Hanoi in the rain

I already mentioned that Hanoi was not a four-day city, but that’s probably really unfair. Hanoi was certainly a worthwhile stop, so maybe it was the constant drizzly rain and mucky streets that left me a bit cold. Or maybe it was that I arrived in the dark in the rain and was expecting to land in a hotel room that would be home for FIVE WHOLE NIGHTS, which I was genuinely excited about, and which did not work out at all. When I got to the Rising Dragon Hotel I was told, very apologetically, that I’d have to spend one night at a place down the street because a freak electrical failure had caused a small fire and there was no power in my particular room and no one could fix it until morning and on and on and on. I was really stricken by this, but it quickly became clear that no amount of whining or brandishing of credit cards would change the facts, and the people at the hotel were very very very very nice about everything, even about me being all cranky with them. So nice, in fact, that I smartened up and moved to the other hotel, and tried to get them to stop fawning over me. I also left them a decent tip when I checked out.

But back to Hanoi. I spent most of my first day just walking around the old quarter of the city. It’s a good place for walking, if you don’t count all the motorcycles that are either a) parked on the sidewalk, thus forcing you to walk in the road, or b) zooming down the road where you’re trying to walk because the sidewalk is full of motorcycles. It’s not a great system.

This is a sidewalk in Hanoi.

There were lots of shops and small cafés and a bit of a French feel to the place, though it’s certainly not the “little Paris” that the guidebooks hint at. There’s a hint of French in some of the architecture, which was more European than a lot of Asian cities, but not so pronounced as in, say, Macau. There were lots of small balconies and louvred shutters and things, so I was kind of reminded of what I imagine New Orleans to be like. I was kind of expecting bakeries and baguettes and stuff, but it’s still very much an Asian city. There were a lot more pho stands than baguettes.

My first official tourist sight in Hanoi was the Hoa Lo Prison museum, which might be better known to you by the colloquial name given to it by the American pilots imprisoned there during the Vietnam War – the Hanoi Hilton. It was a well done little museum with a good amount of information on the prison, originally built by the French to house Vietnamese revolutionaries and repurposed to house American soldiers in the 70s. Some of the commentary was quite jingoistic, but you really can’t blame them for that – it’s their country, so I guess they have a right to spin things how they want to. (Aside: There was a sign outside the prison outlining the rules, one of which was “No frolicking is allowed during the visit.” I did my best to keep my frolicking down to a minimum.)

John McCain’s flight suit and other gear, on display at the Hoa Lo Prison Museum

My hotel in Hanoi was very close to Hoan Kiem Lake, what the LP calls “the liquid heart of the Old Quarter.” It’s a small, green lake with a pleasant walking path around it that’s a popular spot for locals and tourists alike. There’s a nice little temple on an island, and a monument on another tiny island, and it’s a somewhat calm spot in the midst of the turmoil that is central Hanoi. Of course I immediately recognized it for what it really is – a reasonable place for a run. It turns out that one circuit of Hoan Kiem Lake is almost exactly one mile, and over the course of my time in Hanoi I ended up making 13 complete rounds of it, on three separate days. This included two crappy short runs where my shins burned and it felt like I was running on dead stumps instead of legs, and one magical run where I got over the hump and did 11.2 km (7 laps) feeling happy and strong. I even struck up a nodding/waving acquaintance with a local runner – an older guy who ended up running clockwise while I was going counter clockwise, meaning we passed each other twice per lap. The second day I saw him he gave me a big smile and a wave just when I needed a pick-me-up, and I cruised through the end of my big 11 km run. Thanks Friendly Local Runner Guy!

Tortoise Tower on Hoan Kiem Lake. The name “Hoan Kiem” means “Lake of the Restored Sword” and has to do with a legend about Emperor Lai Thai To, who had a magical sword he used to drive the Chinese out of Vietnam, and about a giant golden tortoise that grabbed the sword from him and stole it away into the lake.

One of the great things about traveling in southeast Asia is the cost of living. For us westerners it’s just really really cheap. My hotel (The Rising Dragon – highly recommended) was a mere $20 USD per night and included air con, private bathroom, satellite tv, wifi and free breakfast. I’m living the high life these days. This was especially true the night I got back from Halong Bay when I decided to try the nice LP-recommended restaurant just across the street from the hotel. The Green Tangerine turned out to be a pretty posh place – right out of the Food Network. At first I was hesitant, but then I just decided to go for it and it was great. Here’s what I had:

• Starter: Beef carpaccio marinated in balsamic vinegar mixed with red wine and red fruits topped by toasted wedges of Camembert cheese and herbs.
• Main: French crusted galette in curry stuffed with seafood (shrimp, scallop and squid)
• Dessert: Chocolate cake "no flour" and frozen Green Tangerine yoghurt in Cointreau (though I almost went for the cheese course instead: Roquefort cheese mixed with red fruits and goat cheese presented as a cake with candied green and red pepper, coriander seeds)

Needless to say it was, err, not bad. Certainly I was able to choke it all down, especially the carpaccio, and the frozen yogurt, which I would happily walk over crushed glass in bare feet to have again. It was an extravagant night but all that food, with two large bottles of beer and a generous tip ended up costing me $45 USD. That’s astronomical for Vietnam (most other meals cost me less than $5.00, with drinks) but anywhere in the Western world I suspect it would have been triple that.

Wednesday morning I planned to visit Ho Chi Minh’s mausoleum and the associated museum. It’s little ways out of the area where I was staying so I arranged with Erin, Wendy and Joan (my buddies from the boat) to share a cab that morning, leaving at 9:00 am. The tomb is only open from 8:00 am to 11:00 am, so we figured that would leave us lots of time. Well, as is often the case with groups of people larger than one, we got a late start. (I’m not blaming anyone like *cough* Erin *cough*, but let’s just say that it was not me we were waiting for). We ended up getting to the mausoleum at about 10:20, which should have left us lots of time to see plenty of corpses on a slab, except that it turned out the LP was wrong wrong wrong about the opening hours of the site. In the winter the hours are 8:00 am to 11:00 am. But starting on April 1st they switch to 7:30 am to 10:30 am. This did not leave us a lot of time, especially after we had to check our bags, and then go through a security check, and then make a wrong turn and end up at the museum instead of the mausoleum, and then be told we had to go through security again. You can guess what happened: we didn’t make it. So here’s a picture of me outside Ho Chi Minh’s tomb. You can’t take cameras in anyways, so it makes little difference to you guys.

Me, the tomb, and half of some guy on the left.

I was pretty pissed off about the whole thing, but I got over it. After all,I’d seen Lenin’s Tomb in Russia, so it’s not like I haven’t had my share of dead communists. I fumed for a bit, but then I got distracted by the Ho Chi Minh Museum which certainly wins the prize for Most Bizarre Museum I have visited. In fairness, the LP did give a bit of a warning saying “Find an English-speaking guide, as some of the symbolism is hard to interpret on your own.” This is understatement of the highest form. The first floor of the museum was pretty standard – captioned photos of Ho Chi Minh at various stages, with bombastic statements and flag-waving sentiments to go along with. The second floor was… well, it was where you needed a guide, and perhaps a shot or two of something strong to help you out. For instance, what is one to make of a display with a sign that reads “Coc Bo Cave, presented here in the form of a human brain was President Ho Chi Minh’s headquarters from where he engineered the Vietnamese revolution in 1941-1945.” What the hell? I swear, it actually said “presented here in the form of a human brain”. The whole place was like that. Abstract displays of art or video or kinetic sculpture, coupled with actual historical artifacts annotated in Vietnamese, French and English, giving an overall impression of… I have no idea. Bafflement, certainly.

Giant table and chairs, with giant fruit. Symbolic of… God only knows.

After we recovered from the museum, we got another cab to an area that EWJ (Erin, Joan, Wendy) wanted to go for some pho – the quintessential Vietnamese soup that’s eaten for breakfast, lunch, dinner, snack… basically all the time. I’m not a huge fan of pho (pronounced like “fuh” NOT “foe”) but it was fun having people to chum around with, so I went along for the ride. (Aside: I saw a great t-shirt on my last morning that showed very Apple/Mac-like icons for soup, cow, noodle etc… and the caption was “iPho” Heh.)

Hanging around in a group has its drawbacks (see above notes re: starting on time), but one advantage of the group is that it’s easier to be brave and dive into a side street and sit at a tiny low table like a local and have your pho. The girls were keen to have me try some bugs, because I’d explained to them about Steve’s Weird Food, and they swore they saw a plate of something appropriate at a table down the street, but luckily I was able to divert attention away from that plan, and just had a nice bowl of noodles and soup instead.

Here’s JWE (Joan, Wendy and Erin) at lunch. No bugs.

After I lunch I parted with JWE and stopped for a bit of coffee and ice cream before heading to the next event of the day – water puppets! Water puppetry is a distinctly Vietnamese art form that was developed in rice paddies. It’s performed in a pool of water about waist deep and the water serves to mask the mechanisms of the puppets, which are controlled by long rods by puppeteers who are hidden behind a screen. It’s mostly aimed at kids, and, not surprisingly, the subject matter runs heavily to aquatic themes – fishing, working in the rice paddies, catching frogs, hanging out on boats – that kind of thing.

The “Dancing Fairies” act. These puppets are two to three feet high, about a foot of which remains under the water.

The water puppets were quite cool, and the show was short enough that even if you got a bit tired of the splashing and cavorting there really wasn’t time to get restless about things. I thoroughly enjoyed it.

With the puppets done, the lake run around, and Ho Chi Minh ticked off the list there was really just one thing left do deal with in Vietnam. I’m going to admit right now that I kind of lost my patience for the Steve’s Weird Food project a bit while I was in Hanoi. Maybe because so many of my meals were provided – breakfast at the hotel, and all the food on the boat – or maybe because I’d just done dog, durian and sheet o’ meat in pretty quick succession. Whatever the cause, I was ready to just throw in the towel for Vietnam. After all, it wouldn’t be the first country I’d missed. (Big bonus points for anyone who can name the three countries that did not get a Weird Food. This is extra tough because the second one appeared only as a tweet and I think the first one never appeared at all…) However, Karen browbeat me long enough that I ventured out to the market street a few steps away from the hotel. It was actually several blocks long – small stalls one after another selling everything from bananas to pig trotters to coffee beans to brains to things that were still wriggling, swimming or flopping. At one point during the many times I walked those streets I watched a woman scaling a big fish with a cleaver. She’d already chopped off its tail, but it was still flailing around a bit, so she smacked it with the flat of her cleaver and then kept working. That’s life, baby.

Here’s a so-so shot of part of the market.

Anyways, in deference to my so-so enthusiasm for the project hat day, I elected to take it easy on myself and got a weird candy (the first one since Denmark). Lotus Candy seemed like a good compromise between no Weird Food at all and… bugs. The candies were white and smallish – bigger than M&Ms but smaller than jawbreakers. And they were sort of crunchy on the outside and soft in the middle, in the way of things that have been soaked in sugar syrup, to which family they clearly belonged. The taste was mostly just sweet and plain, and reminded me of what it might taste like if you candied small bits of firmly boiled potato. Not bad at all, and handy to have in your day pack if you happen to mistakenly down a large chunk of chili at lunch and need something to douse the flames, say. Not that this happened to me.

The bag of lotus candy. Steve’s Weird Cop-out for Vietnam

I sense there is more to day about Vietnam, but those thoughts may have to wait for a general southeast Asia wrap-up of some kind. This post is already a bit long, so I’ll just get it uploaded now and start figuring out what to say about Laos, because all I can think about that right now is, “HOT!”

Three more days and the love affair continues

Hong Kong continues to please me. I’m not sure if it’s just because this is the first time I’ve been at liberty in a proper city in a while, but I don’t think that’s all of it. It’s probably because it’s got all the amenities you could want – an efficient public transit system, fantastic museums and galleries, theatre, music, more shopping I will ever need, great restaurants of every possible cuisine, hilly parks, stunning views, a harbour, Guinness on tap, and at least three different Hashes. I think I could probably live here quite happily for a while.

Hong Kong is also remarkably clean for a big city, almost obsessively so. There are always people sweeping up public spaces, and I constantly see signs that say things like “This door handle is sanitized every two hours” or “This handrail covered with anti-bacterial coating.” There are scrolling LED signs imploring you to cover your nose and mouth when you sneeze, and stickers in the metro cars request that you contact station staff if you are feeling unwell. Sometimes I’m a bit worried that if I cough in the wrong place I’ll get carted of to some kind of reeducation program. I suspect it’s a SARS / H1N1 thing, but it’s still a bit Big Brother.

Woman sweeping the pristine square outside the Hong Kong History Museum

On Monday I parceled up yet another package home and sent it off via the friendly, efficient and reasonably priced Hong Kong postal system (another reason why I think of this as a separate country – not just the border controls and the different currency – they also have their own postal system.) This made it much easier to put everything that was left back in the Aeronaut and make my way to yet another hotel room and to bed number 135 (for those who are keeping score). As I mentioned, my new room has a window and wifi, so it’s been quite nice. It’s not the Ritz (as evidenced by the cockroach found belly-up and twitching outside the elevator) but for $40 CDN a night it suits my needs.

After the big move I decided to explore my new neighbourhood a bit, hoping to find a good spot to go for a run later that day. The new hotel is very close to Hong Kong Harbour and Victoria Park, so it seemed reasonable to think there’d be some good waterfront running, and maybe some more verdant park-like business as well. Humph. Not exactly. Victoria Park is pleasant enough, but exceedingly small. And the waterfront started out promisingly but soon deteriorated into a maze of dead ends, six lane highways, overpasses, tunnels, closed docks and construction zones. It is emphatically NOT a pedestrian-friendly zone, and is one of the few things I’ve ended up not liking about Hong Kong. Eventually I found my way to the Hong Convention and Exhibition Centre, which the LP claimed had a nice harbour view. I did find the view, but was tired and footsore and fed up with being a pedestrian on the Causeway Bay waterfront, so it’s hard to wax rhapsodic about it.

Here's the view from the the Convention Centre. The LP says I was looking through the “world’s largest ‘glass curtain’ – a window seven stories high”. I think that’s Victoria Peak in the background.

By the time I was back at the hotel I mostly just wanted a nap, so of course I dug out my running shoes and headed out to attempt a run of some kind. I ended up having to do laps around Victoria Park, due to the aforementioned shocking lack of waterfront access. I later learned that of all the spots in Hong Kong in which to base myself, Causeway Bay is perhaps the least runner-friendly of all. Great. Nonetheless I did manage a respectable 6 km and felt better for it, as usual.

That evening I ate supper in my room. There’s a big grocery store right across the street, so I went over and picked up a takeaway box of sushi and some beer and supplies for breakfast. I thought it would be a quick errand, but ended up spending half a lifetime in line behind a woman with a giant cartload of stuff who needed to have such a long discussion with the cashier about the price of every item that eventually paperwork needed to be filled out and supervisors consulted. People in the other lines breezed through like they were on fast-forward; in my line children were born, grew to old age, and died all while this woman argued about the price of a packet of instant noodles. Civilization rose and fell. Tectonic plates shifted. Stars went supernova. And more importantly, my beer got warm. Humph.

On Tuesday I planned to get back to some serious tourist stuff and visit a few sights on the mainland in the Kowloon peninsula. First though, I needed to get some laundry done, so I stopped in at reception to find out about that. That’s how I ended up meeting Frank, an American traveler in Hong Kong who befriended me, showed me where the cheap laundry was, bought me a latté, and talked my ear off for a pleasant hour that morning. Frank is a retired US Navy man and has that super-friendly, talkative, instant best-buddies manner of many of his countrymen. He also has a Brompton folding bicycle. Bromptons are one of my Favourite Things (check out the video on this page to see why) so I was keen to have a look at one up close and let Frank talk to me about it. Frank was off to Macau later that day, which is where I’m headed next. So you never know, I may get the chance to buy him a coffee there, and hear more about his travels with the Brompton. If not, it was still lovely to meet him and have some friendly conversation with a fellow traveler.

Frank, and the partially folded Brompton, both fun discoveries

Once I left Frank and put my official tourist hat back on it was a quick trip to Mong Kok to check out the famous Flower Market. It was pleasant, but not the big open market I’d been expecting. Instead it was a long block of individual shops, each selling cut flowers, plants, bamboo, bonsai and other flower-related stuff. It was diverting for a few minutes, but it wasn’t long before I turned my steps to the other sight in the area, a small spot called the Bird Garden. This purported be a park where people brought their songbirds in cages to “air” the birds and chat with each other. Once again, expectations were defied. The Bird Garden was more an outdoor mall of stalls selling birds, bird cages, bird accessories and live bugs to be used as bird food. I didn’t see any old Chinese men airing their birds, smoking, playing ma johng and feeding crickets to their charges, which is definitely what the guidebooks implied would be found.

Mong Kok’s last chance was the Goldfish Market, a street full of shops selling fish and aquarium supplies. This was mildly diverting too, and at least yielded an interesting enough photo to warrant putting here.

A few of the fish on offer

The rest of the afternoon was taken up with a nice lunch and a visit to a travel agent to buy a two-week Japan Rail pass. (They must be bought before arriving in Japan, and I reasoned that doing this in Hong Kong would be the simplest thing). All this was just killing time though, because that night I was going to hash! The Ladies Hong Kong Hash House Harriers were the usual fun and friendly bunch and I made it to the start point of the run thanks to their help, the number 72 bus, and Google Maps on the iPhone.

Rob H-mandated shot of me for this post, on the top deck of bus number 72 (which also had the best bus sign ever, reading “Please do not obstruct the periscope”)

Despite their name, the Ladies Hash is a co-ed bunch, though they have an unwritten rule that a woman must always lead the pack while on the run. Because the run started at 6:45pm everyone arrived equipped with flashlights and headlamps. Everyone, that is, except the visitor from Canada who didn’t have the wit to realize that the sun would set that day, and that running in the dark in an unfamiliar city might be tricky. Never fear though, I was able to stick with other more prepared hashers and had a good run.

Unlike a Winnipeg hash, there was a very very big hill in the area. Other than in Causeway Bay, there is always a big hill in the area in Hong Kong. So naturally we went straight up about 600 steps all the way to the top. This was a bit tedious, but the view at the top was rewarding.

The view from the top

After the run we decamped to a local Thai restaurant and had beer and good food and down-downs. Once again I was confirmed in my belief that hashers are good people, and even made plans to hash with a different local group the very next night, in the very same place. (It seemed that since I’d already figured out the bus system there wasn’t much reason not to come back.) Eventually I made my way back to the hotel that night sweaty, tired, tipsy and content.

Wednesday was free museum day in Hong Kong and I took full advantage by visiting the History Museum before lunch and the Art Museum after. Both were excellent, even if they were filled with bargain-hunting crowds and school kids. At least because it was free I didn’t feel compelled to linger over every display case, however dusty, so as to extract maximum possible value from my admission fee. Instead I skipped happily through several thousand years of history until I got to the first really juicy bit – the Opium Wars. I’d heard of this event before but really knew nothing about it, so I was glad to learn anything. For those who are similarly uniformed, here’s my incredibly simplified Opium-Wars-for-dummies:

Britain had a huge trade imbalance with China due in part to much importation of Chinese tea to please British palates, and much lack of interest in European products among the Chinese. Britain then discovered that opium from its Indian colonies was a huge hit with the Chinese population and the trade imbalance tipped in their favour. China slapped restrictions on opium trade, and trade in general, but smugglers ignored them and eventually it all came to blows. Despite their smaller numbers the British won because they had superior machinery of war, and they imposed the harsh Treaty of Nanking on China in 1842. Among other things, the treaty ceded Hong Kong to Britain.

Simple. And all laid out in easy-to-understand fashion at the Hong Kong History Museum. I also really enjoyed the section of the museum devoted to the Japanese occupation of Hong Kong during WWII – another bit of history about which I was woefully uninformed.

The Art museum was also a hit. I was lucky enough to arrive just in time for a guided tour of one of the galleries of antiquities. (Aside: Let me take a moment here to clarify the difference between what I call a guided tour and what I call a group tour. A guided tour is a short-duration visit to a single sight or area, conducted by a knowledgeable, usually local person. A group tour is a seemingly never-ending series of early morning wakeup calls, overnight trains and one night stands, done in the company of 6-12 people among whom the only common denominator is that they all surrendered their credit card details to the same company.) (Ok, perhaps that’s harsh. Let’s just chalk it up to my group tour hangover and move on with the Art Museum.)

The tour I took was of a collection of antique Chinese accessories – hair pins, belt buckles, snuff bottles and the like. It is, potentially, a dry subject, but the woman conducting the tour was very knowledgeable and make it all quite interesting. She knew about all the layers and layers of symbolism on every embroidered knot and amber bead. Talking about the hats and fans and things was really just a way in to a discussion of Chinese life, thought and culture, and well worth an hour of my time.

Then it was time for another hash and another trip up the same hill, though this time we took the jungle route up. It was a hands-and-knees job for much of the way. The Little Sai Wan Hash is clearly a much more energetic bunch than the Ladies of Hong Kong. At least this time I remembered to bring my headlamp, though it turned out to be only slightly brighter than a glow-in-the-dark Halloween mask. Here’s word of advice: Do not attempt the Little Sai Wan “Double Rambo” trail with a dodgey headlamp and tired legs. A little blood and a lot of cursing is the inevitable result. However, the LSW has were kind enough to give me a key chain and a badge, and I left as tipsy and content that night as I’d been the night before.

Finally, it's been nice to have the leisure time and resources to sit down and plan the next leg of the trip. I’m off for a quick stop in Macau then I’ve got flights and hotels pre-booked for Vietnam and Laos, which is a relief. It also looks like my standard of living is going to be pretty decent in southeast Asia. Private bathrooms and wifi seem to be pretty standard in the $20-$40/night range, and I’m determined not to cheap out unnecessarily. I’ve stayed in enough 8-bed dorms, shared enough skanky bathrooms and endured enough long distance bus rides in the last nine months. From now on it’s flights, decent hotels and prearranged airport pickups. I’ve been out here long enough to know what keeps me happy, so now I’m actually going to try to put that knowledge to use. Damn the bank account, I want fluffy towels!

The first days in Nepal

Astute GSRED readers may remember that Nepal was not originally on my itinerary – it was only added when I found out that Patti was game to meet me in India and was keen to take an Intrepid tour of the area. Since I was busy with Italy at the time I asked her to wade through the seven zillion options Intrepid offers in India and narrow it down to three or four that fit with our dates and general idea of what we wanted to see. (She had loads of time for this, I’m sure. All she was doing was running her own company in Calgary. I was busy trying to sample as many different flavours of gelato as possible, so clearly I had bigger fish to fry.) Anyways, one of the tours on the short list was called “Delhi to Kathmandu” and as soon as I saw Kathmandu, I was hooked. How could you not be? Kathmandu? I mean is that even a real place? It occupies the same place in my head as Timbucktoo or Mars – somewhere so impossibly exotic that you can’t be sure whether it’s real or not.

So even though I was sad to leave India so soon, I was also excited about seeing Nepal and getting to Kathmandu. We drove from Varanasi to a tiny border crossing, schlepped our bags across the border, and got into another minivan on the other side for the drive to Lumbini. The difference between India and Nepal was striking and instantaneous. For hours that morning we’d been driving through India – crowded and filthy and accompanied by the incessant honking that is required at all times in India. After crossing the border things were instantly calmer. There was less garbage on the roadside, and less honking, and a lot less people. Patti was quick to point out that though Nepal may be a very poor country, but it’s a lot easier to keep things tidy when you’ve got a population of 28 million, as opposed to 1.4 billion. I guess you have to cut India some slack.

We had a quick overnight stop in Lumbini, mostly just because driving much further on that day would have been too much. There’s really just one thing to see in Lumbini, and any Buddhists reading this will probably know what that is – the birthplace of the Buddha himself. We visited the site early in the morning, and though I don’t know a lot about Buddhism, I really enjoyed walking around the site. There were lots of people visiting, some as tourists and some as adherents. And there’s an enormous banyan tree near a large square pool that seemed to be the centre of the site. People were seated under the tree chanting and singing, and there were thousands of brightly coloured prayer flags strung from the branches of the tree. In fact, the whole site was festooned with prayer flags and the effect was beautiful.

Prayer flags strung between the trees in Lumbini

The whole site was really peaceful and it was a nice start to the day to wander in among the flags and listen to the chanting. Then it was back into the van for another few hours of driving to get us to the small town of Sauraha, near Chitwan National Park. Sauraha reminded me a lot of Orchha, it was small enough that it was a relaxing place to be, but big enough to have restaurants and beer and internet access. My kind of place.

Besides restaurants, beer and internet, the other big thing Sauraha has is elephants! There’s an elephant breeding centre near the town and the afternoon we arrived we rode bikes out to visit it. It was excellent! I never had a chance to get up close with elephants while I was in Africa, so visiting the breeding centre was a real highlight. It’s run by the Nepali government and has produced 34 babies, most of whom have survived. We even saw their exceedingly rare set of twin baby elephants! (Note to Kathryn: No, I cannot bring you a baby elephant, twin or otherwise.)

At the centre we met Suk, who was our guide and who gave us some interesting info about the centre and about elephants in general, and then let us loose to take pictures. The elephants were all behind fences and chained by their legs to big posts in the ground. The chains seemed depressingly short, but Suk later assured me that the elephants didn’t mind, and the reason that some of them were doing a sort of sad, repetitive little dance pulling on their chains is because we saw them close to their afternoon tea break when the handlers come around and give them balls of grass. They’re also let loose to forage in the park twice a day, since keeping twenty or more elephants provided with all the food they need in a day would be a formidable task.

A mom and baby elephant.

Interesting elephant facts from Suk:

• Elephants eat 200 kg of food and drink 200 litres of water each day.
• They live to about 75 years old in the wild, but well cared for elephants can live 90 to 100 years in captivity.
• Elephants have a complete change of teeth six times in their lives.
• An elephant’s trunk has 40,000 muscles in it!

The next day we were scheduled for a guided walk through Chitwan National Park, ending up at a “rustic” guesthouse in a very tiny village of Ghatgai. We downsized to daypacks only, left out main bags at the hotel in Sauraha, and set out at about 9:30 in the morning, once again guided by Suk. The day turned out to be… challenging. It’s not that the walking was particularly strenuous. Akshay had warned us we’d have two hour ride in a canoe, and then a six hour walk - that was not a problem. The problem came as we were sitting in the canoe on the Ripta river and it started to rain. I was clever enough to have packed my rain jacket, but it was still pretty cold and miserable sitting in the rain in that canoe.

A boatman in one of the long dugout canoes that took all eight of us downriver

Things were better and worse once we got ashore. It was nice to be out of the boat, but the rain continued and knowing we had six hours of walking on increasingly muddy tracks did nothing to improve my mood. Patti later said that she preferred the rain to the hot and sunny weather we’d had the day before, which strikes me as slightly insane, but perhaps I’ve become acclimatized to the heat after getting through Africa and the Middle East. Whatever, it was miserable. (I later found out that I was the only one who felt this way – everyone else was just fine with trudging though the mud, which leads me to think they might be slightly off, or maybe haven't been traveling long enough to get properly bitter about this kind of turn of events.)

We were supposed to be watching for exciting wildlife like rhinos and tigers, and we’d even had a briefing on what to do if confronted by an angry rhino (In short: run away, in zig-zag fashion, until you can find a tree big enough to hide behind or, even better, one you can climb. We were specifically discouraged from pushing other members of the group in between us and the rhinos.) Unsurprisingly, it turns out rhinos and tiger are too smart to hang around when it’s pissing down rain, so mostly we trekked quietly. Suk, our guide, pointed out some different birds and we saw a lot of deer, and I made up cryptic crossword clues in my head to pass the time. (Best effort: Hill country plane crash (5). Anyone?).

We passed the spot where these walks usually stop for lunch with nothing more than a sad comment from Suk, “This is where we usually stop for lunch. But today… raining.” Instead we pushed on for an observation tower that offered a bit of shelter where we could eat our lunches out of the wet. And to get to the tower we had to cross a small river, which required a trip across the dodgiest bridge I’ve ever seen.

The dodgiest bridge. Ever. (Terrence, if you’re reading this, that picture is for you.)

We all managed to get across, though Sheila elected to take off her shoes and socks and wade, which was probably by far the smarter option. After lunch things improved a lot, mostly because it stopped raining. There still wasn’t much to see in the forest, though, so I don’t think anyone was disappointed when we got to our final destination earlier than expected. There was another short canoe trip across the river and then we settled in to our exceedingly basic rooms. It promised to be a chilly night, and the mattress on the bed was thin enough to see through, which only added to the anticipation. I put on every layer of clothing I’d brought, unfolded all the blankets provided and spread them out onto the bed, and then added the large pink Barbie towel that came with the room for good measure. Then I joined the gang for cocktails.

The rustic washing-up facilities at the guest house. Needless to say, it was cold water only.

It actually turned out to be a very fun evening. We ended up sitting around playing a stupid card game called “Presidents and Assholes” and the whole group took part – me, Patti, Sheila, Jono, Adam, and even Akshay. We actually postponed our scheduled Village Walk (there is a always a Village Walk) because we were having too much fun. We did go eventually, and it was nice. Suk was there again to tell us about the local flora and we exchanged “Namastes” with lots of local villagers, and we got back to the guesthouse in time for dinner and another long round of cards. Patti and I even invented a new drink called either Super Chai, or Chai Plus, which is made up of a nice hot cup of masala chai laced with a generous measure of cheap local rum.

Looking down the road on the village walk.

The night passed surprisingly comfortably, and the next morning we had another few hours of walking to reach a crocodile breeding centre. Things were pretty slow there, mostly because it was still quite chilly and the crocodiles were understandably docile, being cold-blooded and all. After that was some more walking and then a very breezy ride in the back of an open jeep to return us to Sauraha, hot water and blissful free time. We even got there early enough that I had time to go for a run before our last scheduled activity in Sauraha. This is a good thing because my mood was getting increasingly black. This is a good thing, becasue by the time Patti and I were finally ensconced in our room (our third attempt – the first came equipped with a double bed instead of two singles, and the second came equipped with people already in it) I was in that kind of frame of mind where anything other than a private foot massage from Harrison Ford would have left me grumpy and swearing.

Clearly I needed a run, so even though my motivation to drink a beer and have a nap was much greater than my inclination to lace up my shoes, off I went. Of course I felt better right away, though the day was quite hot and sunny by the time I went out. I ran along the road we’d cycled to get to the elephant breeding centre, and it was lovely. I got a few odd looks, but as soon as I gave a friendly “Namaste” the funny looks would always turn into smiles, and I’d get a “Namaste!” right back. Little kids were especially excited by this. And I’m sure I saw more different animals on this run than on any other run, ever. There were: dogs, horses, chickens, ducks, cows, buffalo, oxen and goats. By the time I got back to the hotel, stretched, and had a hot shower, life was much better.

Then it was time for our last activity in Sauraha – the elephant safari! Just seeing elephants wasn’t enough – this time were were going to ride them through the forest for an hour in the hopes of spotting some more wildlife, specifically – rhinos! It turns out that riding an elephant is pretty uncomfortable. Four people were crammed into the sort of saddle/cage that was strapped to the top of the elephant, and there was an elephant driver who rode in front, straddling the elephant right behind its head.

Jonno and Sheila and the back of their elephant.

The elephant drivers were each equipped with a stout length of solid bamboo and an evil looking steel implement that looked like a heavy fireplace poker. Every once in a while our elephant would make some imperceptible error and the driver would wind up and give him (or maybe it was a her… I couldn’t tell from where I was sitting) an enormous thwack on the top of the head. The sound was really alarming, but I had to remind myself that the elephant’s skull is probably about 3 inches thick, and I really didn’t want to be on top of one that was out of control. At least he only used the evil steel thing once, because it made a sickening dull thud.

The parade through the forest

We bounced along with about eight or ten other elephants, all loaded up with tourists and on the hunt for rhinos. We did see quite a few more deer and even saw a crocodile sunning himself on an island in the river. What surprised me most was that the animals were largely unconcerned with us being so close. I suppose that they focused on the elephants, and since none of them were prey for elephants, there was no reason to be alarmed. I was with Patti, Adam, and a woman we didn’t know who had a small child with her. I think the baby was about two years old. She enjoyed herself for a little while, but before long she got fussy, and then the whole forest was treated to her inconsolable wailing for longer than I’d care to remember.

However, all that was fine because eventually we saw RHINOS! The elephant that Sheila and Jonno were on spotted them first, and the cry went out for everyone else to come over. It was a lot like the traffic jams on the Serengeti when a good lion or leopard spotting happens. There was, literally, an elephant jam in that forest. However, the rhinos were completely indifferent, even as the elephant drivers maneuvered to get closer and closer. It was a mother and baby (K: no baby rhino either) and they were fantastic. They were smaller than I expected – bigger than a horse, but smaller than a bison (I know, I know, everything is smaller than I expect, but I thought they were more like elephants). And they looked positively prehistoric – all that tough armour and the horns reminded me of a triceratops. I can’t believe how close we were able to get. See?

Yes, there was some zoom involved here, but really, we were about twenty feet from this rhinoceros.

It was definitely a highlight. After the rhinos we saw a nest of wild boar, most of whom were sleeping. That is to say they were sleeping until our little passenger bumped her head and commenced to wailing again with such fervour that the frightened piggies ran all the way home. Lucky pigs. We had a bouncy ride back with the poor fussy baby, and all involved were immensely grateful when she and her harried mom de-elephanted (well, if getting off a plane is deplaning, then isn’t getting off an elephant de-elephanting?). We got to ride the elephant back into town and got off at a conveniently located de-elephanting stand near the centre of the village.

That night there was a sort of street food festival in town so we camped out at a table and sampled all kinds of different food, and drank beer and rum and played more of the stupid card game. It was another good night, and I’m really grateful that our group is small, and everyone is fun and easy going and remarkably like-minded. And the next morning we were off to Kathmandu, which is definitely another story.

Off the beaten track in Orchha

It’s already clear that the pace of this tour is much more manageable than the frenzy of the Middle East. For instance, we’ve just left a lovely little town called Orchha where we spent TWO NIGHTS IN A ROW (Orccha is pronounced, it seems, to rhyme with Porch – ah, and not like the name of the killer whale). It was a really nice break, especially since there wasn’t a lot to do in Orchha. There are quite a few temples and palaces, and there’s a river for rafting, but otherwise it’s a sleepy town with one main street. It’s small enough that walking from one end to the other takes about ten minutes, and getting from our hotel to the centre of town was about the same. We arrived mid-afternoon after another interesting train ride and a heart-stopping 15km in an auto rickshaw. They’re the curious three-wheeled vehicles that are half motorcycle and half taxi. All auto-rickshaw drivers (in fact, all Indian drivers) are completely fearless and insane. so traveling 15km in one is not for the faint of heart. We all survived, and after a few minutes to settle in to our luxury tents (with real bathrooms and fridges!), we headed out for an orientation walk around the town. Akshay showed us the good internet café, the freshest sweet shops, and the temple complex, and then steered us towards some local street food.

Aloo Tikki is apparently a specialty in Orchha. We saw a few places that made it, and it looked like they were all serving up a fat potato pancake sort of thing. However, when we actually placed the order it turned out that there was a lot more to it. Each of those fat potato pancakes was just the beginning – once our order was placed the cook moved an appropriate number of those fat cakes into the middle of his wide bowl-like griddle and started flattening them out – this is to give them more surface area to soak up the fat, of course. Then he sprinkled them with chopped onions and cilantro and then sort of chopped it all up together. So much for the potato pancake theory. Then there was scoop after scoop of some stewed chickpeas, and I’m sure there were other spices and things too. By this time we’d moved inside the tiny establishment to await our order. It was served up with a flat wooden spoon in a bowl made of leaves that had been stitched together.

Patti showing off her aloo tikki, in the special dried leaf bowl (which leaked and left aloo tikki stains on my clean pants).

It was spicy and tasty, though several of our group weren’t fond of it, their general opinion being that the cook should have stopped at the flat potato pancake stage. But Patti and I both shoveled ours in, and aloo tikka joined the list of good food I’ve had in India, which includes basically everything that I’ve eaten since arriving. (And that has been a LOT. It seems like we’re eating every time we turn around. Whatever ambitions I had about slowing the creeping weight gain that’s been going on since I left hope are, I think, dead. At least while I’m in India.)

The next morning we had an organized tour of the palace complex near the town. There are two palaces – the Raja Mahal and the Jahangir Mahal, both from around the 16th century. They’re impressive, but I found them most interesting because they have a lovely, abandoned feel and some really fun architecture – secret passages linking the king’s room with those of his concubines, and brackets shaped like elephants, and a lot more stairways and balconies and windows than strictly necessary, giving both palaces a sort Escher-esque feel in places. The plaque outside the Jahangir Palace – the larger and more important of the two, claims that it is the “culmination point of the evolution of Medieval – Indo – Islamic architecture” and “an example of harmonized imagination and organized execution.” Well, indeed.

A view of the Jahangir Mahal Palace, from one of the many balconies

The palaces both had some nice wall paintings that have survived since the 16th century. Most of them depict the life and deeds of the Lord Rama and Krishna, and also of the god Vishnu (one of the most important Hindu gods, though you could be forgiven for glazing over slightly at the mention of any of the various Hindu gods, because there are three hundred and thirty million. No, really.)

A painting depicting Lord Rama, the seventh incarnation of Vishnu, the Preserver.

The palace tour took the whole morning, after which we had lunch in a local place and then Sheila, Jono and Adam went off to do some rafting on the river. Patti and I decided to have the rest of the day off, and there was a shopping, napping, blogging, general relaxing and trying to digest quickly enough that we could cram more food in for supper.

That evening we attended a Puja (prayer) ceremony at the local Ram Rajah temple – dedicated to Lord Rama (he of the mural above), though as indicated by the addition of “Rajah” he is also worshipped as a king at this temple, which is apparently unique. We had to take off our shoes, and weren’t allowed to bring in cameras or phones (not that I have one anymore) or anything leather. As we entered the temple, each of us rung a bell hanging in the entry way – Akshay told us this is to let the god know that someone is coming to offer prayers. There was a fairly large crowd in front of a set of ornate doors, but it was hard to see because the doors were up on a higher level, and people were standing up on that level, so those standing behind them couldn’t really see much. But there was a festive atmosphere – people chanted and sang along with the priests, and at a dramatic moment the big doors were opened and there was cheering and more singing. The idol to Lord Rama was behind the doors, but it was impossible to see anything other than (maybe) the top of the head, and an occasional glimpse of someone waving candles or a fan or something. We stuck around until the singing ended and the devotees raced to queue up to leave their offerings in front of the idol. Most people had flowers and small boxes of sweets for this purpose. And when I say “queue up” I mean that strictly in the Indian sense, which basically means “trample your grandmother to get to the front”. We wandered off for dinner once the trampling started, and I had a nice roasted eggplant dish before heading back to the hotel.

After the ridiculous pace of Delhi and the buzz of Agra, Orchha was fantastic. It was small enough and relaxed enough that I was actually able to run both the mornings we were there. Even better, I had a running partner! On our first morning there Adam, one of the guys in our group, decided to come along. It was great, not just because it was nice to have someone to run with, but because it turns out that Adam is ex-Army and a police officer, so I can say I’ve never felt so safe on a run in a strange place. The second morning I went on my own, but having done it once with Adam, it was easier the next day to be on my own, and the most menacing thing turned out to be a mama monkey who did not appreciate me slowing down to have a closer look at her.

Having two days in one place also makes a lot of normal, practical things easier. For instance, I was able to have laundry done (two loads, for only 150 rupee each, about $4.00). And I had the hem let down on a pair of new pants Patti brought for me from home (50 rupee, and they could have been finished in as little as one hour. In fact, I could have had a whole new pair made for just 500 rupee, ready the next evening.) This is one thing that’s hard to get used to – the prices. The exchange rate is about 45 rupee to the dollar, and the bills in my wallet are usually 500s, 100s, 50s, 20s, and 10s. It seems like a lot to pull out 100 rupees for something, so I have to keep reminding myself that’s only about $2.00.

On our last day in Orchha we had a couple of organized activities, both of which were excellent. The first was a visit to the Taragram paper factory, just outside of town. Taragram is a similar sort of project to the carpet factory in Agra – they employ mostly local women, and make paper out of reclaimed or recycled cotton. The factory intentionally uses no modern machinery in order to provide employment for the greatest number of people. We saw the whole process: sorting of the cotton material (mostly offcuts from local garment factories), cleaning and pulping, creating the individual sheets, drying, pressing and trimming. At each stop along the way we could take pictures, and the whole thing was really interesting.

This woman was working making sheets. They worked in pairs, each holding one end of the screen covered with pulp. Then they’d flip the screen over in unison, depositing the wet layer onto a big, drippy pile of other sheets. Then they’d both sit on top of the pile to try and squeeze the excess water out. That’s why they’re wrapped in many layers of plastic like a skirt. (And yes, the photo is out of focus, but I like it anyways. It's not the new camera's fault - it's the fault of the person holding the camera...)

After the paper factory was another highlight – a cooking lesson in the home of a local Indian woman. Vandana welcomed us into her house and showed us how to cook six different dishes, and then, of course, we got to eat them. This is the kind of cool local experience that Intrepid seems to excel at – like the meal with a local family in Russian, or the banya. Certainly they’re a bit formulaic for the person presenting, but they’re much more authentic than anything you’d likely be able to rustle up as an independent traveler.

First we started with masala chai, the milky spiced tea that’s served by the gallon at every opportunity. It was the nicest chai I’ve had so far, and turns out to be quite simple to make if you got the correct spices, none of which were hugely exotic – peppercorns, cloves, green cardamom pods, cinnamon and ginger. After that there was aloo palak (literally “potato spinach) and again, it was super easy and the kind of thing I could envision making for myself on a weeknight. There was also an eggplant dish, and a vegetable pulao (rice), and an odd watery yogurt concoction called raita.

Vandana’s pantry

Finally, Vandana demonstrated her consummate skill with the humble chapati – the mainstay of the diet around here. It’s the Indian version of unleavened flat bread – a simple combination of whole wheat flour, water and salt. But in Vandana’s hands this was kneaded into a lovely dough, portioned expertly into small balls and then rolled with impressive speed into perfectly circular rounds for her small griddle. Once each chapati was cooked long enough on the griddle, having been flipped several times, it was taken off and laid right on the gas flame. If it’s made right this causes it to puff up perfectly, creating a pocket inside. Naturally, all of Vandana’s chapti puffed obediently and then settled down on the growing pile at her side. They were the lightest and best chapati I’ve ever had, but I suppose that’s the kind of skill you get when you make them twice a day, every day, for your whole life.

Vandana, kneading the chapati dough. The entire cooking lesson was conducted on a two-burner gas stove on the floor. And each of us got to try rolling a chapati, and acquitted ourselves reasonably well, since all our chapati did achieve puffiness.

Orchha was an excellent stop, and the balance between free time and organized activity was good. All in all, I’m quite happy with how India is going so far (other than the obvious hiccup of losing my phone, which is still bugging me, and is not dealt with yet). In some ways India has been what I expected, though it’s also so much more. In fact, it’s a bit hard to describe. It really is filthy and crowded and smelly and sad. Yet, for every garbage-strewn ditch or cow eating from a dumpster or insane snarl of traffic, there’s a parade of pink and yellow and red saris or a plate of magical spicy veggies or a crazy wedding celebration glimpsed on the side of the road. I’m definitely glad I came.

The 27th Athens Classic Marathon

I may have mentioned it once or twice in recent weeks, but I was not feeling at all prepared for this marathon. At all. I hadn’t done nearly as much running as I’d hoped while traveling, and I was sort of expecting the whole thing to be a bit of a Gong Show. Add to this the fact that it was bucketing down rain when I got up at 5:00 am and you may understand why I despaired a bit before I trudged off to the Panathenaic Stadium to get on a bus for Marathon. It really can’t be a good thing when you’re soaked to the skin before you’ve even reached the starting line.

The bus took an hour to get from downtown Athens to Marathon, which says to me that it must have been going about 42.2 km/ph, though the trip seemed to take forever. We got to the starting area by 7:30, leaving another 90 minutes of waiting in the rain before we’d be off. I had a rain jacket but eventually I had to pack that and my warm fleece away in my checked bag and make do with the standard garbage-bag-with-ripped-arm-and-head-holes that was all the rage that morning. Really, the wait was pretty grim. It was wet and cool and grey the whole time. It was bad, but luckily it turned out that the wait for the starting gun was the worst part of the day.

The inevitable, muddy wait for the porta-potty

I chose this race because it THE marathon. It’s supposed to trace - very approximately - the route Pheidippedes took from the 490 B.C. Battle of Marathon to Athens. (Apparently, I missed the big anniversary by one year. 2010 will mark the 2,500th anniversary of the first marathon!). But I have to say that it was just like every other marathon I’ve done. There was no big sense of history. No one dressed up as Pheidippedes (or dressed down more likely). Nothing special at all. Just the inevitable P.A. announcements about checking your bags and seeding yourself in the proper start corral, and the distorted rock music, and the sad attempt at creating a festive atmosphere with balloons. And of course there were the hordes of wet, frustrated, anxious runners huddled under whatever shelter was available, or jogging up and down, or smearing vaseline anywhere and everywhere. (God, I should have done a lot more of that. My somewhat expanded thighs, and my very wet and fairly short shorts made for a significant amount of chafing about which we shall not speak again.)

The starting corral

Finally we were ordered into our starting corrals and, mercifully, set off. Once I was actually running things were muuuuuuch better. I warmed up, and started to implement my extremely detailed race plan: Start slow and taper off from there. In fact, it wasn’t bad at all. The first 10km or so were relatively flat, and then the elevation went up fairly steadily for the next 22km but I was surprised to find that the hills were no bother at all. So despite all my complaining at the time I really have to take a moment for this:

Thank you Cliffs of Dover. Thank you Arthur’s Seat. Thank you West Highland Trail. Thank you Giant’s Causeway Path. Also, thank you Valence and Orange and Barcelona and Granada and Lisbon and Sesimbra.

I may have bitched at the time, but every hill I ran in the last four months made this race soooo much easier. I wasn’t sprinting up the hills by any means, but I never had to walk them, and passed a lot of people, and felt surprisingly strong. There’s a lesson: hills are your friend.

I’m sorry about this, but I have no pictures of the course at all. This is partly because it was wet for so long that I was nervous about getting out my camera. But mosty it’s because there was not a single moment of scenic anything on the entire course. It was one long commercial street starting in Marathon and ending in Athens. It was disappointing. But when I thought about it later it kind of made sense. After all, Pheidippedes probably took the most direct route from Marathon to Athens – the main road. And since the area has been continuously inhabited since that time it kind of makes sense that it’s still the main road. Only now instead of being lined with, say, pastoral flocks of sheep and groves of olive trees, it’s lined with car dealerships, restaurants, pet stores and the odd Bed & Bath. It also didn’t help that every man running that day treated the course like a 42km long urinal. I don’t think there was a moment when I couldn’t glance to the right and see at least one guy…er… giving something back to the earth, shall we say.

The course support was quite good, with aid stations every 2.5 kilometers. They all had water, and some had sports drinks as well. And there was at least one stop with gels and a couple with bananas. I missed the first banana stop and only realized I’d passed it when I noticed the road ahead was littered with banana peels. Seriously? Did no one at Athens Marathon HQ pause for a moment and think, “Wait a minute… maybe it’s not such a good idea to create a situation where 3,800 people have to run along a road covered in banana peels.” I didn’t see any mishaps, but still the comedic potential was staggering.

It was quite a solitary race for me. I brought my iPod because I thought there was a good chance I’d need a pick-me-up, but I didn’t even turn it on, and didn’t talk to anyone until about the 20km mark when I met Dave from BC. He was there with a group of friends and was running his first marathon. I stuck with him for a while because it was nice to have someone to talk to, and now that I’ve done a few marathons I kind of feel like it’s my duty to help out people who are doing their first if I can. I tried to be encouraging, but finally I left him at about 24km when he stopped to walk and stretch a bit. His ankles were giving him trouble so I gave him some advice and some ibuprofen. He must have had a tough second half but I was pleased to check the results and see that he’d finished. Well done for gutting it out, Dave. Congratulations.

I already mentioned a bit about the elevation profile for the course; it was interesting. A bit of downhill at the start, then about 10km of relative flat. Then the climbing started and carried on pretty steadily until about 32km. That was a bit tough, but as I said earlier I was really happy with how I felt on the hills. Also, knowing exactly where they were going to end was a nice psychological boost because magically, just when you need it the most, the course dipped down. You just have to hang on until the 32km mark and it’s literally all downhill from there. I had a great last 10km – they were easily the fastest of the race, and the most fun. The rain had stopped (actually, it stopped at about 15km), and the sun was out, and I knew I was going to make it, and I felt much much much much better than I’d ever expected.

The last five kilometers were a relative breeze. I continued to pass people and enjoy the downhills and then I was just a few metres from the stadium and I knew I’d finish comfortably under 4:15 (which had emerged as a sort-of goal somewhere along the way) and I was very happy. Within sight of the stadium my right calf started to seize up, so I had a bit of a hitch in my giddy-up, but I kept it together and sailed in at 4:12:07 (Though I dispute that time. I started my watch just before the mat at the start, and forgot to turn it off until at least 50 feet past the finish, and it said 4:11:53.) And I was 27th of 94 in my age group. And I ran a 3:39 negative split. Not bad for a race in which I had no expectations.

The finish

And of course, there was some celebration once I’d cleared the finish area and retrieved my belongings.

Well-earned, I think

And that was it: a race well run, a beer hard-earned, and marathon #10 in the books. Stay tuned for some news about the sights around Athens. I’ll be here quite a bit longer than I expected, but it I kind of feel like a bit of an extended break right now. The hostel is very friendly, reasonably priced, and comfortable. There’s even a bar and a laundromat downstairs, both of which I have patronized. And they run a couple of interesting-sounding day-trips that I think I’ll do. It may mean that I don’t hit my Greek island, but I’m fine with that. The vague plan right now is to get a flight from Athens to Istanbul, maybe as early as Sunday. Or not. I’m not sure. Right now I’m just enjoying not running, not packing and unpacking, not finding the train station or the bus depot or the ferry terminal, and not navigating to another new hostel, and I think that’s just fine.

A day in the life, Edinburgh

I was Skyping with Karen and Steve last night (which was really nice) and one thing Karen said was that the stuff she likes most in the blog posts isn't the "then I saw this famous sight and here's the history behind it" stuff. (She's got Google for that kind of thing.) She was more interested in what life is like - how my days go by, what I eat for breakfast, that kind of thing. So in that spirit I kept track of what I was doing and thinking today, and here it is:

I wake up at about 8:30am. No alarm, which still feels a bit decadent. I often set an alarm for 8:00am, which is around when I wake up anyways, but I was so tired from the camping weekend on the beach that I didn't bother this morning. Also, I usually end up wearing one of those dopey Felix Unger eye masks things when I sleep because the sun rises at 4:45am, and sets at 9:50pm (though it stays light much later). Apparently Edinburgh is on the same latitude as Churchill, Manitoba! The dopey eye mask thing is vital.

I wander in to the communal kitchen and fix myself breakfast from groceries I bought when I hit town last Wednesday. Tesco economy Swiss Style Muesli (44p for the whole box!) and melon (which I slice up with an exacto knife I bought at the local Pound Saver, because the kitchen has exactly one knife, and it's a plastic butter knife), all mixed up with a pot of yogurt. Also a cup of tea and an orange. Carry everything back to my room and sit and email and eat.

Here's what the room looks like. A bargain for £21.50 per night.

Noodle around on the computer a bit more, and then shower in one of the two bathrooms shared by the six rooms in my "pod". The hostel is actually a university residence that's re-purposed in the summer months, which is why there are private rooms. Only one of the showers in my pod actually produces hot water, which I discovered in a chilling way on my first morning.

Get dressed, fold up the laundry that dried overnight, tweet about my plans, and head out to today's first destination - the National Museum of Scotland. I check the map in my ever-dwindling Rick Steves guide book and head towards the vicinity of the museum. Every once in a while I look over my right shoulder, and there's the castle, which is arresting and awesome. There's a guy in a suit sitting on a bench and I want to go up and shake him and say, "Do you even see that? It's freakin' fantastic! LOOK!!!"

You've seen the castle before, but it's my favourite thing in Edinburgh, so here it is again

I'm doing fine until I get to Grassmarket, when I strike off at a perfect right angle to the correct route. I wander amiably for a while, sensing that something is wrong, but not sure how to correct it. Then this thought enters my head: "Hey, another Salvation Army Hostel for Women? Weird! There was one just back there... and here's another market... wait a minute... Oh damn."

Eventually I stumble on the museum (right at the statue of Greyfriars Bobby, for anyone who's looking). The museum is free and I grab an audio guide and head down to the basement, where you're supposed to start. (More on the blessing and curse that is audioguides in another post.)

It quicky becomes apparent that I'm starting to suffer from museum fatigue, since I'm not really concentrating on the displays and thinking more about what I'm going to have for lunch. I wander around for a while longer and then go to meet up with the free guided tour that starts at 11:30am. I figure that will snap me out of it a bit.

The tour guide is ok, and he points out some interesting things in the antiquities area, but I distracted by man in the group who I'm quite sure is sporting a toupee. At least I think it's a toupee. I spend some time maneouvering so I can get a good look.*

The guide, gesturing at a very interesting stone carving. (Toupee Man not shown)

I'm also really enjoying looking at the Andy Goldsworthy pieces that are on display in the gallery, and take a bunch of pictures of them.

This one contains every bone from the skeleton of a beached pilot whale. The audio guide said it's woven together with no glue or fasteners.

I finish up the tour, though the guide doesn't even make it to the upper floors, and happily hand in my audio guide in search of lunch. Head back to the market where I purchase an outsized container of paella (£4) and sit down on a bench to eat it just as it's starting to rain. Seek shelter, tweet about lunch, and contemplate the fact that I think I'm getting a repeptitive strain injury in my left thumb from the tiny keyboard on my cell phone. Don't finish the paella, but go and pay an outrageous sum (£5.30) for a bag of mixed nuts and dried fruit, and then head back to the museum, which seems to be a good place for a rainy day.

The museum (round two) is pretty good, and I pay more attention to the exhibits I should have sought out first - the ones about the industrial revolution and steam engines and cool stuff like that. I leave at about 4:00pm to head to St. Giles Cathedral.

St. Giles is to Scotland what Westminster Abbey is to England, but by this point in the trip my Cathedral tolerance is quite low. I wander in though, and am imediately struck by how different a place this is to Westminster. It's lower and feels heavier, and the stone is darker. The arches don't soar like they do at Westminster or York Minster. The central tower is quite short and the pillars that support it are massive. It feels less refined, but that doesn't seem like a bad thing at all. It feels, in comparison to the other cathedrals I've already seen, very Scots. I donate a pound in the collection box and head to the Scott Monument.

More rain, but I pay my £3 to climb the 287 steps to the top and take lots of pictures. The stairs get quite narrow in the final stages, which makes passing strangers going the other way an arrestingly intimate encounter. At one viewing level (there are three), I run into a bevy of teenage girls who are waving and blowing kisses to some young guys on the ground. They break into giggles and squeels that leave me simultaneously contemptuous and slightly jealous.

Arthur's Seat, the Old Town, North Bridge and Waverly Station, taken from the Scott Monument

After the Scott Monument I start theshort walk back to the hostel to get ready to go for a run. Stop at a Boots (drugstore) to pick up some more hair goop, which is still on sale for £1 per tin! Also stop at Tesco and pick up more yogurt and fruit for breakfast (there's still loads of 44p meusli left) and some veggies to supplement my supper. Get wet again as it buckets down rain very briefly.

Back at the hostel I dry off, check email, munch on pricey snacks and procrastinate going running. Eventually I head out and end up having a really good run. All the hills must finally have made a difference because I run 11.3 km at a pace that's actually faster than my normal easy pace, on a route that includes some serious elevation gain. I don't go all the way up to Arthur's Seat again, but I do get up to the crags, and do not have to stop once for a walk break on the way. Even better, while running around the park I meet a runner coming the other way with a dog, and the dog is carrying the guy's water bottle for him! As I pass I say, "That's handy!" and he says, "Ah knoo!". Get back to the hostel feeling great.

Stretch, shower and then fix some supper. This is the first time I've eaten supper "in", and I make up a plate with some leftovers from the Gullane weekend - a chunk of stilton cheese and half a bun, along with a Scotch pie purchased at an artisinal butcher shop where the proprietor had such a proper Scots accent that I only understood about one word in three. I supplement with the snow peas I bought at Tesco, because I've been dangerously low on vegetables here. (Interesting side note: whereas the Canada Food Guide recommends 5-10 fruits and vegetables a day, here in the UK they must figure that's a pipe dream. Here they're just hoping for 5-a-day, and I think that must still be a struggle, especially if chips, crisps and mash don't count.)

Supper in front of the tv, just like home! (30 Rock - "The Rural Juror" episode)

After supper I wander out for a pint at a neat little pub on Fleshmarket Close (York had snickeways, Edinburgh has Closes). It's tiny and quiet and they have a newspaper with a big section on the new Harry Potter movie, so I am happy. Walk back to the hostel in the rain and do a load of sink laundry, then sit down to upload photos and blog.

Come up for air about 2 hours later. Seriously, that's how long it takes me to crank this stuff out. Uploading photos, writing stuff, adding the photos to the post (which takes about eleven steps...), previewing, checking, revising, blah blah blah. I really struggle with figuring out how divide my time between planning the next thing, experiencing the current thing, and documenting the last thing.

And now with the post safely published I can get on with figuring out which train I'm getting to the Falkirk Wheel tomorrow. Here's hoping for good weather.

* I never came to a definitive conclusion about the toupee, but I'm 99% sure that it was NOT real hair. Either way, though the guy needed some serious assistance with his do.

Running to Arthur's Seat

Almost as soon as I arrived in Edinburgh, I could sense that Scotland is different than England. The city itself seems a lot like London, but there's also an unmistakable sense of otherness here. Anyone who's seen Edinburgh Castle may know what I'm talking about. Unlike the Tower of London (the place it seems to compare most closely to historically and politically) it's got a sort of wildness about it. First of all, it's perched on top of a giant ancient volcano, so you can't really miss it. More striking though is the fact that it seems to actually grow out of the rock, or cling to it, or something.

See what I mean? Isn't that great?

Instead of carving up the rock to conform to where they wanted to build the castle, they just kind of stuck the castle onto and into the rock. There are lots of spots inside the castle walls where the rock is poking out, which I just loved.

The whole whole city just feels a bit less domesticated than England; I think I like it. Emblematic of that was the run I took today. Besides the castle, the other sight you can't escape in Edinburgh is Arthur's Seat*, which tour guides invariably refer to as a "volcanic plug". Actually there's the Seat, and another slightly lower peak, and the imposing Salisbury Crags. All of it looks like a wild chunk of Highlands plunked down in the middle of the city.

A view of Arthur's Seat, from part way up.

If this park were in England, the whole thing would be very different. The Seat - the very very top bit - would probably have a manicured lawn, and a gated formal garden at the top staffed by eager blue badge guides who would be able to quote the history of the area from approximately the time the earth's crust cooled. And the path to the top would be well-marked, with warning signs posted at regular intervals:

"Warning: Arthur's Seat is 822' high, individuals with heart problems, pregnant women, the elderly, and lazy bastards should consult a physician before attempting the climb."

And there would probably be a gift shop and a place to get a nice cup of tea.

But I'm in Scotland now. So instead I had to just plunge in without the aid of anyone wearing a badge of any colour. I guessed which path to take, and there were several. Some were switchbacks, and some were steep ascents, and some had really rough stone steps. I ended up on a path that had some quite steep sections. There was a lot of scrambling up loose gravel, and hopping over endless chunks of exposed "volcanic plug", and some more guessing. There were no signs, and there were no guides. I did run most of the way up, though I had to stop very frequently for breaks.

And then I was there.

See? And this time, with talking. Just for YOU Rob Hamilton.

The way down was even more treacherous. There were moments when I was kind of sliding on my bum down fairly sheer rock faces. (Really, I'm all for a bit of wildness and such, but would it kill them to put up a freakin' sign?) As I was contemplating my own mortality, I couldn't help but wonder how many stupid tourists fall, or twist an ankle, or break a leg up on that rock every year. I'm guessing double-digits at least.

This was the GOOD part of the path

Still, I'm glad I did it. The run up was really really hard, and I had to walk most of the descent until I got along the path that goes in front of Salisbury Crags (Interestingly, that sheer rock face of the crags is not natural. It was quarried in the early 19th c. by the Earl of Haddington - my cheesey audio guide suggested that the stone was used to cobble streets in London, but that could just be the Scottish-English thing rearing it's head, which it does here frequently, with varying degrees of amiability. Anyways, it took an act of Parliament in 1831 to stop the Earl from carting away the whole thing.)

The view of the back of the crags, taken on the way down from Arthur's Seat

When I got to the bottom, I ran all the way up the Royal Mile, which ends at the gates to Edinburgh Castle, and then I ran all the way back down again feeling pretty damned good about myself and thinking, "I am the coolest person I know right now."** And then I went and had haggis (really good) and a pint (even better).

There's more to say about Edinburgh, but that will have to wait. Tomorrow I'm planning on going to an overnight hash beach party at Gullane. Friendly Edinburgh hashers are loaning me a tent, sleeping bag and pad, and other are giving me a ride, and there's going to be a pub, and a BBQ on the beach Saturday night, and a campfire, and a hash run on Sunday and another BBQ after the run, and it all sounds great.


* Go ahead and read the Wikipedia, but don't believe for a second the bit where it says it's "quite easy to climb". Also, I really wish I'd read that article before I went out. The bit about which ascent is easiest would have been nice to know...

**Except, of course, for Rob Hamilton.

Streets and Gates, Gates are Bars, Bars are Pubs...

As I write this, I'm sitting in a pub, on High Petergate, just inside Bootham Bar. Which is York-ese for "I'm in a bar in High Peter Street just inside Bootham Gate"*. It's like they're deliberately trying to confuse tourists. Then again, York has been around since the Romans were here in about 71 A.D., so I suppose they can be allowed their eccentricities.

York has been quite nice, not least because I splurged (just a bit) on what has turned out to be a very nice, quite modern B&B, with nary a doily insight, but with a double bed, and flat screen tv and en-suite bathroom! Luxury indeed. I've been doing sink laundry every night.

Once again, my faith in local tour guides has been confirmed - on my first morning I did a "Essential York" walk with an engagingly quirky guide named Chris who toured us around the ruined abbey, the city walls, and the winding streets and snickleways of the main tourist area. Chris was particularly colourful, with a talent for florid prose and a hatred of Henry VIII (I believe the phrase he used was "bloated tyrant"). He also warned us against investigating the dry ditch (not a moat) surrounding the city walls, warning that "the people of York empty their dogs there every morning." And he had a proper Yorkshire accent, which is good practice for my ears in these last few days before I hit Scotland.

One of the things I like most about York is the walls - there are still really long sections of them standing, and most of it is built on the foundations of Roman wall from more than a thousand years ago**. On the afternoon I arrived I went for a run that circumnavigated all the sections of wall that are still standing, and it was bloody brilliant. In fact, it was so nice I did a second loop, for a total of about 10km. And then I had an enormous ploughman's lunch with EVEN MORE cheese than on Dartmoor, and two pints. It was a good night.

On my right: the city walls, on my left (not pictured): an Enterprise Rent-a-car and a Just Tyres shop.

Chris toured us around the ruins of St. Mary's Abbey, which in some ways was more interesting than the preserved churches.

The ruins

My favourite part was the rock garden made up of salvaged stones from the abbey. The square-shaped stones were mostly recycled into other walls and buildings, but the decorative stones couldn't be used for that. A bunch of them are here:

Nothing like a few medieval carved stones to dress the place up...

The trip into the tangled streets of the area inside the walls was fun too, especially ducking through the little "snickleways" between streets (I mean "gates"). Though they were only dubbed "snickleways" in the last few years, by an author who wrote about them in a popular guide. They're basically little covered alleyways between buildings that act as short-cuts between bigger streets, and have names like "Little Hornpot Alley" and "Mad Alice Lane" and stuff like that.

A snickleway

And of course we visited "The Shambles", a small lane best known for its astoundinug concentration of camera-wielding Japanese tourists. Ha! I'm kidding, it's best know for its tipsy architecture, with 16th century timber-framed buildings that lean out over the street.

The Shambles

One nice find was a snickleway leading to a little hidden church (15th century), with a nice garden where I sat to eat my lunch two days in a row. On the second day I was joined by a lovely man who was the former keeper of the church (Holy Trinity Church in Goodramgate) who was very chatty, and told me lots about the church, and insisted I go see St. Wilfred's in Harrogate when I'm there, and recommended a B&B in Prague. (I'm not kidding, he wrote the details in my notebook...) It was the longest conversation I've had in days.

The afternoon was a bit of a bust. I followed Rick Steves' normally sound advice and visited the Yorkshire Museum, which was a bit boring and had too many cases of unearthed Roman pottery shards and such. I guess I just wasn't in the mood, so I cut out of there early and went for a long run. I've now come to the conclusion that it's going to be really hard to get long long runs in while I'm traveling. It's not the time that's a problem, it's the distances. It's really hard to find a place where I can run for 10 or 15km before having to turn around. On this run I started on my "usual" wall-circumnavigation route, but deviated when I got to the banks of the river Ouse, because there was a nice paved pathway there. I settled in on the path for a while, hoping it would last for miles. Instead I had to double back twice and eventually took a fancy new pedestrian bridge to the other side of the river and followed a smaller path there. Eventually that path tuned into a dirt track, and finally it ran up against a fence. There were steps leading up and over the fence, so I asked some nearby dog-walkers if it was ok to hop it. They assured me it was fine, and I could run as far as I wanted; God bless the English and their public footpaths.

See? There really were steps, and a little dog-door too!

The path went through several overgrown fields, and got really narrow, and passed under a highway, and then finally popped out on a residential street.

If you look closely at that green signpost, it says "Public Footpath"

There being no apparent continuation of the path, and it being about an hour into the run, I turned around, grateful that I wasn't facing an hour of Dover cliffs to get back to where I'd started. That's when the psychology hit. As I mentioned when I tweeted about the run, the scale of this place is really deceiving. I felt like I'd seen so much and been so far that it was a real shock to get back into York proper in about 15 minutes. I had to do another almost complete circuit of the walls to make it up to 20km, so though the distance wasn't epic, it was hard on the brain.

On Saturday I headed to the York Castle Museum, which gets 3 stars from Rick Steves and has nothing at all to do with castles. It was quite excellent, with a recreated Victorian street scene and lots of well-annotated displays on everyday life in England. It was loads better than the Yorkshire Museum and I ended up being there for hours. I hit the Clifford Tower after that. It wasn't really worth the £3.50 admission, though it did give me a chance to take a picture of myself on the ramparts.

Me, on the ramparts, as I said.

After lunch, I headed to what surely must be the main event for anyone visiting York - York Minster. The minster is a huge cathedral built between 1220 and 1472. Yes, it took 252 years to build, but they did a really nice job, so those of you who haven't even managed to repaint the bathroom can just stop sneering right now.

York Minster (Ok, I did not take this photo - the Minster is way to big for my tiny camera...)

I'm not sure of the numbers, but York Minster certainly feels bigger and taller and brighter than Westminster Abbey, and it's less cluttered too. (Ok, wait a minute, Rick Steves says it's the largest Gothic Cathedral north of the Alps - 540' long and 200' tall). I took the 275 winding steps up to the top of the crossing tower, for a really nice view of York.

The city, viewed from above and behind the two west towers of the minster.

And the Minster, viewed from about half way down.

York Minster also has more medieval stained glass in it than all the glass in all the rest of England put together. Much of it is in the Great East Window - the largest expanse of medieval stained glass in the world. Naturally, it is scaffolded inside and out right now for major restoration work, but that meant that a few of the panels were on display at person-level, which might actually be a better way to view stained glass than from 100 feet away. I liked the Minster, and even stayed for the evensong service so I could hear the choirboys sing, and it was a really nice way to end my visit.

There's a bit more York on tap for tomorrow, then a quick train ride to Harrogate for my last bit of family before the wilds of Scotland!

*And I'm having steak & kidney pudding, which I haven't had in ages! Yum!

** That's a blogger shortcut because honestly I can't be bothered to look it up.