Gecko on the Go

Langtang Valley Trek

2011-12-24T19:41:00.001Z

Day 1: Syabru Bensi to Lama Hotel (2650m)

Set off with Govinda, across the cable bridge and up the valley, following the icy blue-grey Langtang river the whole way. Today we gained about 1000m in altitude, but I'm sure we ascended at least twice that as the path rose and fell, rose and fell, all morning, climbing over each fold of the valley only to return to the river. The trail was through woodland, with almost constant river views and conveniently punctuated by teahouses. Sat in one built out over the river and watched the slow process of getting cows across the river.

After a hearty dhal bhat lunch we climbed steeply, almost constantly. Often this meant huge stone steps and resulted in the rapid shedding of layers of clothing and occasional stops at the little lodges perched over the river.

The lodge at Lama Hotel was basic but cosy and welcoming. More dhal bhat. More tea.

Day 2: Lama Hotel to Langtang (3451m)

The trees thinned out, then disappeared, leaving shrubs, mountain views and the odd yak. The river bagan to fall away further below us, its water clearer and bluer. A steady day's climb up to Langtang. Almost no other trekkers on the route, but a constant trickle of porters stoically carrying improbable loads on their backs, straps straining against their foreheads - timber, traditional baskets of who knows what, massive bundles, and even one man with a stack of 8ft by 4ft plywood. Just watching these men and women could make you tired and certainly made me more than willing to pay the prices which rose with altitude for the few things I bought during the trek (ie coke and loo paper).

An excellent garlicky dhal bhat. A cold night - woke at 3am to see temperature in bedroom was 1 degree.

Day 3: Langtang to Kanjin Gompa (3960m)

Thought about a quick wash before breakfast (ie splash on face) but the tap was frozen, the only sink being outside. Porridge by the kitchen fire seemed a better option.

A couple of steep climbs, but much of the day's walk was flattish, undulating. The scenery was awe-inspiring, snowy peaks, glaciers, craggy rock and barren moorland - quite magnificent. Although the sun blazed down and I was soon defrosted and hiking in a t-shirt, streams remained semi-frozen. We reached Kanjin Gompa in time for lunch (more dhal bhat), then I pottered off along the valley towards another glacier and iced-up stream that cut through the scree. Truly monumental views, momentous scenery that touches the soul.

Returning to the lodge, I met a couple of other trekkers - almost the first we've come across. It was good to chat before they headed off back down.

Another cold night - one of the people I met said his water had frozen in his room last night. So I filled my bottle with hot from the kitchen and kept it in my sleeping bag. A win-win situation, I'd say.

Day 4: Kanjin Gompa to Kanjin Ri (4590m) and down to Langtang

A stiff climb up to the ridge at Kanjin Ri, but worth every step - standing on the ridge looking out across the Langtang range, the peaks and glaciers, the icy wind ripping, the sun beating down - magnificent.

Back to Kanjin Gompa for lunch, tea and a rest before heading back down to Langtang. Still exhilarated and gasping with wonder at the scenery, but already feeling sorry that I was now on the way back. Stayed in a busy lodge in Langtang, for the first time, packed with other merry trekkers.

Day 5: Langtang to Lama Hotel

Clean socks never felt so good! An easy walk down to Lama, arriving early afternoon. Sat in the sun playing rummy with Govinda. Removed my hat for a couple of hours, for the first time in at least 48 hours - seemed to have developed matted dog hair. Fortunately I haven't seen a mirror for days. In the evening, sat by the fire playing rummy and drinking Nepali whisky. A very mellow day.

Day 6: Lama Hotel to Syabru Bensi

We covered the ground quickly, despite stopping for refreshment a few times. Hard on the knees, down down down. Nice to see places I remembered from on the way up, but after the barren days at altitude it still all looked interesting and maybe different seen from the other direction.

Arrived in the early afternoon and enjoyed a warm shower. Removed underwear and t-shirt for first time in a week. Dressed in clean clothes, I ran my hands through my hair over and over, wondering at the clean soft sensation. Ordered fried noodles for dinner, but Govinda insisted that this was only a snack - turned out to be enough for two people, but by then we had added 'snicker roll' to the order... Knocked socks off the famed Scottish fried Mars bar - this was a snickers wrapped in a generous blanket of doughnut and deep fried. And there were two of it! I spent the rest of the evening sharing beers with the wonderful Govinda who has been not only a great guide, but a good friend and companion all the way.

What a fabulous trek!

Now just the return bus journey to deal with...

Kathmandu to Syabru Bensi

2011-12-18T03:39:00.002Z

I'd been warned that the bus trip would be a bit of a switchback, but I didn't expect to be zig-zagging on broken roads within 500 yards of departure. Tightly squeezed between my backpack and my trekking guide, I balanced on a seat only marginally attached to the body of the bus.

It took 8 hours to cover the 135km to get here. The views down into the valleys were awesome, but tended to begin about an inch from our wheels. I began to relish the untarmacked sections that slowed us down, but even these became quite a white-knuckle experience when we lurched across the rubble of last summer's landslides, clinging somehow to our narrow track. Meeting oncoming vehicles demanded even greater precision. Where the most precarious corners coincided with washed away road was generally where the bus driver chose to re-tune the radio and light a cigarette. I opted for an eyes-closed policy.

When bravely opening my eyes I was treated to occasional snow-capped mountains, steeply terraced hillsides, rivers churning far below, neatly uniformed children walking to mud-floored schoolrooms, naked toddlers playing in the dirt, villages full of people living simple lives, cooking over open fires, carrying enormous baskets of vegetables, drinking tea.

Eight hours is a lot of blaring Indian music and a lot of men throwing up out of windows and old ladies throwing up neatly into their skirts. I was quite glad to get off and into the tiny village of Syabru Bensi.

Kathmandu

2011-12-17T03:18:00.002Z

Arriving in Kathmandu is like stepping back in time. A searchlight swoops the sky above the runway as you cross the tarmac to the terminal. Then you walk down bleak glass and brick corridors straight from a 1970's school. In the baggage hall the conveyor soon fills up with thousands of intricately rope-bound boxes and bundles, interspersed only occasionally with a suitcase. The novelty of watching these rotate and fall off wears thin after an hour or so. Another half hour later, my bag finally stumbles in.

Prakash, the delightful manager of my hotel, has come to meet me. We drive through a maze of crowded, semi-surfaced streets, where groups of people huddle round pavement fires and here and there a cow grazes on a pile of rubbish. Houses look half-built and everywhere are patches of wasteland and piles of bricks or rubble.

The hotel is simple and welcoming. I down a curry and an Everest beer and sleep and sleep.

In the morning I meet the wonderful Bharat, who has been organising my trip through a series of emails these last few weeks. He assures me that all is sorted, he will arrange rental of a warm sleeping bag and help in any way he can. Then I hop onto the back of his motorbike so he can show me the way to Thamel. Which turns out to be only a matter of yards.

ATM, coffee, then shopper's paradise: hundreds of shops crammed to the rafters with fake outdoor brands. That is, "Genuine fake". 75 quid later I am kitted out with a North Fake down jacket, windstopper trousers and windstopper shell and sitting drinking tea in the back of the shop with the owner. Snugly wrapped (and in love with down jacket) I potter some more, picking up trekking snacks, medical supplies and lunch before giving in to the urge to go back to the hotel for a snooze.

In the afternoon I meet up with Bharat again, pay him and make arrangements for tomorrow, before wandering out again. Beer and food at the Funky Buddha round the day off nicely.

Köpu to Pärnu

2010-08-14T09:44:00.000Z

35km

Koguvu to Köpu

2010-08-13T09:43:00.000Z

94km

Kuresaare to Koguva

2010-08-12T09:42:00.000Z

83km...

Liesi to Kuresaare

2010-08-11T09:40:00.000Z

53km.. details to follow

Kärdla to Velupe / Liesi

2010-08-10T09:39:00.000Z

73km... details to follow

Haapsalu to Kärdla - the bike trip begins

2010-08-09T09:36:00.002Z

35km
Our cycle tour began with a 6am pick-up for the drive to Haapsalu where we were dropped off with our bikes and maps and a cheery wave. We had breakfast by the sea followed by a pootle about the rather fine castle ruins before cycling the 9km to the ferry port. It always feels rather good to ride onto a car ferry and especially through the open-jaw bow which for some reason I like. It was a pleasant 90 minute crossing to the island of Hiiumaa, apart from watching a 25 kroon note fly out of my bag and over the sea. Though as this is less than two pounds I should really feel more guilty about littering the oceans.
To be continued....

Tallinn

2010-08-07T09:21:00.003Z

The walled old town of Tallinn has been beautifully kept, or lovingly restored, somehow escaping modern development. A compact maze of cobbled streets weaves up and down, opening out here and there onto a small square by a church. The brightly painted buildings are tall and narrow, all different but built into continuous terraces, with occasional arches between them leading into ever narrower alleyways. Every street is lined with pavement cafes and bars. You can't go ten yards without a medievally dressed serving wench offering you sweet ginger-roasted almonds or beckoning you into a hostelry.
We ate in a 'medieval' restaurant (you can't fight it), served by the ubiquitous wenches and young men in tunics, tights and pointy shoes. The dishes served were supposedly medieval and definitely quite good. As was the cinnamon beer.
Another good stop-off for a quick snack was a little olde pie shop, serving nothing but three varieties of pasty-like pie (elk and mushroom was very tasty), beer in clay pots and soup. When Gursh (who I'm here with for the bike tour) asked the serving wench for a coke she told him he'd have to come back in five hundred years, which I thought was a pretty neat response. Wandering the streets of the old walled city made for a very pleasant afternoon and evening, despite the overpowering medieval theme and endless souvenir shoppes. It would be easy to drift from cafe to cafe all day.

Tokyo

2010-07-28T10:56:00.014Z

I arrived here on Monday afternoon and strolled up the road from my hostel in Asakusa to Senjosi temple. The approach to the temple was a small street lined with a tourist market, but best of all were the guys advertising, and operating, a running rickshaw service. Clad in faded, well worn bike shorts and uniform tops, these young men ran, pulling rickshaw-like carriages. I stood and feasted for so long on the sight of their well-toned muscular thighs, as they casually hitched up the hem of a shorts-leg here and there, that of course I was soon approached with the offer of a ride. I decided against explaining that I was only interested in their legs and moved on.
Yesterday was a big city day. Got up with one of my dorm-mates at five o'clock to visit Tsukiji fish market. Visitors are no longer allowed into the tuna auction, but we managed to find ourselves on the edge what looked like the post-auction collection point, or similar, where huge frozen tuna were being lugged about. Apparently the best of them sell for something like three million Yen. Elsewhere in the market the fish, newly bought at auction, were being cut up - those that were still frozen were whizzed through a bandsaw, fresh ones cut up by hand. Every kind of seafood imaginable was there, three foot long octopus tentacles were being curled int plastic bags, sea-cucumbers lurked unattractively and squid were being held up for inspection.

Later in the morning I set out again, this time for Akihabara - electric town. I trawled various stalls and shops looking for sushi-shaped usb sticks to no avail. I imagine you can buy any bit of electronicsy stuff you could ever want here but I wasn't too excited by tray after tray of miniscule computer components. Still, the place was buzzing with gaudy shop fronts, sales pitch and even a maid cafe.

Next stop was Kiddyland - a shop famed for its plethora of kitsch. Hello Kitty may be king here (or should that be queen?) but the shop had a whole Snoopy floor. Exhausted by the Stuff on offer I retired to the storefront to enjoy a Hello Kitty ice-cream.

Strength restored, I walked down to Shibuya to witness what might be the world's busiest pedestrian crossing (supposedly). It was fairly manic, a four way intersection, so four zebras - one across each road - as well as diagonals. Unfortunately it wasn't rush hour, so my photos don't look quite as good as others I have seen. From here I went to Shinjuku, where I visited a couple of enormous camera shops to track down a new battery. And play with lots of cameras on display while trying not to be too tempted by any of them. By the time I left, it was six o'clock, so Shinjuku station was fairly busy. I've been through it a few times now and there is rather a lot of it. Apparently it has 60 exits and more than 3 million people pass through it every day.

Today I set off for Tsukudocho, near Kagurazaka to see something closer to old-Tokyo charm. The area is full of tiny narrow roads lined with houses, cafes and bars and made a nice contrast to yesterday's bright lights. I then went to Koishikawa Korakuen - a walled garden that proved to be a very attractive haven of calm with its lake, streams and pathways that wandered up little hillocks and over bridges. It even contained a small rice paddy, planted by someone who wanted his wife, who came from a rich family, to understand the hardships endured by peasants. In the distance the peak of a rollercoaster could be seen... so off I went in search of the beast.

The coaster was "Thunder Dolphin" at Tokyo Dome. It whizzed over, and through, buildings as well as through the middle of a spokeless ferris wheel. Well, I suppose with a spoked one it might have presented a problem. Of course, I had to have a go... The guys operating the ride waved us off as if we were dear friends going away for a year and when we returned they clapped our amazing achievement with delighted smiles. I stepped off, my hair pointing backwards and 90 degrees to the back of my head. It was fast. The initial hill was at least twice as high as the mall below and the view from the top was amazing, but unfortunately we didn't hang around there for long. The first drop was terrific - so steep it felt like freefall (it isn't) and apparently over 80 mph.

Kawaguchiko and around

2010-07-25T09:40:00.011Z

Kawaguchiko

Fuji-san peeking through the cloud, seen from Mt Kachikachi yesterday

The path down from Kachikachi

Mount Fuji from Kawaguchiko, earlyish this morning before the clouds rolled in

Fuji from Okinawa - somewhere a little below 5th station where the road ends and most hikers begin their climb

Shengen Shrine - traditional start of the Fuji-san pilgrimage.
Saw a few pilgrim-walkers setting off, dressed all in white with bells on. Literally.

Informative map of ice cave

What not to do in the ice cave

Masa in the ice-cave. The blocks have been cut from further inside the cave.

Icicles in the cave

Icicles again. The temperature in the cave was zero. It drops to minus 3 at its coldest. Walking towards the entrance, then down into the cave, you can feel the temperature drop in sudden steps. When American forces were stationed here they built a dance hall in the entrance to caves to make the most of this natural airconditioning.

Oh look, icicles. Well, icicle stalagmites.

Mount Fuji from the shore of Motosuko

This is the viewpoint used for the illustration on the 1000 yen note.
Presumably on a clearer day.

Gardens on shore of Kawaguchiko, just before the storm

One night in Tokyo

2010-07-22T09:01:00.000Z

My extra day in Nikko has made it less worth going somewhere else on my way to Fuji, so I decided I'd just have a night in Tokyo on my way through. That gave me an afternoon pottering in the area close to my hotel and Shinjuku station. After a pub lunch I wandered through the red light district and into a shop that the guide book billed as Tokyu Hands' trashy cousin. It was quite beguilingly trashy, sucking you in to the point when you really start to believe that Hello Kitty bud earphones are just what you need. Guitar strings are shelved next to vibrators, cheap underwear with umbrellas and kids' toys next to rubber clothing. In the midst of all this mega-trash are useful items like electric fans and toasters, but they are balanced by the rows of false eyelashes and strangely shaped i-pod speakers that look like, among other things, big lego blocks.

Hiker's lunch

2010-07-21T09:39:00.000Z

Rice-balls... standard hiking or train travel lunch. The excitement is never knowing what filling you're getting (unless, unlike me, you can read the labels). Haven't been disappointed yet.

Nikko Highlands

2010-07-21T08:29:00.001Z

A perfect day. Idyllic hiking in stunning mountains under a bright blue sky. I am still glowing with the pleasure of it all.

Took the bus up the winding pass to Akechi-daira, where I caught a short cable car ride up then began a fairly stiff climb through the woods. An hour later I stood atop a hill looking down at Lake Chuzenji shimmering far below, surrounded by hills with little wisps of cloud clinging to their summits. I sat and gazed, awe-struck, as I munched on the first mystery rice ball of the day, before beginning the long descent. The route was fairly clear, though with signs all in Japanese I had to be fairly careful whenever the path split.

After a quick milk-shake break at Chuzenji-ko, I hopped back on the bus and rode up to Ryuzu falls. A long flight of steps followed the falls which cascaded down over a long series of small drops. From the top another hiking trail led off through the woods, first following the river then across marsh land where the views opened up again and each turn gave another reason to draw a deep breath and reach for the camera. Meeting the Yugawa river again, I continued, somewhat plagued by enormous parties of schoolchildren enjoying the flat boardwalk route and putting paid to any idea I had of stripping off and leaping into a refreshing bit river. Further on the path passed more waterfalls and finally another big drop, Yu-daki falls, before topping out at Yumoto Lake where a sulphorous perfume wafted on the breeze - the local hot springs very much in evidence. The path round the lake made for a pleasant stroll, bringing me to the tiny village of Yumoto Onsen. I couldn't find an obviously open-to-the-public onsen to bathe away any hiking aches, but I did find the hot springs source, where hot water bubbled up through the mud. And then I chanced upon a public footbath where I sat and bathed my feet and hoped that the hot water might prevent my calves from seizing up again. Slipping my socks and shoes back on I walked away with my feet positively glowing and pulsating happy-waves. And I have to say that so far I have no aches from today's hiking - a total of about five hours - though whether this is due to the restorative hot waters or the fact that I am finally getting those muscles used to working again, I can't say.

This area above Nikko is breathtakingly beautiful. The hiking trails are enough to set me to thinking that I wouldn't mind living in Tokyo, knowing that all this is only a couple of hours away. And I would dearly love another day or two here to do some more hiking. What else can I say? Nikko, and its highlands, is the absolute highlight of this trip so far.

Nikko

2010-07-20T11:31:00.005Z

Nikko rocks. This place is fabulous. Surrounded by hills and cascading water, it is a cutesy little tourist town perched beside the world heritage area for which it is famed, packed with shrines and temples. I spent the morning taking in many of these, then walked to Gamman-Ga-Fuchi abyss where a hundred or more jizu statues line a path through the wood beside a fabulous creek full of gushing rapids and more clear, cold-looking water. Back in town I stopped at a lovely, tiny cafe for some excellent yaki-udon (and shared a table with two french ladies who carefully unwrapped bundles from their handbags to produce their own knives and forks!). If you're ever in Nikko, I can't recommend this place enough - it's called Hippari Dako and everything everyone was eating looked and smelled as good as mine. And the sweet little lady who served me put on a very good show of being delighted with my attempts at Japanese, e.g. that was delicious... the bill please. Well, at least I tried!
This afternoon I took a bus up to Chuzenji-ko where I visited the impressive waterfall, Kegon-no-taki. As well as enjoying the stunning views from the top of the falls, I took the lift to the bottom. An elevator shaft has been bored 100m down through the rock and on stepping out at the bottom I found myself in a decidedly chilly tunnel - the waterfall obviously makes a very good air-conditioner. Along the tunnel, down a couple of flights of steps, and suddenly there you are enjoying a misty spray of water surrounded by the thunder of the falls. Back at the top, I had a stroll by the lake and a very good ice-cream before catching a bus back down the perilous pass to Nikko. The bus ride had fabulous views, hairpin bends numbered up to forty-something (about 25 of them on the down route) and was the sort of journey that had me very glad to be, for once, in a country where driving seems to depend more on care, skill and mechanically sound vehicles than a faith in god and a willingness to meet him sooner rather than later.
The scenery in this area is stunningly beautiful. Getting around on buses is easy peasy with a 'free pass' (nothing free about it, but it gives unlimited travel) and buses with electronic displays in English as well as Japanese telling you which stop is next. I got back to town with a definite spring in my step, stocked up on hiking supplies for tomorrow and managed to get a mountain of food for my dinner by pointing at a picture menu. Spurred on by my lunchtime success, I decided to try another Japanese phrase. However, my attempt to say, 'I'd like this please,' added a degree of confusion to what had been a straightforward transaction - I had to sign-language 'forget that' and settle for a basic point and smile.

Kamishiro to Nikko

2010-07-19T11:24:00.002Z

Another complicated 5-transfer train journey. It started very scenically, the train criss-crossing the river as it wound its away along a narrow little valley, heading towards the north coast. The water ran rapidly, crystal clear and icy blue. We were snapped by dozens of trainspotters at every bridge - no notebooks and flasks here - it's all photos. By train three, I was following the coast, hills still rising on the other side of the track. Train four was a shinkansen (bullet train), heading south and after a ridiculously long tunnel we popped out into flat land. The journey was punctuated by random snacks and an entertaining JR catalogue - makes 'Innovations' look dull. Duller. More of that another time - I have photos of the weird and wonderful goods on offer! Train five was another shinkansen and then I was onto the Nikko line, chugging gently towards my destination. Which I have to say looks rather nice.

JR shopping catalogue

2010-07-19T10:35:00.003Z

Obviously make your feet feel good.

No idea

Well, at least this one's obvious - a dummy that plays a tuning fork and improves your posture.

And I can really see a use for this handy roll-up piano

The cartoon says it all

How many Japanese women actually need to shave their backs?

Ah, sanitary pads for armpits

And sanitary pads for armpits that you wear on your elbows??

Kamishiro

2010-07-18T11:08:00.003Z

I don`t want to leave. This place is gorgeous. It has the permanent Sunday-morning feel that being an out-of-season ski-resort brings, semi-deserted, calm and stunningly beautiful. Kamishiro is a tiny village a few kilometres along the valley from Hakuba, in the northern Japan Alps. Densely wooded mountains rise on all sides of the village, snow still streaking the gullies of their upper slopes. It`s like living in a chocolate box, steeply roofed buildings in all manner of designs are dotted beside the little lanes of the village.

My first day here I took the gondola lift up the mountain, then walked through misty cloud on a path flanked on either side by lush greenery to the peak, Kotomi, at 2007 m. It was a pity that the cloud obscured what views there might have been, but it was pure bliss to be up a mountain, breathing the fresh air ripe with the surrounding greenery. I met a few cheery hikers on the way, those who could expressed their amazement at the sight of a solo hiker - not to mention a solo female traveller who can`t speak Japanese. This is not a country where many people do things on their own. At the summit I was roped in to join the group photo of a large group of lovely old men who insisted on pressing food onto me. Back at the bottom gondola station the water-jump was in use - a couple of small ski-jumps on a dry slope which provided a landing zone in the form of a swimming pool.　I walked back up to watch various snowboarders and skiers whizz down the jump, perform various spins and somersaults, then land with a cracking splash in the pool. And just to prove how important fashion is to these freestylers, I was pleased to note that over their wetsuits and life-jackets they had taken the trouble to pull on baggy board shorts and enormous logo-encrusted t-shirts. Refreshing as it looked, I declined the invitation to have a go. After returning to the hostel I took the train to Hakuba where I had a brief potter around and a look at a nice little park by the river with a few thatched buildings, a miniature suspension bridge and a decorative water wheel. Later in the evening the manager of the hostel took everyone (it`s nice and quiet - not exactly a full hostel) to see the fireflies nearby. There weren`t thousands, but there were enough to make a captivating show as they blinked in the ditches and trailed greenly by in low-level flight. It was starting to rain and lightning flickered constantly, adding a strange dimension as it obliterated the fireflies` glow but lit up the surroundings in its startling white flicker.

Yesterday I joined two other travellers from my hostel and took the bus to the Happo ski area in Hakuba, where we took a gondola and two chair lifts up the mountain to do some more walking. Forty minutes or so took us to Happo Ike - a pretty little pond at 2060m. Still stiff from yesterday`s exertions, I sat a while longer while my companions began the ascent towards the main summit and was rewarded with a brief clearing of the mist/cloud. I decided that a little more gentle exercise was in order and continued the climb for another half hour or so, until the path became enclosed by foliage and the intermittent views (cloud dependent) disappeared. I knew I didn`t have the fitness for the summit, so instead enjoyed a leisurely descent. Despite a long hot soak in the bath, my calves were so tight from the unaccustomed climbing, or maybe the descent, that I could barely hobble down the stairs that evening.

This morning, down-stairs movement was still a problem, so after a lie-in and late breakfast I decided to punish some different muscles and hired a bike. I cycled to Aoki Lake, a beautiful stretch of deep green water (though no doubt much of the colour is due to the reflection of the forested hills that surround it) and on and round a neighbouring smaller, but equally stunning, lake. Both of them could be circled using paths or little-used single-track roads, making for idyllic cycling conditions. On the way back I diverted from the road and took a track between the rice fields, bimbling along enjoying sun, solitude and serenity. By early evening, showered and relaxed, I was ravenous and strolled down through the village one last time in search of dinner. I ate some good Japanese food and as I meandered back to the hostel in the last of the day`s light I felt unbelievably good and realised with a pang that I really don`t want to leave this place. I could so happily just stay here till it`s time to go home, enjoying the best hostel I`ve ever stayed in, the mountain scenery, the walks and bike rides I still haven`t taken, the peace and ease of life here. This is truly a place to remember, to come back to.

Hiroshima to Kamishiro

2010-07-15T12:17:00.002Z

Set off on this epic train journey slightly unsure what to expect, but the Shinkansen were running fine, with up to 5 minute delays. The rain had stopped and I enjoyed watching bits of Japan fly by in between the countless tunnels. Three trains and some curious sandwiches later, I had made it to Nagoya just in time to miss my connection. I was clearly already off the tourist trail as there was no train information in English here, but I spotted a sign for the Oito Line and with a dose of positive thinking managed to find my way onto the right train - a little local one that stopped about every two minutes. We chugged gently uphill for at least an hour, much of the time following an impressive river churning big white white water for stretches of, I reckon, about 20km at a time. But not one kayak in sight! The train carried on in the narrowing lush green valley, crossing many small wildly flowing rivers and channels, the villages and stations getter ever smaller until we seemed to be part of a toy train set. Another change followed, and my idea that staying put and waiting for the next train would probably be the answer was proved right during a simple conversation with a train driver that involved some pointing at a train and a watch and saying "Kamishiro?" Really getting the hang of this Japanese language. The journey continued slowly, the rain poured heavily and I peered hopefully out of the steamed up windows looking for station signs... Even managed to work the payphone on arrival to request pick-up from the station! Despite the rain, low cloud and darkness, this area looks very promising. Kamishiro is near Hakuba, in the Japan Alps, and in winter is a popular ski resort. The buildings all look rather alpine, with definite hints of Swiss or Norwegian design. Now all I need is a break in the rain so I can get out there for hiking, biking, climbing.... Does St Swithun have jurisdiction in Japan?

fun stuff

2010-07-14T09:55:00.004Z

Rain, rain and more rain. Enough to bring the trains across the country to a halt - so much for my view of the invincibly efficient JR network. The rain had already put my Miyajima plans in doubt and the news of train troubles made up my mind - I settled for a day pottering round Hiroshima. It's a very potterable city, small enough for all the sights to be within easy walking distance. Mostly I just strolled, stopped for lunch, and strolled some more. Tried the local speciality - okonomiyaki - something like a thin layer of pancake piled high with cabbage, noodles, meat, sauce, drizzled with more batter then flipped over onto an awaiting wafer-thin omelette. This huge creation was pushed across the hotplate towards where I perched and proceeded to chop large lumps of the delicious mass onto my plate. All accomplished with sign-language and prepared with gusto by a tiny old lady who never stopped smiling.

My wanderings took my into the supposedly hardware shop, Tokyu Hands, where I had a wonderful time wondering what on earth things were. This shop is amazing, it has everything you never knew you needed, from household items to puzzling gadgetry, wrap-around bicycle lights, 100 different kinds of magnifying glasses, fancy dress and typical joke-shop items, puzzles, shoe-driers, slip-on umbrella handle covers, clips for milk cartons... I've never had so much fun browsing a shop. In a department store I found a whole section given over to things made from microfibre tumble-twist bathmats (and bathmats themselves), the hands down winner being the floor-mopping slipper bootees. Very tempted to try shuffling round my flat in a pair of those in an attempt to clean the floor. Oh and the tumble-twist lined umbrella bag... that was another good one. Anyway, I managed to come away empty handed, not even as much as a plastic prawn key-ring - quite an achievement!

Hiroshima

2010-07-13T09:31:00.003Z

Arrived here yesterday, after my first bullet train experience, which included a somewhat bullet-like change of trains in Osaka. Admired the Nozomi trains, whose streamlining is truly space-age, but they are not included in my Japan Rail Pass. Still, my train was indisputably fast and comfortable. Fell asleep for most of the journey, then staggered to my hostel, still feeling rough. Woke up this morning finally feeling a little better, only to faint ten minutes later. The headache has become something of a constant companion.

Still, I managed, at a snail's pace, to wander through town to the Peace Memorial Park and its museum. It was - predictably - both moving and disturbing, as well as being an all round excellent museum with copious English explanations. Spent hours there. A haunting experience. Individual stories and eyewitness accounts can barely help you make sense of the scale of destruction shown in the photographs and enormous before and after models of the city, but most disturbing of all is the simplicity of the reasons why the bomb was used at all (in large part to justify the massive expenditure on its development), why against Japan not Germany, and how Hiroshima moved to the top of the target list. Then finally, the weather: "The day was fine, the sky clear, and Hiroshima's fate was sealed."

Just outside the park, across the river, stands the remains of the prefecture hall, which is now known as the A-bomb dome. It is an unimpressive building with the metal girders that once bore the domed roof still bare against the sky. Its very unimpressiveness is what makes it so impressive, the only damaged site still standing. It was almost directly below the hypocenter. Photos showed a few other buildings that had partially survived, but for a 2km radius, there was almost nothing but rubble. In the museum were fascinating objects showing the heat (up to 2000 or 3000 degrees C), such as roof tiles melted into lava-like blobs, bottles deformed and melted together, a stack of rice-bowls also partly-melted and made into one warped solid... And god, the stories of the burns, hundreds of people who staggered home with their flesh dripping off their bodies, who didn't die for another day or even two - how can anyone survive that, even for a day, with no medical care? Huge numbers of the immediate dead were children, junior high-school kids who were all involved in clearing fire-breaks in the city and so were working outside at the time.

I wasn't going to write about the museum really - those of you who know your history will know it all already - but somehow it just came out. The museum finishes with a display of nuclear arms in the world today and the developments in weaponry since Hiroshima. Chilling.

Kyoto

2010-07-10T11:23:00.003Z

I don't think I have ever before experienced such a feeling of being an alien. Separated by yawning chasms of culture and language, surrounded by a script that means nothing to me, it is easy imagine I have landed on another planet. A squeaky-clean one where traffic gives way to pedestrians, who in their turn wait patiently for the green man before crossing utterly deserted intersections. Manners are everything, paying for dinner or goods in a shop involves lengthy exchanges that far exceed the simple 'thank you / you're welcome' I've learned, reducing my detailed conversation to a series of idiotic smiles and nods. I walked past a row of ten ATMs, thinking they must be something else - where else does an ATM not look like an ATM?

There's nothing not to like about Kyoto. I've spent a pleasant day and a half wandering around (it's so pedestrian-friendly here!), taking in temples, old backstreets lined with souvenier and crafty shops housed in traditional wooden buildings, a shopping street selling nothing but tacky kitsch, eating sushi - of course - as well as black sesame and green tea ice cream and other more substantial treats. Kyoto station is more of a giant sculpture of glass and steel than a building - even in my jet-lagged, sleep-deprived state on arrival I couldn't miss its impressive architecture. And despite my doubts, getting myself on the right train from the airport to Kyoto was straightforward. Everything here smacks of efficiency, with the very pleasant twist of it all being administered with the ultimate in politeness. The airport was so efficient that I could have sworn only 4 people got off my flight - I never saw more than that number at passports, customs etc. Had a pleasant chat with the charming young man who searched my bag and asked about my itinerary. Grumpy officials everywhere could learn a thing or three here.

I have been in something of a daze since I got here, first from jet-lag, or so I thought, but I have been fighting off signs of migraine for two days now and energy is low. So I'll be heading for an early night - no karaoke for me!

Jeita and Byblos

2010-05-26T15:49:00.002Z

Jeita Grotto is stunning - a cave system comprising an upper cavern astonishing in its rock formations, from stalagmites and stalactites to organ pipes, coral-like and mushroom-like formations to works of natural art undefinable. Despite the theme-park vibe of the place (mini trains, mini zoo, etc) outside the caves, the inside was tastefully lit in an understated way. The lower grotto contains a river and a short boat ride through its peaceful interior showed more of the same, but with the magical atmosphere that calm water provides. Both caverns had me gaping in wonder - this was a breathtaking glimpse of what is only a fraction of the whole cave system.

I'd joined a day trip from Beirut, and from Jeita our minibus continued to Jounieh, a sprawling coastal town, no longer even separated from Beirut. Above the town we stopped at Harissa, one of a number of Christian monuments in the area, which stood high above the town and offered awesome views. We returned to sea level by means of the telepherique - a little cable-car-gondola ride which chugged steeply downhill, finishing by a run in to the station travelling between blocks of flats.The Lonely Planet tagged this as a terripherique, so I was disappointed to find it chugging in a sedate manner, despite its slightly aged appearance.

Next stop was Byblos, site of a series of ruins from neolithic through roman to a crusader castle. Parts of the archaeological site were pretty impressive and the setting was stunning, with the pretty harbour, souk and old church all giving the place a very appealing, if touristy air. We stopped in at the tiny fish fossil museum, where some amazing fossils were on display and an assistant sat splitting rocks and letting dead fish taste fresh air for the first time in a million years. Apparently these fossils are unique in the middle east - I forget the details. I would definitely have liked to spend longer in Byblos - somewhere I could happily have dawdled.

Our day trip ended with lunch at a beach resort just north of Byblos - a pebbly beach getting a lot of use on this unexpected public holiday, the Mediterranean a stunning shade of turquoise in the sun. I went for a paddle and would officially rate the water as 'refreshing'.

Beirut

2010-05-25T04:29:00.005Z

Beirut has a roguish charm, you fall for it in the way you would a bad boy with a winning smile.

I have spent the whole day walking, watching the landscape change from district to district. The air is thick with the sweet smoke of shisha, occasionally giving way to strong coffee. The roads are packed with cars speeding to a halt, driving willy-nilly, horns honking incessantly. They range from swanky soft-tops to battered ancient taxis with bumpers tied on with yellow nylon string and rear light covers sellotaped on. Buses are scarred with lengthy scratches, testament to their cornering skills.

Downtown buildings rise gleaming over the wastegrounds and crumbling colonial-style houses, some with greenery overtaking them, sprouting from their balconies, many riddled with bullet holes. I passed the Holiday Inn building, a high rise husk, monument to the civil war in which it found itself, soon after opening, to be taken as a prime sniper position. It looms darkly behind the very swanky new Intercontinental Hotel, epitomising the mixture of destruction and regeneration that is Beirut. There are some beautiful old buildings, decoratively stuccoed (if that's the correct architectural term), coloured shutters hanging by the windows. But the majority of these are derelict or, at best, decrepit. Area by area, the state of buildings and the general vibe changes, making a prolonged walk quite fascinating. Around Le Place d'etoile all the streets are roadblocked so have become a calm pedestrian zone. Nearby stands the magnificent Mohammed al-Amin mosque, it's blue dome gleaming in the sun between four minarets as the bells of its neighbour, St George's cathedral, chimed in midday. On every street leading to the central 'place' cafes spill out onto pavements, offering dozens of nearly identical options for sipping a coffee or fresh lemonade and watching the world go by. Well, a very small slice of world - the area was hardly busy on this Monday lunchtime. I settled for a place which offered 'crap salad' on its menu.

By the late afternoon, having strolled past the open-air ruins of a roman bath house, the modern downtown area and atmospheric Gemmayzeh and had a haircut on the way back, I was happily walking into the sunset along the corniche. Young men were swimming off the rocks, older men were fishing and the views stretched past the docks, over the sea to the hills on the other side of the bay. I finished the day with a mint lemonade in a cafe down by the water with the added bonus of four middle aged arab ladies being soaked by a huge wave while they sucked on their shisha and sipped on the coffees. What tickled me was that they found it much more amusing than all those who witnessed it - worried waiters and concerned old men. In fact, women here, despite the inequalities they face, seem to live much more freely than in Qatar, where they would never have been sitting out smoking shisha in the first place. But it's not just the women - Beirut is a laid-back place. A man I was talking to at the airport while waiting for baggage said it was lawless. It is, but not in a threatening or scary way, just in a happy-go-lucky way. You see it in the way people cross the road, strike up inane but ranting conversations on the corniche (what was that about?), or cruise through red lights. People are friendly and it feels safe and welcoming. Maybe more rakish than roguish. I like this place, even though I've noticed that not all lebanese men are as dashing as yesterday had led me to believe. Still not complaining though!

Beirut

2010-05-24T06:38:00.005Z

As the plane descended there was nothing but water, getting closer and closer in the way that makes you begin to hope that a runway, or even a bit of land, will appear soon. But a glance out of the window on the opposite side showed me city, small tatty blocks of flats flying past at a speed that made it hard tell whether the incomplete appearance of many was because they were half way up or half way down. Beyond, similar buildings stretched up onto the surrounding hills. Then beneath our wheels the runway appeared, bordered on one side by a breakwater, and I was in Beirut.

Arrival was quick and efficient, despite three different officials (the second only three feet away from the first) carefully checking every page of my passport, usually twice. I thought they might well be looking for any Israeli stamps, but decided against engaging in any conversation. The airport had a pretty visible military presence as well as this host of charming and good-looking immigration officers. I think it is also the first airport I have seen in 15 years where nicotine-deprived passengers are allowed to light up while waiting at the baggage carousel.

The short taxi-ride into town showed me more of the same sort of architecture, a stunning array of tired, basic buildings jutting over and around each other, somehow vibrant despite they tattiness, with beachy awnings blackened by dust or pollution flapping over every balcony. The road wound over aging flyovers and through an aging tunnel, then into a district of ordinary streets, where trees grew on pavements and people strolled with shopping bags. At a road named Rue de l'armee, we passed a neatly parked tank, its turret and gun snugly fitted with a made-to-measure tarp, and from there we overtook half a dozen jeeps carrying relaxing soldiers, a gun mounted on the back and strings of ammunition hanging inside. I began to think that the army were going to be very visible in the city, but further exploration told me that this is not the case everywhere. In my afternoon wanderings about the area near my hotel, the only other military presence I came across was the curious sight of armed soldiers overseeing the unloading of empty crates from a bakery van.

I'm staying in the Hamra area, where the streets contain a pleasant mixture of bustling activity and quiet leisure. Many buildings are pockmarked with bullet holes, others have been renovated and are freshly painted. The city seems to be staffed by good-looking and polite men - something I'm certainly not complaining about. My hotel is pleasant, though the rooms are what the Lonely Planet would call "tired" and I have a novelty shower where half of the water sprays sideways in a sheet out of the shower head. Oh, and one bedside light doesn't turn off. Not quite what you'd expect for the price I'm paying, but not unbearable either. So now, well rested by a long, if bright, night's sleep, I'm ready and eager to set off to explore the city a bit more.

Dubai Airport

2010-05-23T15:42:00.000Z

First Class Sleeper

Mongolian Menu

2009-08-12T10:59:00.001Z

Meat with potatoes
Chopped meat
Fried meat
Cooked meat
Meat dumplings
Soup with meat dumplings
Tea with meat dumplings
Dumpling soup with bread on top
Meat with fat
Meat with onions
Meatballs

Ikh Uul

2009-08-11T16:27:00.002Z

The 'homestay' night was the genuine article. Mid-afternoon we left the tracks and headed off over the grassy hillside towards a pair of gers. Our tour leader talked to the families, making all the necessary small talk - "Are your animals fattening up nicely?" is the local equivalent of "How are you?" - while gauging the atmosphere before asking if we could stay. It took a couple of attempts to find a two-ger family who seemed suitable and soon we were welcomed in for salty tea and to meet three generations of the family (grandma in bed). We made small talk, Masha translating, and grandpa told us how they have a long tradition of welcoming visitors and asked where we all came from, while we sampled broth, dried curds and sweetened cooked cream. A snuff bottle was passed round – a tradition dating back hundreds of years – and I spiced up my nostrils with what reminded me of ground up incense – not unpleasant, though a little itchy. Formalities over, we were reminded that this was now our home and we wandered in and out of the gers and over the surrounding pasture.

Returning to the main ger, I took in the old photos, cooking area and dozens of bowls and buckets containing yoghurt, cream and cheese in various stages of development. I was handed a bowl of the freshest, most delicious natural yoghurt you could imagine.

In the evening, the younger men of the family returned with the cows and sheep and goats from their grazing. After dark it was slightly surreal to step out with a torch and be met by 200 pairs of animal eyes. The whole family joined us for the meal we cooked (by 'we' I mean our guide and drivers!). Then the vodka came out, grandpa ensuring that the correct etiquette was followed for the filling and passing of the cup. After one round of our apple vodka (not recommended) he brought out an old water bottle filled with 'the best' - a home-made vodka made from yoghurt. It was a clear drink, not very strong in terms of alcohol, but with a distinct whiff of back end of goat. Suddenly the apple stuff tasted good after all.

Later we were joined by a couple of young men, who it seemed had heard that there were exotic strangers visiting. More rounds of vodka were drunk, before we split up to sleep on the floors of the two gers. I ended up in the one where two guys sat laughing on each bed as we unrolled our sleeping bags and squeezed in like a row of sardines. Their comments and gestures certainly contained a fair dose of suggestiveness as well as general mirth, but the atmosphere was good and it simply meant that we all got the giggles too. All that is except one, who got a bit hoity-toity about it all, in between kicking up an inordinate fuss about the presence of a few beetles. Eventually, everyone settled down and I got a pretty good night's sleep, all things considered.

It amazes me that there are still places in the world where you can knock at a stranger’s door and be offered lodging for eleven people. Our welcome was genuine and the evening was truly a slice of real Mongolian life. Having stayed in tourist ger camps it was fascinating to see inside a nomadic family’s home, from the churns of milk products and curds drying on the roof to the small television which appeared to be attached to a car battery which was charged by a solar panel. Life here has changed in only the smallest ways over the last few centuries.

Journey in pictures

2009-08-09T11:39:00.006Z

Big sky, small loo: (Click on pictures to enlarge)

A rather picturesque shopping centre in Erdenet where we stopped for supplies:

Road through the valley:

Vans with attitude:

Unt (wherever that might be)

2009-08-09T09:59:00.004Z

Woke to a bitter wind and dramatic sky, but no rain. The dirt roads were almost dry and the weather improved all day, until suddenly there was my Mongolian dream of hot sun, cool air and wide blue sky. The long day's drive was broken by stops to admire a roadside cairn, some yaks - god, what gorgeous beasts - and to laze around in a hillside meadow rampant with wildflowers and grasshoppers.

Leaving the road (we will not see another one for many days), we bounced along more rough tracks to reach tonight's ger camp, the sun still shining. Wandered through another pretty meadow, but didn't feel up to the hill so turned back to camp where I 'showered' under a trickle of scalding water and am sitting now in the last of the sun with a bottle of beer and my notebook.

Today I have seen grasslands rippling in the wind, huge herds of sheep, goats, yak, cattle and horses, herdsmen on horseback in traditional dress, miles of rolling green hills dotted with gers, and I am more than content. I can hear a few insects birds and horses and somewhere in the distance the faint clanging of a bell. It's past eight o'clock now and the shadows are growing long. It's impossible to imagine a place more peaceful, more wide and open.

Journey to Amarbayagalant

2009-08-08T09:59:00.005Z

Leaving Ulaanbaatar behind, it soon became apparent that the rain was here to stay. The clouds came down to meet the hills that began to rise around us, often obscuring the peaks. There was something rather Scottish about it.

Our lunch stop was at a basic transport cafe - meat and potatoes, meat and rice, fried meat or meat dumplings. I washed my welcome plate of stodge down with a warming cup of 'milk tea', a watery, salty milk drink that had never been near a tea leaf. We drove on through more rain.

The last 35km were off road, along boggy, churned-up mudtracks. Our Russian army vans and our drivers are amazing. We only got stuck once and that was because we'd pulled off a fairly usable 'track' to let an oncoming truck pass. I got out, braving the horizontal icy rain, to survey the scene. Watched a van pull out a mired jeep, which then towed us. We set off again, slipping, crawling and sploshing slowly onwards. Met a surprising number of saloon cars attempting the same journey. Apparently they just slosh along and get pulled out frequently by other vehicles.

Near our ger camp we visited Amarbayagalant monastery. Despite being miserably cold and wet, I was able to enjoy a warming moment of awe in the prayer hall. The wooden ceiling was intricately painted, pillars were hung with dozens of multicoloured strips of tapestery. More textiles hung from the ceilings and furniture. It had a beautiful, softly coloured, ancient look, despite being recently renovated (about 25 years ago). It was orginally built in the 18th century and destroyed in the communist purges of the 1930's. The Mongolians practise Bhuddism in the Tibetan tradition and this is a style of decoration I have not seen before. Outside, prayer flags fluttered and young monks ran happily in and out of the prayer hall, calling to each other, while an older youth practised playing an enormous horn. I love the way that these places seem so relaxed and happy, with none of the severity I associate with churches.

Back at the ger camp, I didn't even contemplate the option of a cold shower, and instead piled on as many warm dry clothes as I could find. Had another meal of basic stodge, washed down with several cups of tea, despite knowling that the payback for instant warmth and comfort would probably be a midnight dash to the toilet block.

2009-08-07T09:58:00.000Z

Met the group and went for dinner. Delicious mountain of a dish enticingly billed as "liver with fat". Not unlike the idea of liver and bacon, just instead of bacon this came with smalll slabs of sheep's tail, which is pure fat.

Ulaanbaatar

2009-08-06T07:45:00.000Z

Walking around Ulaanbaatar, the first thing you notice is that every other building is a bar. The second thing is that crossing the road takes nerves of steel, precision timing and a lack of concern for your own well-being. As in China, only a third of a road is safe to cross on green, because turning traffic (usually from all directions) will be on green filter while you cross. The difference here is that there are no bikes, rickshaws, handcarts and so on to slow everyone down - just impatient motorists taking corners at high speed, jockeying for position and blasting their horns. Even the locals run for it.

There is plenty of depressing Soviet architecture to be admired, most of it in a poor state of repair. Add to this the Cyrillic script and the general absence of signs in other languages and you quickly feel that you are in the USSR - which is daft as I've never been there. I say 'depressing' and yet there is something so stark and dismal about it that it is also exotic. Signs make doorways look like shops or eateries, but on entering you meet nothing but a dark, dank stairwell with peeling paint and crumbling plaster. Little English is spoken, and it seems hard to raise a smile from the locals when you try to buy a banana or try out a few words of Mongolian. There's something quite austere about the place and the people (who I can't help thinking have Chinese features but are built like Russians). Ancient, heavy buses clank along belching smoke, but looking good for another 50 years use. Service in shops is virtually non-existent and you are hard pressed to track down someone who can tell you the price of the two sleeping bags on display. You are doubly lucky if you can get him to tell you the price of the second one before he wanders away. Waitresses turn their back on you mid-order to listen in on colleagues' conversations. After China, where even smart department store staff pester you like market traders, it's both refreshing and frustrating. But I love it for its difference - there is no danger here of me saying "It's a bit like..." - I have never been anywhere like this. Here and there children beg on the streets, persistently and quite unpleasantly, with one dodging around to block your way while his mate disappears behind you. Pickpockets are apparently rife - something I'm willing to believe as the one time I wore my bag on my back because it held nothing but a bottle of water, I found it open.

Despite all this, UB is a pleasant place to wander around, with a very laid-back feel. I've visited a couple of museums and enjoyed sitting outside cafes for a bit of light refreshment. In the evenings I've gone out to sample local food and beer. Had a pint for David in the Chinggis Khan brewpub, which I can highly recommend. The food is meaty and stodgy but quite good, with plenty of vegetables - something I'm making the most of as we won't be seeing many once we leave the capital. Even at night, the city has a good atmosphere. It's easy to navigate too, and the only reason you tend to get lost is because distances are so short that you've overshot your target by half a mile before you've even stopped to consult your map.

The air is fresh and the breeze cool, giving a delicious contrast to the fierce sun. Some heavy rain has fallen too, flooding roads around the city and making road crossing even more exciting as you have to jump over a five foot wide puddle into the traffic. When it clouds over, there is a definite nip in the air - enough to make me doubt my supply of cosy clothes for those cold nights out in the hills. I've enjoyed UB, but I won't be sorry to leave it behind. I can't wait to get out into the countryside, the desert, hills and lakes that inspired me to come here.

Ulaanbaatar

2009-08-04T07:43:00.000Z

Coming in to land at UB, I could see the entire, tiny city laid out below me, the empty countryside spreading away into the distance in every direction. Out there, herds of animals were being driven swiftly across hillsides, an occasional ger stood in solitude and dried streambeds snaked across shallow valleys in the gently undulating landscape. The city centre was marked by a small collection of slightly high-rise buildings. Around this stood a general low-level town and surrounding this, the ger camps which make up the suburbs. What a contrast to Beijing. Indeed, to anywhere I've been in China. Its hard to imagine that a capital city can be so small.

The airport too was tiny. The arrivals hall sported one luggage carousel, an ancient mechanical monster that clunked slowly round, while waiting passenges sprung up to unclog jammed cases from its claws. Beyond arrivals, there was no sign of the driver promised by my guesthouse. Another driver asked me where I was headed and indicated another passenger who was going to the same place, before calling our guesthouse to make arrangements. This other driver then took us instead, we were asked to have breakfast while we waited for our rooms to be ready but after an hour it turned out that there were no free rooms. so much for booking ahead. We were taken to a shabby establishment above a karaoke bar across the road...

By this stage we had realised that we would both be on the same tour as well, so we decided to burn plastic and try our luck at the hotel where the tour begins in a few days. It was a hot walk across town under my backpack, but the hotel is fine and not nearly as expensive as the tour operator's 'extra nights' charges had suggested.

Still hanging loose in Beijing

2009-08-03T10:51:00.001Z

Yesterday I walked through the market and the maze of hutongs near my lovely hostel, enjoying more glimpses of everyday life - washing hung out to dry from electricity poles, tricycle carts of recyclables, bubbling vats of broth in which various things were cooked. I love the bustle, the pinging of bicycle bells, voices calling things I cannot hope to understand, the sense of purpose, punctuated by the langour of shop owners dozing outside their tiny hole-in-the-wall shops.

Eventually I found myself walking on a pretty little street beside Houhai Lake and the shops and cafes became more touristy. Coming towards me every so often I'd meet a stream of fancy rickshaws - definitely tourist land. Where the road met the bridge between this lake and the next was a delightfully busy spot, where groups of young tourists tried out their newly hired bicycles made for three, rickshaw drivers slept, smoked, or played with their phones - depending on their age - while patiently waiting for their next hire. There were swan-shaped pedal boats for hire, ice-cream stands and hundreds of happy holiday-makers. It could have been a tourist nightmare, but instead the atmosphere was laid back and rather pleasant. And the sky had cleared - for the first time in a week, I was seeing blue sky over Beijing.

I carried on, alongside Qianhai Lake and into the centre of the city, where I had a rather nice foot massage before sorting out a bit of pre-Mongolia shopping. I have walked miles and miles this week, from one side of the city to another nearly every day. It has been a great way to see random slices of the city as well as, hopefully, burning off some of the excesses of countless group meals while on the tour. At the end of the day I feel a mild tightening of my muscles and realise with pleasure that just a couple of months ago, I could not have done this.

My attempts to buy water purifying tablets have been in vain, the only useful upshot being that I have now mastered the correct pronunciation of the words in Mandarin as so many pharmacits have read it aloud from my phrasebook. They've never heard of the things and to those who speak some English I explain how you put one in dirty water, then you can drink... they then rush off only to reappear triumphantly smiling and proffering soluble aspirin, effervescent vitamins, cough mixture or even a tube of something which the accompanying mime suggested could be rubbed in to sore arms.

I've mastered (just about) the art of crossing the road. Pedestrian crossings work on the basis that you get a green man showing when straight ahead traffic has a red light. However, all bicycles, motorbikes etc are exempt from red lights, as are turning vehicles. The effect looks rather alarming as pedestrians try to cross in between a whirling mass of bikes etc, while cars, trucks and buses plough on round corners through the intersection. Somehow it all works out, like a badly choreographed display team which somehow avoids collisions. Pedestrians generally step out without looking, with an air of dozy indifference. If you get left standing between lanes of moving traffic, all the better. This happens quite a lot, as you can easily have 8 or even 10 lanes to negotiate, and the going is understandably slow, so lights tend to change before you have finished.

Today I moved out to the airport, in readiness for my early flight tomorrow. I am staying in a dump of a hotel. Despite being a 10 minute drive from the terminal, it is about 30cm from the end of the runway. It's not so much the noise, it's the way that the whole building shakes and the lights flicker every time a plane comes in to land. My bedroom door has clearly been kicked down in the past, the walls and carpets are filthy and the aircon doesn't work. I shrug these things off as best I can - I've stayed in worse - but it rankles that this is costing more than the wonderful place I've just left.

Things on sticks

2009-08-02T11:11:00.003Z

Starfish, scorpions and grub-thingies

Things-on-a-stick stall

Grasshoppers

Seahorses and scorpions

NOOOOOO!

More mundane things on sticks

Things on wheels

2009-08-02T10:53:00.003Z

Tourist rent-a-bike ..........................................Motorbike in a box

Motor tricycle ................................................Tourist rickshaw

Tricycle in hutong doorway .............................Delivery truck

The great firewall of China

2009-08-01T11:52:00.000Z

Due to the great firewall, I had to use another blog host while in China. I will try to move the posts to this site, but in the meantime you can visit http://www.travelblog.org/Bloggers/geckozo/ to see what I got up to.

Reading ahead

2009-07-31T14:05:00.000Z

Oh wow, they have bubonic plague in Mongolia. How cool is that?

The National Stadium

2009-07-31T12:09:00.001Z

I walked around the Bird's Nest stadium - it really is an impressive structure. I peered in. I thought of that moment when the first marathon runner enters the tunnel then comes out onto the track, and my scalp began to tingle. I remembered the drumming at the opening ceremony and tingled some more.

I walked around again at a lower level, looking for the tunnel. There were a couple to choose from and I looked through, letting my imagination play. Then I went and bought a ticket to go inside - I couldn't resist it. So I ran the last lap and a bit of the marathon. The sandals and daypack, dodging-the-tourists marathon. It felt fabulous. Well worth 50 yuan (about five pounds). I got some funny looks, but frankly the only thing that seemed funny to me was that no-one else was running. In fact, most people didn't even walk far from the entrance and I had the back straight almost to myself. I wandered round again, until on the brink of being overcome by that flood of familiar knowledge that I will never do, or be, anything great, I hoiked myself off to sit in the stand with an ice-cream and watch some olympic highlights on the big screen.

Walking round Olympic Green, I saw that the torch hadn't been removed as I'd thought from inside, but has been folded down onto the roof of the stand. The green itself is wide and pleasant and generously scattered with interesting sculptures adorned with children posing for photographs. And of course there are enough tacky bird's nest souvenirs being offered to have you running the other 26 miles.

Beijing

2009-07-30T13:29:00.000Z

I've spent the last two days wandering the streets of Beijing. I haven't seen any sights, unless you count the Mongolian Embassy, but I have done what I love best - seen everyday life, navigating my way semi-randomly from one corner of the city to another.

I love the way that life is lived out on the streets - men hunched over games of Chinese chess on tiny stools on the pavements, old ladies in slightly saggy pyjamas and slightly saggy bodies taking their morning exercise, street vendors sizzling up more things on skewers than you could, well, shake a skewer at.

My essential Mandarin phrasebook has not been able to have me living up to the promise on it's cover of 'chatting away like a local'. Even pinyin is devillishly hard to get right and I still have to look up every letter and vowel combination before trying out the simplest phrase. And I still receive blank looks 95% of the time. Generally sign-language is more successful, but in trickier situations I can always point to the Chinese characters in the book. Some friendly shopkeepers have helped me practise my numbers, but even this can be tricky as some think I am questioning the price when I ask them to repeat a number or two. But all my attempts are greeted with appreciation and a huge amount of humour. I think the staff at the noodle shop near my guesthouse are probably still clutching their sides.

Tongli

2009-07-26T13:27:00.000Z

Sadly, we had less than two hours to explore this medieval water-town, but it was still very pleasant to stroll along some of its canals and admire the traditional buildings. It has been much used as a film set, but interestingly it wasn't discovered by tourism until about five years ago. With a bit more time I'm sure I'd have enjoyed wandering further off the main tourist drag and there were also various museums and so on which I didn't even find. Still, a lovely little town, with some excellent roast pork.

Our return to Shanghai signalled the end of our tour, with another good meal. Despite my frustration at the pace of the tour and the lack of 'free time', I have enjoyed this trip a lot. I've met some really lovely people and enjoyed the company of everyone in the group - the odds of that must be pretty long. I'd say it's really been a 'taster tour' - lots of big highlight sights - and it's certainly given me some ideas about what I'd do or where I'd go if I come back to China again.

Suzhou

2009-07-25T13:25:00.000Z

In Suzhou we visited another nice garden, the museum and a silk factory (with the compulsory shop at the end of the tour). The silk factory was quite fascinating as I'd always wondered how a cocoon can be so neatly unwrapped. In the example we watched, eight cocoons were unravelled by machine to make a single thread, although many more are used for higher quality threads. They bobbed in water, or some other liquid designed to make them amenable to unravelling, and as they neared their end a transparent blob was left, in which we could clearly see the pupa. Apparently these are eaten by those who like them, fried up as a little snack. Double cocoons are opened by hand and stretched over a bamboo frame, ten layered together. When dry, these are stretched out to make the filling for duvets - so now at last I know how my gorgeous duvet was made.

Later in the afternoon, we joined the thronging bike lane by taking rickshaw rides down to the river for a canal cruise. This city - once a charming small town, now still small with a population of only 6 million - is built on a maze of canals, and is no doubt dubbed the Venice of the East. Yesterday's heavy rains meant that many of the smaller channels into the old town were closed off, but we caught some enticing glimpses. Later we explored this area on foot, snacking on street food, drifting in and out of souvenir shops and stopping at a canal-side cafe for a bit of light refreshment.

Eventually exhausted, we decided to try to get a taxi back to the hotel, but before we could do so we were approached by a motor-rickshaw driver. The tiny box on the back of his bike hardly looked suitable for the four of us, but he insisted and we thought it was such a laugh that we didn't even consider haggling the price down. Gursh and I hopped in, choosing what we later found out was the more generous seat, which also had the advantage of being enclosed at the sides. Sian and Sandra got themselves and their shopping in, facing us on the seat next to the spaces that acted as doors, and when someone asked "Is everyone in OK?" Sandra merrily replied "No, not really," as we chugged off into the night with her right buttock slightly exposed to the traffic. I have to say she was pretty game, although we were all worried about the effects of sharp corners. Gursh suggested Sian and Sandra linked arms to help hold each other in, helpfully demonstrating by linking his through mine, which was rather nice so I didn't complain. We began to get the giggles, which only got worse when it became doubtful that the poor little motorbike was going to be able to get its weighty cargo up the incline of a longish bridge. Other rickshaw drivers and cyclists laughed and pointed, and despite Sian saying that we wouldn't be laughing so much if we were in their seats, all four of us were beside ourselves. We were still bubbling with it when we finally squeezed ourselves out, like some sort of a magic trick, popping back to our real size as onlookers on the pavement watched in disbelief. I woke up the next morning still giggling.

Xidi (and some rain)

2009-07-24T13:16:00.000Z

Leaving Huang Shan in the pouring rain, we sloshed along half flooded roads towards Xidi. Arriving in the pouring rain, the bus was quickly besieged by umbrella and poncho sellers. Kitted out in a fetching knee-length yellow polythene number, I waded into this charming Unesco heritage site. It really was quite amazing, though I had to keep reminding myself to look up from the rapidly moving four-inch-deep water that flowed down the gently sloping stone paved alleys. Away from the tourist-shops of the main road (alley), the village became even more fascinating. Open doorways offered glimpses into homes where a family dealt with baskets of corn cobs or an old man tinkered with some parts of something vaguely mechanical. On a tiny street, in which I couldn't have spread my arms full width, I noticed a rack of wooden racks - curious, I looked more closely. Fat white caterpillars crawled or at least wiggled a little. I struck up one of my better sign language conversations with the old lady inside, miming the caterpillar spinning a thread to make clothes. She nodded with a delighted smile - yes, they were silk worms. Gursh was still in sight so I called him to have a look and commissioned him to take some photos (my camera was left on the bus as it can't swim). Then we noticed that the other half of the floor was covered with silk worms on a bed of leaves, as an old man appeared through a small hole near the floor, presumably from an adjoining room. I love it when I stumble upon this sort of thing - one of the real delights of travel. We continued a silent but smiling conversation for some time, able only to utter our thanks in Mandarin, which we did many times as we left.

We carried on to Shanghai, though none of us (guide included) knew why, as it would have been closer and easier to go straight to tomorrow's destination. It was another five or six hours on the bus, but we passed a large chunk of the time playing a Chinese card game with Li as our teacher. It all got a bit complicated with four of us playing in teams of two, but only one person knowing whose team they are on. I won't even try to explain.

Arrived in Shanghai to find that my bag had spent most of the journey underwater. Not a happy camper. I spread every piece of clothing, battery chargers, shoes and books over every surface, including the floor, and surveyed the damage despondently. Began to think that what with the Bank of China swallowing my ATM card on day one, a snoring room-mate and now not a dry bra to be found, this trip was maybe not my luckiest ever. But as I flicked through the pages of my Lonely Planet with a hairdryer, I couldn't but think that these were minor irritations in the great scheme of things. And so to the roof-top terrace of the Youth Hostel down the road for a much-needed pint and a view across the river to the gleaming sky-scrapers of Shanghai.

Chinese fashion

2009-07-24T13:15:00.000Z

Women are wearing alarming clothes. Puffball shorts are everywhere. These can be full bloomer length right up to something a toddler might wear over a nappy. Footwear is varied, but popsocks, usually ankle-length, are in. These are worn with all sorts of short skirts and shorts. Other leg-wear options include knee-highs and also down-to-the-knee leggings (coming out from under the shorts) which generally look like patterned tights, if not fishnets.

Maybe the rest of the world is also dressing like this this summer, and I have been spared the sight, living in blissful ignorance in the land of the abayya.

Men wear ankle length patterned navy blue popsocks with their shorts and sandals. Women's dresses range from five-year-olds' party frock to cocktail dress to tart - and those are just the styles you see being worn by sightseeing groups.

But it's this thing with the puffball shorts and the ruffly tops that gets me. No it isn't, it's the socks...

Huang Shan

2009-07-23T13:13:00.000Z

Huang Shan is stunning. It's the China of my imagination - sheer rocky peaks rising up from bamboo-clad foothills and forested upper slopes. Of course, it's been touristified and concrete pathways and flights of steps lead you from peak to viewpoint to peak. And ugly hotels perch on pretty summits and tour groups clog the paths. But find the right spot, block out the distractions and this place is amazing.

The views were atmospherically misty, clouds brushed the higher peaks and threatened rain (which thankfully never came). The signposting was somewhat inadequate, so with my trusty companions Alex and Gursh, I spent a pleasant day wandering the ups and downs of the mountainside, making guesses at each junction based on our pretty good instinct for what felt right. We didn't have time - or the psychic navigational skill - to find some of the more enticing features such as a natural rock bridge, the "Gleam of Sky" chasm and so on, but it was still a good day out. I'd love to go back when it's quieter and spend a couple of days hiking, spend a night at an ugly but perfectly situated hotel and stand above the cloud-filled valleys as the sun comes up.

Back in the town, I pottered around the pretty Old Street on my seized-up calves. This street is hung with red lanterns, brimming with tasteful tourist shops and flanked by lovely old shop-houses. Six of us shared an enormous but well-earned meal at a point-and-wait restaurant - you choose dishes displayed as sets of raw ingredients or, in the case of dumplings and various carbs ready cooked samples, and write down their number on your order pad. Handing this in to a member of staff you return to your table and soon dish after dish appears. After dinner we wandered some more, and I particularly enjoyed the calligraphy shops with their inks and brushes and pads of thick purple paper on which I was encouraged to practise my brushstrokes by a man who was delighted to help with my attempts at Chinese characters even though I had no intention of buying a thing.

Eclipse

2009-07-22T12:21:00.002Z

Despite the 4 o'clock wake-up, there was a buzz of anticipation on the bus as we headed out of town and into our first real dose of rural scenery. Within a couple of hours we were into the mountains and staggering views rose above us, and more engagingly plummeted away from us, as we snaked up the tightly winding road towards Purple Mountain.

I'd had no idea what to expect of our eclipse viewing site, but it was perfect - a mountaintop observatory. Places had been allocated around the edge of a small reservoir and the crowd was thinly spread. There were plenty of tour groups kitted out in their own team shirts featuring the eclipse they had yet to see, a boggling array of telescopes and long-lenses, geeks and eclipsoids of every nation. In addition to this there were some fenced-off areas housing visiting scientists who were camped out with telescopes the size of jet engines and other unidentifiable paraphernalia. The sky stayed determinedly cloudy.

Then, maybe ten minutes before first contact, the sun came out. A cheer went up and my goosepimples went down. Gursh had set up a simple but ingenious viewing device, projecting through a telephoto lens onto a piece of card and as the partial eclipse began, this drew quite a crowd.

Things happened slowly - as you'd expect from the longest total eclipse in a hundred years - but every moment was worth seeing. Thin cloud continued to wisp sporadically across the sun, but never for long. An hour later, a strange dusk began to fall, the colours around us saturated like just before a thunder storm. The sun became a slender crescent, then with a flash of its diamond ring, it had gone. I took off my glasses and saw the black sun. A halo of light glowed gently around it. I think I stopped breathing. Then I cried. Words cannot describe how it felt to see it. I was overwhelmed. Slowly I started to notice that night had fallen, that there were shades of sunset orange above the horizon, that there were stars to be seen. But my eyes were drawn back again and again to the sun, the black sun.

I joined the others and Gursh half-teased me for being overcome, but I think he was really quite pleased at my reaction - he's already an eclipse addict.I sat on the grass and gazed some more, then as the moon looked just ready to slip away, the halo of light a little wider at the top, Gursh passed me his lens to use as a telescope for a closer look. Within seconds of me sighting the sun, the moon moved that crucial fraction and the diamond ring appeared. I froze in a silent gasp. It was staggeringly beautiful. A voice in my head said 'photo' but I ignored it. I couldn't have torn myself away if I'd wanted to. It was over in seconds, but somehow time stood still. Luckily I did listen to the voice in my head telling me to stop looking through a powerful lens as the sun began to reappear and quickly switched it for my solar glasses.

The eighty or so minutes of partial eclipse that followed totality passed with us happily flitting between watching, chatting and comparing photos. Many groups packed up and started to leave, but we stayed to the end, marvelling at what we had seen and what we were still witnessing.

An hour later, the heavens opened. Rain fell, no, cascaded from the sky, all but
obliterating the view even a couple of meters from the bus windows. We had been lucky. Or should I say even luckier than we had known up on the top of Purple Mountain.

Hangzhou

2009-07-21T13:12:00.000Z

Yesterday's quick and comfortable train ride brought us to Hangzhou, where I suddenly crumpled. Ten days of trying to sleep with a snorer as my room-mate had taken their toll. I paid the extra for a room of my own and took to my bed. This morning I felt well rested, but my head still pounded. I mooched miserably around West Lake, supposedly China's most romantic lake, much favoured by emperors and honeymooners. It is probably very lovely, but today it had all the relaxing romantic charm of Alton Towers on a bank holiday. It was, you might say, a little crowded. And noisy - bear in mind that the average tour group has a leader with a microphone/loudspeaker set, as well as about forty noisy, path-blocking followers dressed in matching hats. Oh, and the souvenir of choice, being sold (and ceaselessly demonstrated) about every ten yards along every path, was a bird-call whistle. Any bird that sounds like that deserves to be shot.

In the afternoon we visited a tea plantation, although we saw only a token tea-bush or two. I could barely stagger off the bus, so was allowed to skip the history talk and go and wait in one of the tea-tasting rooms. My fellow travellers soon joined me and our delightful host poured green tea, told us all about it, showed us samples and added orange peel and things to our glasses while teaching us a little tea etiquette. Somewhere around my third or fourth glass I realised I was restored! I'd started chatting and felt good and was quite gobsmacked by the suddenness of it. Marvelous stuff. A small tin of the very finest quality 'Emperor tea' is now tucked in the bottom of my rucksack.

Nanjing

2009-07-18T12:57:00.000Z

After a good night's sleep in my cosy top bunk, I woke to a whole a new landscape: paddy fields, buffalo ploughing the land, farmers in big Vietnamese style hats. We were still two or three hours from Nanjing, and the views continued to change.

Nanjing is another likeable city. We visited a huge 'scenic area' up on the hillside beyond the city, where cicadas sang almost deafeningly, toytown trains drove tourists around what looked like an extensive network of roadways, and a few 'sights' were dotted around. I opted out of the 392 steps up to Dr Sun's mausoleum and instead pottered the woodland walkways and relaxed with a cold drink. It all felt rather Malaysian, though actually quite a few places do.

In the afternoon we were let off the leash to roam freely, so I went with three others to Zhonghua Gate in the city wall. We had a quick shot at the archery on offer before exploring the site. There was lots to see, most of it well explained. The buildings on top of the walls have been reconstructed - we didn't realise quite what this meant until we got close enough to see that they were simply scaffolding, cased in plyboard on which polystyrene tiles had been stuck and painted to look like bricks! The whole 'gate' with its three courtyards (let the enemy in then shut the gate and shoot them from the walls), tunnel-like 'cave' accommodation for 3,000 soldiers, storage for half a million tons of food and so on is really a whole garrison rather than a gate.

We walked back via the very pretty canal area and semi-pedestrianised square and surrounding streets, where tour boats ply their trade, buildings are very traditional (even though I doubt they are very old), bridges have a wannabe Venice look and a squillion Chinese tourists throng. In the evening we wandered here again and were blown away by the twinkly lights, the even thicker throngs and oh, the kitsch of it. It was fabulous. Everythring that could be trimmed with coloured lights was gleaming, huge illuminated dragons and rotating circles glowed from the wall of a temple whose wall banked the canal, the whole place was unbelievable. But overall, the effect was rather lovely, maybe because of the happy buzzing crowd, maybe it had just been quite well done, and though it can only be described as complete Disneyfication, it worked.

Had fun getting ourselves fed, language being an issue, but we made friends with the staff in the restaurant quickly - I don't think they get many linguistically challenged foreigners willing to have a go without a tour guide.

This morning I went with Gursh to the Memorial to the Massacre of Nanjing. It was a very informative museum, extremely well done, and of course at times somewhat harrowing. But I do think it is important to learn about the horrors of a place's past in between enjoying the pretty bits. I won't even try to explain it all here, but in six weeks an estimated 300,000 civilians (including women, children, babies) and disarmed soldiers were slaughered by the Japanese - shot, bayoneted, drowned, burned or buried alive. In the first month 20,000 women between the ages of 11 and 76 were raped. There were numerous eyewitness accounts, photos proudly taken by the Japanese, even a Japanese newspaper egging on two officers who were engaged in a race to be the first to kill 150 people. I could go on...

Instead I will flick quickly to the scene outside the museum where we had a very interesting conversation with taxi driver... spurt after spurt of rapid and animated Chinese flew in response to our maps and hotel card (an essential communication device) and it really wasn't clear whether we were going or not, but we eventually set off with the driver clutching the four-street map on the back of the hotel card to the steering wheel.

The Terracotta Army

2009-07-16T12:52:00.000Z

Today I reached an all time high in the naff tourist stakes. Our local guide, equipped with a little flag on a telescopic stick led us off in the direction of the terracotta army. But not, of course, until the compulsory stop at the replica warrior factory and shop. We tumbled out of the bus amindst gales of horrified laughter at the sight of the headless warriors behind which you could stand for photos. Then proceeded to pose for said photos.

Joking, and cringing, aside, the Terracotta Army is quite something. In the first pit, 6000 warriors, nearly all infantryment, stand in neat ranks in battle formation. Each face is supposed to be unique, modelled on a real soldier. There is something about their composure that had me gazing, eyes trailing up and down the ranks, pausing here or there on a particular figure or some broken body parts still half embedded in the earth. Originally, they were brightly painted but time underground and, more recently, exposure to the elements has left them faded to almost pure clay, matching the trenches in which they stand. Some areas are yet to be excavated and there was one place where warriors were partly pieced together - a seemingly endless task for archaeologists.

In other pits archers, horses and chariots have been found. The bronze chariots have survived well and were intricate and quite amazing. Unlike the warriors, which are a little larger than life size, the chariots are half-size. While the army was needed to protect the emperor Qin Shi Huang Di in his next life, the chariots were for his personal use and it's a well known fact that your soul shrinks after death.

There was a mildly entertaining film with a dramatic reconstruction of wars and the building of Qin's mausoleum and the terracotta army. It told us that 700,000 people were involved in the project, which took 40 years. Not long after this some rebel force or other entered the site, smashed lots of warriors, stole the weapons held by them and set the place alight, bringing down the roof beams. All of this, along with the effects of time, explains why virtually all of the warriors were found in pieces.

A disappointing lunch in a touristy restaurant was followed by a snooze all the way back to town in the bus. Sweaty and tired, with no showers on offer at the hotel (having checked out in the morning), three of us set off for a foot massage. It was heavenly and included a bit of an arm, leg, neck and shoulder massage as well as a few interesting stretches where the sweet young masseurs stretched us backwards over their knees. I walked out with rejuvenated feet and legs and just enough time to buy a few snacks and drinks before setting off to catch the night train to Nanjing. Sorry to be leaving this city, there's much more to see and it's a lovely place to just wander the lively sidestreets. So here I sit in our cosy four berth compartment, browsing guidebooks and chatting with my travel companions and watching the city lights turn into countryside, hilltop lights just visible in the distance.

The city walls and dumplings of Xi'an

2009-07-15T22:43:00.001Z

The old city is surrounded by a massive city wall, 12m high and 15m wide at the top. Standing on the wall gives a pretty good view of the city, but to blow a few cobwebs away some of us hired bikes to cycle on the wall. It's 14km around the perimeter in a neat rectangle with pagodas at the corners and occasional displays of battering rams, catapults, wall-scaling ladders and the like. This was a wonderful way to spend the afternoon and I came back with a glow from having enjoyed the exercise, freedom, good company, views.... or maybe I was just sweaty.

In the evening we went for a 'dumplings banquet - 18 varieties, no repeat'. Dumplings are apparently a speciality of Xi'an, dating back to when some emperor/empress/concubine demanded that the cook make something different that she had never had before (or be executed, of course). So for a hundred days the cook made different dumplings, and shaped them according to their fillings, "duck inside, looks like duck; walnut inside, looks like walnut..." - you get the idea. Sure enough, some of our dumplings were quite clearly shaped - the little fat pigs with eyes, snout and tail were particularly cute. These were little thin-skin dumplings, dim-sum style, rather than thick bready pau. Some delicious, some so-so, but well worth the experience of sampling them all. John, if you're reading this, you'd have been in dumpling heaven.

Feeling rather like a dumpling myself, I squeezed between the tables and waddled to the exit before the evening's musical extravaganza began - a song and dance show telling the story of the Tang dynasty. As soon as they started handing out the programmes, I knew I couldn't face it - the photos confirmed my worst fears. So I wandered back to the hotel - city walls are a great aid to navigation - trying but failing to find a foot massage on the way. So here I am, tucked up in bed after a lovely day in Xi'an. I only wish we had more time here.

Xi'an

2009-07-15T12:50:00.001Z

I loved the night train. The extremely bijou but comfortable sleepers. Watching Beijing disappear into the darkness. Opening a beer and chatting with other travellers before drifting off to the gentle rhythm of the track. Waking up and seeing a powerstation and a few dilapitated buildings... looking out of the opposite side to see a range of rather nice hills. 1200km later, there we were in Xi'an. Barging our way out of the station (I'm so kiasu now!) I could see immediately that I was going to like this place.

We took a morning walk through the Muslim quarter. Again I had to escape the group so that I could take the time I needed to watch a butcher attack a mountain of hooves. photograph the carcass-man who pushed his cart from shop to shop collecting ribcages and spines and other almost bare bones. People cooked up interesting looking things in vats of oil, worked at sewing machines on street corners and pushed towering loads on handcarts and bicycles. I love these streets, where people go about their daily lives and the exoticness (is that a word?) is heightened by the fact that for everyone but you, this is normal. I could wander places like this for hours, maybe days.

Eventually I made my way to the Grand Mosque, which is quite unlike any other mosque I have ever seen. Inside what is essentially a walled garden there are a number of pagodas, each of which had its own purpose when the mosque was active. In the centre is a three tier circular building (pagoda?) which apparently served as a minaret. It was a beautifully low-key place, old wooden buildings blending easily into the serene garden.

Beijing and my bid for independence

2009-07-14T12:40:00.002Z

Today's sightseeing is best described as a yomp through Beijing's crowded must-sees. I've been on a few organised tours before, but nothing like this one. Despite being sold by a well-known UK 'small group adventure' operator, our guide (sweet and professional as she is) is definitely from the same school as all those Chinese and Japanese guides you see leading groups on whistlestop follow-my-umbrella tours of London, Stratford, or wherever.

We raced through the delightful Temple of Heaven park, where I got left behind every time I dared to stop for long enough to take a photo. Eventually I persuaded Li, against her will, to let me hold my own ticket so that I could make my way alone and meet the group at the exit at the appointed time. The park is enormous and contains a number of pagodas and the like. But for me the real joy was seeing thousands of locals going about their morning exercise. This ranged from strolling, through badminton and a sort of keepy-uppy played with a giant shuttlecock to ballroom dancing. There was also a bit of line dancing and lots of unspecified dancing in aerobic formation but using middle-aged music and middle-aged aunties. Strangely, the one exercise I'd expected to see - tai chi - was noticeably absent. Of course, we only took in a fraction of the parks.

From there we went on to Tiananmen Square, stopping off for a tasty lunch in a backstreet cafe. It's a big old square alright, but something of an anticlimax after all the hype about how big it is. The hordes of happy tourists pottered about, a scene quite baffling in its contrast to the picture in my head of the day that shall not be mentioned.

We were allowed a full ten minutes here before we were shepherded into the Forbidden City. This is huge, and stunning. But it was heaving with tourists, enormous groups following their guides' little flags, bottlenecking at each walkway between pavilions. Li continued to spout history as massed school groups bumped their way round us. I had had enough, there were few places where you could stop and think ooh or ahh, and again begged leave to make my own way. It was like edging your way out of a stadium all the way around this wonderful place. I would love to go back when it's quieter - the ornate decorations of each building are exquisite, the sheer size and grandeur of the whole city is amazing.

I was relieved to get back to the hotel and hose my weary self down in the shower. We had yet another good meal (more about the food another time) before rushing off to catch the night train to Xi'an.

The Great Wall

2009-07-13T12:34:00.001Z

An early start allowed me time to get my ATM card eaten by the Bank of China before three hours sleep on a bus took us to The Great Wall at Simatai. This is a mountainous (well, hilly at least) area, and the wall snaked along a steep ridge. It was easy to see how this must have been a pretty handy bit of defence against marauding Mongols. We walked a gentle path to the second tower on this section, low down by a small reservoir, then began the climb up, along the wall. Lush greenery stretched down the rocky slopes on either side and the wall ahead faded into the hazy distance. It was steep enough to work up a good sweat pretty quickly, but I had to keep going as any stop had knick-knack vendors buzzing round you like flies, fanning you or trying to take your arm to 'help' you along. A pity, as it really is the sort of walk that you want to savour. Still, just beyond tower eight I was able to sit quietly and enjoy some peaceful contemplation. I walked part of the way down before taking the 'cable car' (rusty buckets with seats) the rest of the way. This was great - suspended in the misty quiet, looking back up at the wall.

Back in Beijing, there was just time to run through a fantastic rainstorm, splashing through rivers swirling well over my ankles, to get to the bank and beg for my card. Luckily Li came with me to translate useful questions such as 'What does it look like?' (they already had my name and the issuing bank, so I couldn't think of much to add - rectangular and about this big? Anyway, I'm pleased to say that card and I are now reunited.

In the evening we set off to see "Chun Yi - the story of Kung Fu." Which is basically a sort of Andrew-Lloyd-Webber meets karate kid show. It was both naff and spectacular. Well, a spectacle at least. And there were some pretty good acrobatics, kung-fu based dances and so on, including a noisy and impressive stage full of men doing loud and whacky things with swords, shields and athletic bodies.

Beijing

2009-07-12T12:28:00.000Z

There was something not quite right about coming in to land at Beijing. The fact that we were still above the cloud with only two minutes to go, the way the on-board camera stopped working and showed a plain grey screen. Then out of that grey, vague city-like shapes appeared and seconds later we touched down. Smog. Of course... felt stupid not to have expected this, having heard so much about the city's smog problem.

Through the haze, Beijing looked buzzing as any Asian city, with its busy streets, bicycles with unlikely loads, odd moped-in-a-box vehicles, street vendors and shabby buildings with vibrant signs. Standing outside the hotel later in the evening, I breathed it in, the sights and sounds, the gentle warm humidity, the smells of cooking, and thought, I need to be in Asia.

In flight entertainment

2009-07-11T11:53:00.000Z

In the middle of the airline-imposed night, I staggered blearily to the galley at the back of the cabin for water. I flipped up the blind in the window of the door and gave an involuntary gasp - below me in bright sunlight spread the mountains of Northern Pakistan. Fold after fold of steep smooth brown rock, white with snow along the ridges, rose up from deep valleys. Rivers snaked coldly on the valley floors, the patchwork of small fields beside them just discernable. I gazed in awe as the mountains rose higher towards me, the snow now thick and constant, reaching down into higher valleys. Grey-green glaciers edged their way down from the snows into the rocky landscape. I tried to work out where we were - it was indeed Northern Pakistan. Below me somewhere was the bridge built by Greg Mortenson, the school, the village he described so well... I could see it now even more clearly, dwarfed by this huge, harsh beautiful landscape. I stood and watched unable to tear myself away, until the mountains gave way to desert.

Keep Lift

2009-04-30T03:33:00.000Z

After nearly 20km of dead straight busy dual carriageway through the flat grey desert, speed limit 120kmh (observed by some), a small fluorescent green sign announces "KEEP LIFT". Twenty metres later the inside lane and hard shoulder disappear behind road-work blockades. My understanding of stopping distances suggests that lift-off would indeed be the only sensible solution in the circumstances.

Hot wind

2009-04-26T03:23:00.000Z

A hot wind is blowing. The temperature which has risen slowly since February is suddenly soaring. It feels as if someone has left one of those hot air hand-driers on. Sitting at the beach, I noticed that the wind direction has changed, and now instead of coming from the North and East, Iran and Iraq, it is a straight Westerly. This air has travelled over Saudi, probably the Sahara before that. Quite a thought. No wonder it's less refreshing.

Cross-dressing

2009-04-20T17:33:00.003Z

From today's Gulf Times:

Preachers at mosques focused their attention during the Friday sermon on the strange phenomenon of girls dressed as boys in Arab robes and headgear and roaming in public parks in Doha, according to reports published in the local Arabic press.

They have also been noticed smoking cigarettes and hubble-bubble. This is a sign of the predominance of destructive ideas and values from the West on the minds of the youth in this country, said many of the preachers.

They also attributed this to the prevalence of chatting on the internet, blind aping of Western lifestyles and the spread of the culture of consumerism.

They called upon the authorities concerned to take stringent action against those indulging in such behaviour.

Girls roaming in public parks? Whatever next!
.

The oryx farm, Shahaniya

2009-04-18T01:54:00.000Z

A few decades ago, the Arabian Oryx was all but extinct - the only remaining specimens being those held in zoos in various parts of the world. The oryx farm at Shahaniya is at the hub of the project to save this creature and I can only say it seems to be doing a pretty good job.

After a look round the centre, a talk and video filled us in on everything I could possibly have wanted to know, although I'm afraid to say it still left me slightly unclear on things like dates and numbers, so I won't go into details here. It was heartening to meet local people who are passionate about conservation in this region where oil-fuelled consumerism is king.

The organisation also runs two large reserves where the oryx, and other species of antelopey things, live in a more natural or wild habitat. These can not be visited, but the video gave an impression of suitable huge expanses of flat desert. The video was at great pains to reassure us that although these reserves took up a large amount of land, they had been strategically placed so that they didn't get in the way of building or development. Heaven forbid.

The farm is well worth a visit, but you'll need to call first - it's not open on a public drop-in basis.

Camel Race Track

2009-04-18T01:46:00.004Z

I met Ros on the visit to the oryx farm and when we left there she took me for a look at the camel race track nearby. This is somewhere I've been meaning to visit for ages and it was even better to go there with someone who knew the place, not to mention someone whose company I enjoyed.

It was a bit late in the day for much action, but as we got there we saw the last few groups of camels trotting around or leaving the track after their morning's training. We were greeted heartily by all and sundry, though language barriers kept conversation to a minimum. For many, the opportunity to shake a woman's hand is a chance to good to miss.

During races, camels are 'ridden' by robotic riders - essentially, remote-controlled boxes with a short whip whisking round in a circular motion that takes in the camel's rump on each rotation. So camel races have the added spectacle of a herd of land-cruisers zooming round the inside of the track with owners controlling their robots and urging on their camels. But the training looks a much more romantic affair. Groups of camels wearing stripy blankets were shepherded round at a trot (well, this might have just been for their cool-down lap), usually with just one or two riders. I hadn't even had time to reach for my camera when the first came by, a dashing Sudanese man dressed in a deep rich blue waving his crop in flamboyant circles over his head as he greeted us.

Opposite the camel race track is a sort of Camel City, where all the stables are. Here you can wander around and will feel very welcome. Buy a whippy robot or a cart-load of camel-feed. But we didn't go... I'll save that for another time. And then there's a day at the races, although that will be harder as it's typically impossible to find out when they are on.

Return to Qatar

2009-04-15T17:29:00.002Z

The beige buildings dot the beige landscape which blends into the beige sky.

Ending on a high

2009-04-14T15:34:00.002Z

A move to the Meridien for a splash of end-of-trip luxury. This place is a far cry from my usual backpacker haunts. Gorgeous pool, an exotic cocktail and oh, what a welcoming comfortable bed. It's definitely been worth the splurge, although I simply can't bring myself to pay RM16 for a soft drink - how do they justify that? So am having the best of both worlds by eating delicious cheap Indian food in Brickfields and shopping there for my own drinks etc before swanning back to this world of opulence for a long island iced tea by the pool.

And then last night, the best possible end to this trip. I met up with Margy and Karin and Chong in PJ and the afternoon turned to evening as we caught up over dishes of hokkien mee, taufoo and porky things, moving gradually up the street from one Chinese coffee-shop-come-hawker-centre to the next. I love these places, full of semi-mobile stalls each dishing up its own speciality amidst the cacophany of clanging woks and shouted orders that bounces through the cooking smoke and sizzling smells. I stood in a grubby kitchen waiting for the toilet, watched a rat run by and thought with pleasure how normal this is, how at home I feel here, in this place, with these people. We talked on, laughing and gossiping until suddenly, quite a few kopi-o and beers later, it was heading for midnight and time for goodbyes. Time to realise how much I miss these friends, this place.

Today has been a lazing by the pool day. When the afternoon rain came I sat in a little gazebo and watched the storm, marvelled at the power and persistence of the downpour. Then in the early evening Martin came (what a treat to find him back in KL!) and we sipped mojitos and watched the daylight fade through my favourite twilight shades as the lights came on and everything twinkled, still wet from the rain. I felt quite overcome by how lovely it was, this place, my friends... and probably the mojitos. Another downpour meant getting soaked running to the poolside bar to pay the bill, where the barman kindly (stable doors come to mind) draped me in towels for my wet dash to the hotel. I splashed through three inches of water and tumbled indoors, loving it all.

Then another farewell - KL seems to be a city of goodbyes - before heading off for my wee hours flight back. Not much to say about that, except for spending a very pleasant hour in Dubai airport discussing Shakespeare and Chekov with a rather dashing Ukrainian seaman.

Kuala Lumpur

2009-04-11T15:45:00.002Z

Food heaven. I've been staying in Bukit Bintang, half a stone's throw from Jalan Alor... What else to say? I've feasted on Chinese roast pork, la la, kai lan, durian and even had a real bacon butty with a beer in Finnegans. This on top of all those other old favourites - mee mamak, nasi lemak, nasi campur and roti canai. The streets round here are buzzing with people, food, bright lights and shady taxi drivers. I've had foot massages, back massages, been shopping for books and DVDs, with plenty of breaks for coffees in pavement cafes while watching the world go by.

I ended up in The Pavilion shopping mall, to find the Emirates office to delay my flight back. This has to be the most scary mall I've ever been in. I'm surprised I'm not still there. The place is huge. It has banks of escalators and lifts that only service certain floors so you have to go down to go up (well, I did), then across to another wing to go up again. It took me fourteen of the fifteen minutes till the office closed to find it. Then returning to the ground floor where I'd started, I found myself in an underground car park. On the positive side, it has a good bookshop and outside there is a nice collection of eateries. Including La Bodega, so I treated myself to a small plate of my favourite chilli garlic prawns, feeling I had earned them with my frantic exploration of the Pavilion.

What else of KL - not much that I haven't said before. It's been great to catch up with old friends, visiting old haunts and discovering new ones. There's a strange but not unpleasant sensation of being a visitor in my home town. And some things never change. I've quickly reverted to Manglish, been repeatedly mistaken for a man and played the shop-assistant-shuffle. This last is a simple game based on the fact that shop assistants are contracted to stay exactly 16 inches away from a customer. Therefore your slightest movement will be followed inch for inch. I managed to get a girl in the Body Shop to follow me twice round the same display unit and very nearly got her out of the door. Imagine my disappointment when she pinged back as if I'd snapped her elastic on the threshold.

Langkawi

2009-04-07T02:48:00.001Z

And now a couple of nights in the delightful Beach Garden Resort. I love this place. It's friendly, personal and so well looked after. More sea, sand and sun, lazy days and good food. I walked here from the other resort, jauntily flaunting my legs in very short beach shorts, even enjoying the rivulets of sweat running down my face and stomach. It took me a second to recognize another old familiar - that delicious sweet smell of clove cigarettes. Two men gave up trying to saw through a tree by the road and having cut two thirds of the way through its trunk, they took turns in running at it and delivering a high jumping kick. They saw me watching and showed off even more, laughing at themselves.

In the evenings I walk along the main street, trying to choose from the all-to-tempting restaurants and food stalls. The place is buzzing with life. So touristy but so Malaysian. There's a cheesy spring in my step.

So far removed from my normal holidays - I'd always seen places like Langkawi as weekend getaways and couldn't imagine spending more than two days here - but now I wish I had a whole week. Maybe I'm getting old, or just worn down by this illness, but right now I can think of nothing better than this. Total relaxation.

Frangipani resort, Langkawi

2009-04-05T02:37:00.002Z

This place is a bit upmarket by my standards, although the rooms are nothing to write home about. It is easy to spend a day lounging on a lounger, dipping in to either the lovely pool or the gentle sea. And of course there are frangipani trees here and there, spilling their flowers and scent into the evening air. A very comfortable place to stay.

And then the afternoon rain. Had I really forgotten how thunder ruptures the sky, tearing overhead from somewhere behind to right out over the sea? The slowly moving sequence of explosive, cracking bursts that we would call just one clap... and the power of the rain. I drew a chair as far into the cover of my little patio as I could and sat and watched. The sky emptied and emptied, the cascades of rain almost as potent at the run-off from the roof. The flower beds filled with three inches of water. I watched for an hour or so, me and a large resident gecko, until there was little more than drizzle. Then I went into my room to find the tiniest gecko on my bed. Is there no end to the enchantment of this place?

By the time I'd showered and changed, the rain had stopped and the sky had brightened enough to promise a dramatic sunset amongst the clouds and islands.

Langkawi

2009-04-04T02:27:00.001Z

Descended into KL through rain, a solid, constant wash across the window. Landed in sunshine. Then stepping out into that friendly familiar humidity, breathing in the heady, moist green-tasting air. Home again.

Then to Langkawi, arriving in time to watch the last of the colour drain from the sky. Cicacadas ring their evening song till the sound is replaced by rumbles of thunder. The sky flickers with a distant storm. My ankles itch briefly with mosquito bites as I sip on a cold Tiger at the top of the beach. I can hear the waves gently sucking at the shore, geckos chirrup, frogs croak and the occasional bat flaps by. I am overcome by this onslaught of sensation, of pleasure. From sensationless sterile Doha to this. It is too good. My fatigue drops away.

Airport thought

2009-04-04T02:25:00.000Z

Do these people (always Chinese or Japanese or probably Singaporean) who wear semi-surgical face masks in airports wear them anywhere else? Are airports really any more germ-ridden than busy supermarkets, cinemas or doctors' surgeries? Just a thought.

Zekreet

2009-03-27T14:21:00.003Z

Another Friday, another ramble. This time to Zekreet, or Zirkreet, out west near Dukhan.
More sea, sand and... Oh, sand.

Lots of fossils, remains of yesterday's rain and some ridiculously soft white stuff which crumbled like semi-dry paste when you touched it. How can this stuff have stood for so long?

From here we drove a couple of miles to a film set where a Qatari series had been made. Nobody found out anything about what or when the series was but it was quite an impressive set. A complete courtyarded house of the type I imagine would accommodate a few families. Or maybe it's more of a fortress-village. Hard to say. It would be quite habitable as all rooms and roofs are complete. Outside, a number of well-like structures (or maybe fire pits) stood around and an ostrich trotted about.

This is a good example of early air-conditioning - the wind tower. The tower opens straight into the room below so that any breeze there might be will flow into the room. Not much else to say really.

Beyond the film-set we drove down into an area surrounded by cliffs where little dwellings (also part of the set) were built against the cliff walls and on unlikely lumps of rock. Must keep an eye out for a re-run of this show!

Car buying

2009-03-25T16:17:00.004Z

Choosing a car was interesting, what with browsing Qatar Living's classifieds. So many tempting vehicles...

MB Chasis 5000 Gallon Sewage Water Tanker

By Sureshnambiar on Mon, 23/03/2009 - 6:40pm Model: 2008

Contact number: 4561445 / 5807919
Description:
2008 Model, 2 Nos. Mercedez Benz chassis with cab type Actros 3331/45/6x4, 24 tons payload, mounted on the MB chassis 5000 gallon Sewage Water Tanker with pump and hoses with excellent condition for immediate sale. Interested parties, please contact Mr. Suresh, on telephone # 4561445 or mobile # 5807919.

Tanker 8000 galon

By mercury1608 on Sun, 01/02/2009 - 3:18pm Model: 2002
Price: 60 000 QR
Contact number: 5123412
Description:
drinking water tanker 8000 Galon model 2002 in good condition

boom truck 3 ton unic crane for sale

By syed shah on Sun, 01/02/2009 - 6:27pm Model: 1984
Price: 85 000 QR
Contact number: +9745379746
Description:
mitsubishi boom truck 3 ton unic crane in a good condition.

Actually, I quite fancied that last one.
But this is what I settled on:

(A nearly-new Mitsubishi Outlander. Pictured here on our latest 'ramble')

Another amusing aspect of these ads is that in amongst the lists of leather seats, 3.6l engines, cd players etc, a few state "Accident Free". However, the majority offer "Free Accident" which is so much more appealing.

My mate Zhang Xinhua

2009-03-23T15:19:00.002Z

... or maybe Qin Kai.

Out for a little jog on Friday morning, I came across a handful of people limbering up outside a hotel wearing tracksuits that announced that they were the Chinese something team. One member waved hello with a cheery smile so I stopped for a brief conversation in sign and smile language. My question was answered with a graceful swoop of a hand - divers.

Back home I googled and discovered that the world series had come to Doha, an invitation event featuring the top-placed Olympic divers. I realised that my "What sport?" question had very probably been addressed to one of China's golden boys, holder of half a dozen Olympic medals, someone who would have been mobbed outside a Beijing hotel.

But it meant that I did go to see the evening session on Saturday. Not an event I'd normally seek out, but it was rather enjoyable and not only because there's little to do in Doha. Mark and I quickly came to fancy ourselves as expert judges in between being awed specatators. Other highlights included the Mexican syncronised 10m platform buttock-wiping and the pairs of men in speedos face-to-face as they practised synch-dives on the poolside with the stilted grace of music-box wind-up ballerinas.

Doha is chasing - and getting - major sporting events. In January I went to the men's semi-finals at the tennis, watching Murray, Federer, Roddick and the Frenchman whose name I've forgotten. The cycling I've mentioned here already. Events are free or unbelievably cheap. The stands are rarely full.

Two or three years ago, Doha hosted the Asian games, so they definitely have world class facilities. I remember reading last year that there was some speculation over their Olympic bid - Doha didn't make the shortlist and one UK newspaper reported claims that this was because with the money that could be put behind the bid it would almost cerainly win. The official reason was that the proposal was to hold the games in October, outside the regular summer Olympic window. I never read any more about it, so don't know if this view was shared by others.

Anyway, part of being here and staying sane is to say yes to anything. Except maybe synchronised swimming.

The world according to Rachel Ray

2009-03-14T15:17:00.002Z

Rachel Ray hosts a chat-come-cookery show of the type where lines such as "Now I'm adding the broccoli" elicits rapturous applause. Anyway, I paused my channel-hopping today because she had Gordon Ramsay on the show. Discussing simple family cooking, she helpfully explained to Ramsay that "There's a recession in the US right now." Ramsay, I'm pleased to say, widened her horizons and explained that it isn't just in the States. Sadly, I can't help thinking that she needed his help on this.

The other point of course is that English-language TV is thin on the ground here.

Western Qatar

2009-03-13T12:27:00.001Z

This week's ramble was more of a GPS car treasure hunt, which was slightly disappointing from a rambling point of view, but well worth the effort in other ways. The object was to locate certain 'earth caches' which for those interested can be logged by answering a series of questions. Mark, Alain and I opted out of all work-sheet based activities and simply soaked up the sights and enjoyed learning from the experts who luckily were in our team.

The first stop was at Zekreet Pedestals, where limestone makes some interesting formations as softer rock erodes.

From there we drove on to a meteor crater near Dukhan. It is believed that a meteorite fell here in the 1940's but the crater was only found relatively recently, when people began to look into stories told by aging Bedouins. In 1989 a piece of meteorite was found in the area. The GoogleEarth picture definitely suggests crater. (If you want to find it on GoogleEarth, the grid ref is: N 25 24.021 E 050 50.471)

At the time of the impact, the area was swamp, so there is not a big crater-like hole. However, the outer ripple of the crater was clear to see, as it is in the satellite photo. In the centre, there is a sudden profusion of plant-life - lots of little scrubby shrubs. This is apparently due to the meteorite's fall into the swamp, which caused a ripple out, then just like a stone dropped into water, a splash up. What splashed up was richer soil from deeper ground - hence the plants.

Standing in the crater, we were 8m below sea-level, which seemed rather odd in such a dry place. But there was a dampness just beneath the top crust of the sand. The (brackish) water-table is very high here and the area is prone to flooding.

By now, I was getting into the four-wheel driving, beginning to enjoy the heavy drag through the sand with soft sideways slippage. The car definitely isn't made for super heavy-duty off-road, but it was fine for this, and we topped out over the rim of the crater with what I can only immodestly call ease and control. OK, so it wasn't that high, but still....

Next, we headed towards the petroleum fields, trying to find access through to the beach. Signposts announced cheery things like 'Stripping Plant', 'De-gassing plant' and 'Sewage treatment works'. Pipelines criss-crossed the landscape. The 'beautiful' beach was strewn with litter, but we settled down for a lazy lunch. Walking away from the sea, you could hear the oil flowing through the pipes.

So today I've stood on oil and 8m under the sea. Not bad.

Al Kharara

2009-03-06T19:16:00.007Z

An organised ramble to Al Kharara with Qatar Natural History Group, including a lizard expert and a plant expert as guides and a passing geologist as a fellow newbie to the group. It was fabulous to be out in the fresh air, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. The stroll was very gentle, the 'sights' few and far between, but it didn't matter a bit - I can't think of a way I'd have rather spent this morning. Met some lovely people, wandered in the sun, saw a couple of lizards and found out a bit about a couple of plants.

Geologically, the area is quite interesting as it is covered with a variety of water-rounded pebbles. These were washed down into an alluvial fan by heavy rain in Saudi something like 30 million years ago. Apparently the rest of Qatar has almost nothing but limestone and it was interesting to see this evidence of so much water.

Ramblers' parking:

Featuring.... second from the right.... my new car!
Not bad for its very first outing!
Its a bit of beast - by my standards even if not by local ones - causing me huge eco-guilt, but I am finding ways to justify it. (eg living through the commute on the Mesaieed road and driving off-road to places like this). And it's damn nice to drive. Still, I was very glad to have co-drivers and navigators for this trip, thanks to the car-pooling of the group. Great company too.

This car is a bit all-singing, all dancing in a number of superfluous ways but the absolute highlight came when after an hour of driving, a tuneful little chime sounded. I looked at the dashboard to see what it might be about, to find that the odo and petrol etc display had been replaced by a picture of a cup of tea and the message that it was time for a break!!! I waited for a cup-holder to slide open with promised cup of tea, but sadly this one, much more useful, feature appears to be absent.

Dark days

2009-03-05T15:20:00.000Z

The heart has been ripped out of the place.

The inland sea

2009-02-21T17:05:00.006Z

A small group of us from work went on an organised trip to the Inland Sea. It was the first time I've been out and about for months, and as such was wonderfully refreshing. Unfortunately every jolt of the Landcruiser sent shots of pain searing through my head and I quickly started to feel sick. Some of the dune driving was fairly white-knuckle, but with feeling so rough I had somewhat lost my taste for danger. Still, you have to admire what these cars can do as they zoom diagonally down the dunes seemingly only half a degree short of rolling.

Our kamikaze driver either didn't speak English or just didn't speak - hard to say which, but we did get to a point where he waved an arm across the water and said "Saudi Arabia" so I guess we were pretty much at the end of Qatar.

The inland parts of the sea were slightly unimpressive. Presumably the tide was out. But there was plenty of other sea looking prettily blue beyond the dunes. From the Saudi-spotting point we backtracked, heading North again to our camp. There are a lot of permanent camps set up together, but it all looked pleasant enough. We were right on the beach, dunes behind us and the refinery on the near horizon. The staff were lovely and the bedouin style tent made a good getaway from the wind and we spent a very pleasant evening. Then we tried to sleep. At which point any idea I'd had of spending a serene night in the desert communing with nature disappeared. It was more like sleeping at Silverstone. All night, and well into the small hours, dune buggies roared and raced round and round us. So much for a peaceful getaway. I groaned in and out of a sleep corroded by the venom I felt towards these people. Woke up rather cold, stiff and grumpy, but hey, it was another beautiful day and it was good to be out watching the sun come up.

Very glad I went - despite the night and my head I had such good time being out with nice people in a pretty cool place. But next time I'll find somewhere quieter to camp.

Not a titter

2009-02-12T16:38:00.001Z

You know you're really teaching EAL kids when you do a lesson on silent k words and someone suggests 'knob' and nobody laughs. Not a titter. Not even a smirk.

Legs in lycra

2009-02-06T16:03:00.005Z

The final day of the Tour of Qatar. This stage, from Mesaieed, ended with about six laps of the Corniche. Oooh, all those thighs straining at their lycra casings. But best of all - and quite unexpected - was the sound of the powerful rushing whirr of the peloton. Fantastic.

Race leaders heading North

Peloton heading South

Lycra heaven
View across the water to West Bay

Doha in a nutshell

2009-02-01T17:31:00.000Z

I have the answer!

When people ask what Doha is like, the answer is, "An airport."
There are people from hundreds of countries, all corners of the world. Very few call this their homeland. There are the same shops you'd find anywhere in the world, none of them selling anything interesting. There is nothing to give a sense of place, of local character. Is this the pinnacle of globalization? Its anywhere and everywhere and nowhere. It is an airport. Possibly Dubai airport.

Resources

2009-01-18T16:45:00.000Z

We now have: reading books, exercise books, whiteboards, pinboards (which can't support a pin, never mind a piece of paper), metre sticks, basic science equipment, calculators, paint and glue!

Holiday

2008-12-26T15:08:00.000Z

Four weeks off and no strength to do anything. I thought I would go mad. But in reality, it is just such a relief to do nothing and be alone.

A bit of a struggle

2008-12-19T05:48:00.000Z

I have been ill. Realise I've never really been ill before, but this is like nothing I could have imagined springing out at me. Had to cancel wonderful and extravagant holiday trekking the mountains of Oman, as these days getting to the kitchen and back feels like a mountain trek. This has gone on for weeks, months. The first month was desperate, frightening and debilitating. It's better now, but I still can't do anything active without reeling in pain. Work, sleep, work, sleep, work, sleep. It's manageable, but still often a struggle. But I have finally found a wonderful, lovely doctor who actually inspires confidence, talks to me as if I have a brain, listens and generally makes me want to hug him.

It's made me realize, again, how lucky I have been with my all my colleagues. Everyone has been so kind, although I have not even been able to socialise and make many friends. The head of Primary and my Key Stage leader have been more than understanding. I have felt quite overwhelmed by their support, kindness and help. But despite all this, or maybe because of it, I am so aware that I have not been able to pull my weight. I came out here believing I had so much to offer and found myself unable to offer anything.

So my Qatar explorations have been focused on various hospitals and medical centres. Not my idea of exciting. Despite one heartwarming notice in the Hamad hospital:
"In the name of Allah the almighty and Mohammed his prophet, peace be upon him, no prescription will be given without medical card."

Carrefour update

2008-10-16T05:45:00.002Z

I don't know what was going on that first time, but it was obviously a freak event. Carrefour queues are almost as bad here as in KL and probably the rest of their empire.

Weather update

2008-10-13T06:30:00.001Z

The heat has gone. Days are pleasant twenties to thirties, nights comfortably tepid. Week by week the sea chills from hot, through warm to refreshing.
That's it really. Nothing much happens.

Mesaieed

2008-10-01T07:55:00.000Z

View of new housing project from partially built school:

Scenic view from old nursery school:

Sign in Medical Centre:

Nothing like an ideal emergency.

It's arrived!

2008-09-22T16:24:00.000Z

Well, my shipping has finally arrived. And this is what it looked like:
Customs had opened EVERYTHING. The clearance agents (I have not got the energy to describe my relationship with them and their endless faffing that left everything sitting in the docks for weeks) were left to stuff it willy-nilly back into knifed and torn boxes which were delivered to me gently spewing their contents. I can only imagine the mess that the poor guys (it's their boss I have issues with, not the drivers and dogsbodies) had to contend with. It must have been one almighty heap that meant that things didn't even go back into their original box. Still, nothing appears to be missing, and I've only found one thing damaged - Muda's painting gouged, it seems, by the knife that slashed the package open.
Hugged the big brass gecko from 6H, so pleased I was to find it safe and sound. Wore my EcoTraining wooly hat in the same spirit.

Journey to the end of Qatar

2008-09-19T07:29:00.000Z

Went for a day of exploration with the guy I met in the Irish Bar. We drove to the northern tip of the country at Al Ruwais, which boasts nothing but a fishing dock and a customs post, then left the road and followed the East coast as closely as possible heading South.

I loved the bleak barren landscape of flat rocky desert. The sea gleamed turquoise in the sun beyond the abandoned villages we came across here and there. We drove up onto what is probably Qatar's highest point - at least 10m above sea level - and looked down into clear water, seaweed and plastic bags.

We met camels sauntering across the desert, swam again at sandy beaches, lazed in the sun and generally had a great day out. In the evening, dinner in Doha's old souk. It felt so good to be outside, seeing something beyond Doha, being back in the real world.

Doha in pictures

2008-09-15T06:58:00.000Z

All taken in West Bay, commercial centre and breeding ground of skyscrapers.

Driving and other adventures

2008-09-07T09:27:00.000Z

Ok, so it took nearly two weeks, but I finally spotted some camels on the way to work. That is, on my way to work - I don't know where they were going.

We've been in to 'work' for two weeks now. Most of the first week was spent on personal admin like residents' permits, bank accounts, driving licenses etc. All of these seem to require sheaves of paperwork, tangles of red tape and curious configurations of hoops to be jumped through. And just when you think you've made it, they invent a new hoop.

We have also visited various building sites. Great to be in a health and safety free country where it's ok to wander through half-built schools. The main school is going to be pretty impressive.... one day. The new nursery is looking good and nearly ready - it will be used for primary school for now. The bachelor housing is grotty little shoeboxes, the married accommodation is beyond palatial. The head is negotiating on our behalf for better deal, or so we hope. Luckily the powers that be don't think the eight single female teachers should be living in the bachelor zone with five thousand men, so they are listening. Of course our single men would have to get the same deal, which the powers may not understand. Whatever happens, one cert is that it will happen pretty slowly, so I may as well get settled in my flat. Have recounted the furniture, to discover that the living room alone has a total of seven tables, eleven chairs and two sofas (which still stink).

Driving has been another adventure - on the right, in an automatic. Have hired a little 4x4 which I love driving. The traffic is pretty sane compared to KL, but it is faster and more aggressive or less forgiving, or both. Went out early on Friday morning to make most of ghost-town time to learn way around and get to grips with car. Saw remains of a pretty nasty accident, including enormous pool of blood and a body being wrapped in a white sheet. Find driving better than being a passenger on the whole, and some taxis definitely provide a white-knuckle experience. While I'm always up for perilous sports I don't intend find myself on a roadside in a white sheet, even it is much nicer than a bodybag.

The preferred driving position is approximately quarter of an inch behind the car in front. Flashing (though often unseen as headlights parked under your back bumper) and hooting is used to indicate that the car behind you would like you to pull in, preferably underneath the truck you are currently overtaking. Lanes on roundabouts are meaningless and there is possibly a law stating that you must use all three. Shooting a red light carries a fine of about a thousand pounds so emergency stops are common as soon as the green starts to flash. Consequently, rear-ending is also common. I have come to prefer red lights to green as at least you know where you are with them.

Today we began the secret education of the staff children. Secret because the other parents are somewhat impatient to get their kids in and fed up with lack of start date. I've volunteered for swimming and PE, so today went will nine kids and the two PE teachers to the pool at the golf club. I was even lucky enough to get to go in the water, where I tried to teach a sinking four year old to swim. He was considerably shorter than the shallow end was deep, but he was pretty game. Things took a turn for the worse when he announced he needed the toilet - I held his hand to help negotiate some scattered power tools, broken concrete and slippery bits on the way to the changing room only to discover that I was expected to sort out paper and chat to him while he slowly disappeared bottom-first down the loo, explaining as he went that he was doing a poo. And he needed his minimal bits disentangling from the lace of his trunks which got in a tangle as he tried to tug them up. This is why I don't teach reception.

The beach club has been a great getaway, despite its titchy beach and view of the docks. The sea was tropically warm this weekend, rather than turkish-bath hot, making it much more pleasant. They also do great food at heavily subsidized prices, though not during fasting hours. I was there on Thursday afternoon with one of my neighbours and since there was no-one obviously about we were very daring and lurked behind a hedge to glug back water and cokes. Was a bit concerned that the circling helicopter was the Ramadan police, but have received no deportation notice yet.

Doha under construction

2008-09-01T06:22:00.001Z

Doha is a city under construction. For every completed building there seem to be two more on the way. Cranes top more skyscrapers than roofs. Even in the heart of the city's West Bay there are huge empty plots, or massive foundation excavations. Heavy machinery thumps as holes are bored, dust billows.

There are not enough hot words to describe the heat. Even at midnight, stepping outdoors and standing still, sweat springs from every pore and runs in rivulets down your body. Daytime temperatures in the shade hit the high thirties; in the sun mid-forties are the norm. The humidity is stifling. I suppose I expected desert climate - hot dry days, coolish nights, but no. And it shouldn't have been surprising really, as we are surrounded by water. Aircon is a must, although of course it is too fierce (and noisy).

At the beach club I can sit and melt quietly in the shade before jumping into the bathwater-hot sea. The view of the docks from the minimal beach is a little uninspiring, but it's still a godsend to have this little bit of outdoors in a city built for indoor life. When I bemoan lack of balcony, garden or outdoor pool people keep telling me it's too hot, but I don't get it - it's only too hot for a couple of months. If we worked on this basis no one in Europe would have a garden as it's too cold.

Above: The beach club

A night out

2008-08-30T07:20:00.002Z

The last drinking night before Ramadan, and the bar was heaving. Wherever you go in the world, will you always find an Irish bar?

I went with a few of my colleagues to the Irish Bar. There was much talk beforehand about how women here never need to pay for a drink here because men are so desperate for female company. Personally, I find the idea of never standing my round rather unsettling. I certainly can't manage the sang-froid required to accept a drink and then turn my back on the donor - apparently a perfectly normal sequence of events. I don't really think that any of us are quite at that stage. However, there is a bit of fair play maybe in the fact that men often can't get into a bar without a woman, so a drink seems to them small price to pay for entry.

Well, I can only say that there is something in the desperate men theory - even I managed to get chatted up. Yes, by a straight man who did actually realise that I'm a woman. I've a feeling we even danced. What is the world coming to?

Doha

2008-08-23T06:03:00.002Z

Have moved. This flat is enormous. I'm thinking of opening a 40 bed backpackers' hostel. I'm in a complex called Seven Pearls, for which read seven blocks. I have walked about 12 miles just unpacking my flight luggage and a bit of shopping, though it would have been less if I hadn't kept getting lost between the bedroom and living room. I have 2 bedrooms, and a living space that includes a miniature hotel lobby with those naff hotel lobby chairs and tables on the way to the living and dining bit. I have four coffee tables, three toilets, two plastic trees and a dishwasher. But only one bowl, one plate and a spoon. Refuse to buy more in case my shipping actually turns up. The fridge is so big I could (and might) sit in it quite comfortably. Probably on a chair.

But before it all sounds too good to be true, it's a bit dark and gloomy and the sofa stinks and is greasy and generally reminiscent of seriously unwashed hair. But luckily there are numerous seating options (14 chairs and 2 sofas) so some rearrangement may be possible so that I can slob out in front of the TV in between shopping malls.

Thinking of which, trundling round Carrefour this evening looking for irons, kettles and emergency food supplies did give me a whack of deja vu. Then left me confused as they didn't have the same stock as KL of course. Friday evening is the busiest shopping time of the week and it was packed and crazy - but unlike Malaysia there were checkouts with no-one, yes no-one waiting. Carrefour was in the most bizarre shopping mall I've ever seen. It's styled on Venice, apparently, so above the shopfronts there are supposedly Italian style traditional house upper storey facades and above them a blue sky with a few wispy clouds. But best of all, canals flow through the mall and weary shoppers can take a gondola ride. Kid you not. Mind you, doing one loop on foot did fairly wear me out.

The heat is amazing but it's the humidity that's come as a surprise. Stepping out into it is like going into a sauna where someone's just sloshed water onto the coals. Or when there's a breeze it's like having a hair dryer constantly on, on a very slow very hot setting. I may even have to use the aircon. And the gym. And the pool (unfortunately indoor) Looks like running will be a problem till the weather cools - even nights are like Malaysian days. Darker though.

Doha, Qatar

2008-08-22T05:47:00.003Z

Doha – day 2. Has it really only been two days?
So here I am, about to rejoin the grown-up world of work.

First impressions – hot, humid, hazy and dusty, building sites, high-rises, sterile, hot...

Got to the hotel at about 2am to be handed an envelope in which a letter informed me that I'd be collected at 7 to go for a medical – before which I was to fast for 12 hours – as well as referring to my job title as 'Acaademic Head of EAL' – what??? Later, that was confirmed as a mistake. Nine of us went for this medical and the bit by bit process took us till 2pm. The rest of the group are all working at another school, which is actually built already and has been happily running for some years. In the evening I met with the primary head of my school and a couple of other staff members. We were filled in on everything, which is to say we found out that nobody knows anything. Neither the school (not even the temporary building) nor the staff accommodation is finished, though this is as expected. And with Ramadan around the corner, things are set to slow down a bit. If we have a building, we'll open for admissions but not for teaching. We'll start teaching... well, nobody really knows when. We have an induction day on Sunday for those staff who've already arrived – at the golf club. Thereafter, we'll be going to work every day. “Where?” I asked. “Ahhh.... good question...” mused the head.

Signed my contract today and was given a wad of money from my furnishing allowance so spent a happy afternoon in a mall loading up with the bare essentials to tide me over until my shipping shows up (or is confirmed lost at sea). Tomorrow I'll be moving into temporary accommodation, where I'll be living till October, or November, or December, or permanently.

The hotel is lush. More exotic bathing condiments than I'd ever buy for myself, a buffet to die for with at least 40 interesting salads and great mounds of smoked salmon and mackerel– I haven't even tried the hot food yet. Doormen whisk your shopping bags out of your taxi and whoever hung my thick white bathrobe up this morning has been back to lay in out on my turned-down bed, along with a chocolate and tomorrow's weather forecast. An old shabby like me could feel quite out of place, except you can't because the people aren't like that. And anyway I was sashaying around in a skirt this morning. Yes, a skirt. I even ironed it, after phoning the conciererge for the necessary equipment. Ha! But it's not quite too good to be true – it's a dry hotel. Possibly the only 5 star dry hotel in the country. The good news is that it may be possible to sort out beer-buying permits before the country's one grog shop closes for Ramadan. And there isn't a swimming pool, but the primary head is leading an expedition to the beach club on Saturday where he hopes to get us all in as prospective members. Which I certainly am anyway. Beach, good cheap cafe, sailing, fun boats, etc. Infidel bikinis allowed.

Seems to be a nice crowd, and the only wanker turned out to be going to the other school at the other end of the country (albiet only 50 miles away but it's enough). Hope to meet up again some time with all the others who left for there today. The hotel is a sort of holding camp where people spend two or three days while processing medicals, contracts, etc, then move on – can't keep up with who's who or where half the time. Just as you get to know people they move on. The “organization” is from head office, not the school, so no-one knows where they're going or when, then a driver turns up with a list of people to take somewhere and wonders why they're not ready or even there.

For general Doha impressions I'll try and do a blog entry some time soon as I'm sure you're all dying to hear about the bleak dry land between the building sites, the heat and the general lack of camels.

May not be quite as wow as living in Malaysia, but I have to say I'm really excited about the chaos out of which we hope to raise a school.

Edinburgh Festival Photos

2008-08-15T08:59:00.000Z

Edinburgh

2008-08-15T08:21:00.000Z

Edinburgh without the festival just isn't right. It's like going up stairs when you think there's one more step than there is and you thump down on the flat. I should have, maybe did, get used to it over these last few months, but oh the joy to be back at festival time.

The High Street buzzes with a bizarre army of flyer-pushers working their way between tourists, festival junkies and earnest show-goers. Posters are layered over each other by enterprising groups who vie for the safest top-spot by climbing onto shoulders or leaping wildly with broom-handles. On miniature stages, on bollards and the cobbled road, groups perform tasters of their shows. Basil Fawlty and Manuel saunter down the Mile, passing dancers, wenches, pirates, dead bodies, stilt-walkers and a rugby team whose Hakka holds up the traffic. Pluck perform with such a dazzling brilliance that I immediately buy a ticket. The sun shines. This is Edinburgh.

There isn't enough time to see everything I'd like to, but this year I get to more shows than ever. Choose better. Although I still ended up at at least one cringeworthy failure of a show - but then, that's part of the fun.

I found some gems this year: Pluck, Tony!The Blair Musical, John Hegley (again) and Pericles Redux being the highlights. Pericles Redux was the most unusual and mesmerising Shakespeare you could imagine - original text woven into physical theatre that told the story, grabbed you and carried you away. And a few days later I came across the team performing on the street, a vision of topless muscular strength and elegance.

The energy of the festival is heady. Just sitting in the Pleasance Courtyard sipping a drink is like a show in itself.

Kuala Lumpur

2008-06-18T06:58:00.000Z

Home

Spring has sprung

2008-06-12T06:52:00.001Z

It's been six years since I saw seasons, give or take the odd autumnal tree in Zimbabwe last May. So it's been rather nice to watch the changing of the seasons. From the heavy frosts those icy sunny days in late December to the new year snows, we shot through snowdrops and crocuses towards spring. Daffodils and lambs cavorting on the ever-greener hillsides, blossoms fragrantly came and went with breathtaking transience, leaving us with a Scottish summer. At six or seven o'clock I feel slightly cheated by the lack of darkness, remembering fondly the cold damp early nights of January, but then by nine or ten o'clock I look out and see the daylight still slowly fading and feel quite uplifted, chuffed. And then, the sky a rich deepening blue, the evenings seem quite magical and I like to walk along the river. Baby rabbits hop hopelessly away into the undergrowth, ducks take their ducklings for a swim as the first few stars begin to show and the laughter wafts across from the terrace of the pub. Summer evenings, exactly how we'd like to remember them, just as the winter pulled out enough perfect days to maintain a romantic vision and fortify selective memory.

I used to say that if I'd missed anything while in Malaysia, it would have been the seasons. I wouldn't say I actively did, but it's certainly been good to see them again.

Saqqara

2008-05-21T15:26:00.002Z

The drive out to Saqqara took us away from Cairo through tree-lined roads that cut a way through fields of crops and small villagey areas. We passed the pyramids of Abusir, a couple of dry petrol stations and a rash of carpet schools before arriving at the entrance to the Saqqara complex, a huge sprawling area dominated by the marvellous step pyramid of the Pharoah Djoser.

This style, maybe even this pyramid, was the beginning of the trend for burying bigwigs in large geometric structures. From mounds of sand the Ancient Egyptians progressed to square, flat-topped mastabas before someone decided to park six mastabas of decreasing size on top of each other. Mind how you pronounce this, as someone who I shan't name found my pronunciation cause for much sniggering. I loved the Step Pyramid, its chunky lines and deep textures, the sand piled up on each step. There was quite a bit of restoration work going on, but we happily wandered around the 'no entry' side and watched the work and found some statues visible through a hole in a wall.

Teti's pyramid looked like an old heap of rubble, but the interior was amazing. A low-ceilinged flight of steep steps took us into the middle chamber of three. The walls were covered in heiroglyphics, row upon row from floor to ceiling. Crawling through an opening, we entered the most amazing room containing a huge stone sarcophagus. Massive ceiling slabs were hung above, some of them seemingly in defiance of gravity - something best not pondered on, especially in conjunction with the obvious evidence that above ground the whole pyramid has completely disintegrated. These slabs were engraved all over with large five-pointed stars, very like starfish, pale against the dark surface of the stone. Again, the walls were carved with heiroglyphs, a repeating pattern of symbols and Teti's name in a cartouche. The person in charge quickly invited us to ignore the No Photography rule - with his hand out, of course.

Mereruka's tomb was stunning. It was a whole complex of rooms with wings for his wife and children. We walked through room after room, each one decorated with fabulous paintings. Again, the mind boggled with the amount of work that went into creating such a place. There were pictures of people working, carrying crops, handling animals - including an experiment in hyena husbandry, Mereruka himself relaxing on his bed while his wife played a harp, children playing games and pulling off some artistic acrobatic balances. And more... and more. As with the rest of the site, it wasn't clear what was original and what had been restored, but I think many of these carved pictures have been repainted, especially as this building has been opened to the light with some holes in the ceiling. There was a statue of Mereruka with an offering altar in at his feet and a huge stone ring sunk into the floor for tethering sacrificial animals. A shaft led down to a burial chamber far below and so I get the impression that this was more of a temple at ground level, in use after Mereruka's death.

I loved the whole site at Saqqara, its huge peaceful space. The step pyramid was more impressive than I'd expected, quite a stunner, but it was the underground chambers of Teti's pyramid that blew me away, or would have done if the guide had butted out long enough for me to zone out and travel back a few thousand years in peace. And the paintings in Mereruka's tomb. This place is amazing - and that's coming from one who gets historied-out fairly easily.

Saqqara - it's not just a beer

Having a blast!

2008-05-20T12:40:00.010Z

There's so much more I should have been blogging, but frankly I've been so busy having a damn good time that I haven't fitted it in. Maybe retrospectively.

Wadi Digla was a drive of exploration, up the wide, parched river bed, the wadi gradually narrowing until we had to get out and walk, scrambling through the winding gorge, whose floor and sides had been sculpted beautifully by the flowing water. We climbed right out at the top and looked down at the speck of a car we'd left. There was a stark, barren beauty to the place. There were also about a million plastic bags which I imagine have been blown many miles to reach the gorge where they hang in the poor scraggly bushes that really have a hard enough life without that to deal with. And out here, overcome by its rugged good looks against the inhospitable background, Kate consummated her love for her car.

We've been to the touristy souks of Khal el Kalili, visited the peaceful old mosques of the Citadel and looked out over smog-bound Cairo, and we've been on a mad mission to find a cafe called Groppi's where my mother remembers having ice-cream in 1964. On the way there we stumbled upon the tiniest of backstreet bakeries where dozens of people were queuing outside a hole in the wall for the bread that rolled out of the conveyor oven. Seeing our interest, the owner invited us in for an impromptu tour; in one small room, through the floury air, we saw the bread being kneaded, shaped and taken for its quick roll through the oven, while chewing on our delicious fresh free sample. These unexpected moments are always such highlights and suited the crazy mission we were on that day. Incidentally, we found Groppi's too. Everything about it was pretty awful except the ice-cream which was fabulous. Good tip, Mum. Unfortunately we failed in our other mission: to track down mosque-shaped alarm clocks that wake you up with a call to prayer.

We've had some great Egyptian food, especially in a lovely courtyard restaurant in Maadi; beers and mezze and stuffed pigeons and all sorts of experimental choices, all of them good. The bread here is definitely highly-ranked in my world-wide favourite breads list. Which I must compile soon.

And every day has finished with an afternoon with the kids, in the garden or pool or biking around the estate, and evenings on the veranda with Kate and Rick. I sit up late when everyone has gone to bed and gaze out at the darkness and smile. I can't quite believe how lucky I am to have such lovely friends and to be here with them now.

I'm having the time of my life.