be out here…away from McDonalds and fast food, and greed and rudeness. Instead we are surrounded by friendly hospitality, wonderful, loving people who will do anything for you, for nothing in return. Needless to say, I was hungry 10 minutes later…typical McDonalds!

I think now would be a good time to introduce our new guest at the orphanage. His name is Don, a friend of Roger and a very down-to-earth, lovely man. He has been visiting the orphanage for 5 years and is excellent with the children. As a semi retired science teacher, he has a lot of knowledge and experience when it comes to teaching. Together with Don, we are trying to educate the teachers at the school and make their teaching more exciting for both themselves and their children. After school has finished, Don chairs a teachers meeting and over the past couple of days, we have been discussing and sharing what makes a good teacher and techniques of how we can improve. Although Don is only here for another week, Malene and I really think that this is a big opportunity to make some positive changes. We have started using lesson plans and encouraging more activeness in the teachers.

After one of our first ‘teacher meetings’, in the evening there was an incredible thunder storm. Hopefully this was a positive sign that we are doing something good out here! Although we thought the storm wasn’t very close, the cracks of thunder shook our building where we slept and as the electricity flickered on and off, we tried desperately to fall asleep. The next morning, it was apparent that the storm was closer than we first thought. Growing up the wall of our apartment was a large tree that had been hit by lightening. 3 men were desperately chopping at the split trunk that was now lying across the path as Malene and I took a couple of photos, still in disbelief!

On this day, Malene took the girls dancing in a private – no boys allowed class after school. Apparently, the children aren’t allowed to listen to much music here, but it was so clear to see how much they enjoyed themselves. It’s a shame that they’re not really allowed (we found out later) because the sense of euphoria and freedom, let alone the laughter was tremendous. It is a little strange because they all knew the songs that Malene played, from listening to them on mobile phones and even had dance routines for different songs. Still, not our school, not our rules, but maybe one day, this rule regarding music might change, I really hope so!

As Malene held this class, I was off to the local town with Poonam and Baljit to do a light bit of shopping. First things first, a new Indian suit. Nothing too posh, just traditional, which we found in one of the many clothes shops that line the narrow streets. I say ‘found’, what I mean is that we located the material rather than a completed suit. After a while of haggling, we settled on a price and I was measured up. To be perfectly honest, I have no idea what it is that I’m getting, apart from the colour that is. Hopefully they understood “plain and simple” and nothing that will make me look even more out of place! The price for 2 suits, tailor-fitted, about 11 pounds.

As if the dentist and McDonalds and Don’s arrival wasn’t enough for one week, the real excitement came on Saturday, a trip to Wonderland. Again, about an hours drive away, Wonderland is a modern theme park, with roller-coasters, fast food and a water-park. For Malene and I, it was as if we had stepped outside of India and into a westernised city of fun. The children of course, loved every second as we were dragged from ride to ride.

Lunch time came with more burgers. Remember that most of these children had never seen a burger before apart from in books and this week they were on their second! Of course the sun was out and it was beautifully warm, which made the afternoon activity a little more bearable: swimming in the water-park. We all hired shorts and costumes and rushed to get changed. Of course Malene and I and all the teachers got involved as we donned the rather ill fitting outfits and made our way to the cold waters. The main pool was a beach style affair which was perfect for the little ones, especially as it was the first time they had ever been swimming! We all tried out the water slides, rode the waves and even danced in small dancing room with strobe lighting, loud music and showers of water.

All-in-all, it was a fantastic day out for which we thanked Don who had invited and paid for us. The children, exhausted once again, slept on the way home. To be honest, my eyes were also very heavy. We felt the mixture of India and the Western world this week and it really got me thinking. I do miss home, my family, my friends, but I can’t help but feel that we’ve struck gold out here. Although we can’t put our fingers on exactly what it is that is so special, we can both feel it. I’m sorry if this post was all over the place, but that was our weeks events and certainly a week that we won’t forget in a very long time.

For photos from this week, scroll back up a little…