Busan to DMZ

Well I am in the seedy part of town. I have arrived in Busan and am staying in a “motel” near the railway station and the docks. So what should I expect? Sailors – yes. Russian prostitutes – yes. Fights – of course.

As Korea’s second city it is no surprise that it has links with China’s second city – Shanghai. So fifty metres from my motel is “Shanghai Street”. I am sufficiently confident that the food is shit not to have tried it. The continuation of Shanghai Street is Texas Street. This is the street of clubs with lots of young women in short skirts as ‘whipers in”. These are not the Russians – most of whom appear to be “of a certain age”. There were so many whipers in at every door that I was put off from venturing in. Naturally First Direct have stopped my ability to take money out of the ATMs (they always do, even though I have a track record of roaming the world) so I was relying on cash from China. Fortunately this has limited my ability to waste money so I have not been dragged in to buy some delightful young lady or three a “cocktail” at twenty or thirty quid a go.

There was also a small street brawl as early as 9 last night.

Why did I end up in such a dump. I used the guide book of course. There are three trains a day from Andong. One arrives in Busan at 11.00 p.m. and one leaves Andong at midnight so I shouldn’t have been surprised when I inquired about a train ticket for a train at the sensible time when the response was ‘Sorry, fully booked”

The Information Centres are nearly always good so there was no difficulty in getting a bus for half an hour to the Long Distance Bus Station.  No problem, the bus is available, comfortable and quick. I got to Busan before the train that I tried to catch would have got me there.  

Busan is built on hills. Or, more accurately, around them. They are quite steep which means two things.  The city is well spread out – the “Central” bus station is about as far out of the city as Watford – it is twenty-three stops on the metro to the railway station. You can go for a good walk within the city and get some good views of the harbour and the city.

I found this place, location quite well described in the 2014 version of the guide book, one stop past the main the railway station.  It didn’t exist and clearly hadn’t for several years. So I wandered off to find the Information place at the station – that is how I ended up in Seedy City – honest.

Jagalichi fish market was a real disappointment. It is big but it is just retail. There is none of the hustle and bustle of Guangzhou’s fish market (which is largely wholesale for restaurants and hotels). I have not been to Tokyo’s fish market for a real comparison.

I enjoyed a three hour stroll on the hills but I did spend a lot of time on the metro.

Busan is a bit of a dichotomy. It is a big port and lots of the world’s big ships are built here. It is also a tourist town 

I decided to explore the tourist town bit. I went to the city’s no. 2 beach at dusk. The reason for going at that time was to see the people and then the lights on the bridge.

The tourist literature makes all sorts of claims about the lighting on the bridge. It is rubbish. However, the strip next to the beach is pretty lively so a spot of nosh and a few swift ones is not unpleasant. There is an “English pub”. Surely I should know better by now.  Crap NZ beer and whingeing ex-pats.

The beach management  managed to trump the village near Andong. Most of the bars and restaurants had their own boring music blaring out. Suddenly at about 8 in the evening, the beach-wide PA system perked up to compete. You can imagine how delightful it all sounded. After a couple of songs the beach PA played “Puff the magic dragon.” Beat that Carlos! 

Having explored the city’s no. 2 beach the next day I decided to go for the country’s no. 1 beach which is about six metro stops down the same line. The Rough Guide says that on a summer’s weekend people are packed in tighter than a Brazilian’s speedos. Well I arrived at dusk on a Sunday at the end of September and yes there were a lot of people around. Unfortunately the beach front is packed with ridiculously expensive hotels – no place for scum like me. In the side streets back a bit from the beach there were some more interesting places. There is a food street that seems to specialise in eels. They are not my favourite food and seeing them skinned alive did not move them up in my list of delights to taste.

English is almost normal here (as at the other beach). I saw a few Eurasian types in Seoul and the odd one or two in the other places but here there are loads - and I don’t mean just Russian ladies and sailors. One in ten or fifteen people walking down the road are “white”. What brings them here? There is an international film festival starting in four days but that can’t be the reason.

My impression of the area was not improved by the fact that I saw the second McShit of the trip. No prizes for guessing which beach I preferred. 

 I can believe that the city is a nice place to live – not in Winter obviously, it would be minus ten or fifteen in the day sometimes  – but I am running out of energy for wandering the streets of places so probably didn’t make the most of it.

I had better withdraw my remarks about the good train service. I went and asked for a ticket for a train to Seoul (there are three or four an hour) and was told that the one I wanted was standing room only for 4 ½ hours. OK, when is the next one with a seat. There aren’t any – they are all standing room only. Buy a ticket for the next one. Get on, loads of empty seats so I sat in one at the front. There are a dozen or so stations on the route and the train filled up. After a couple of hours sitting room on the floor was full so it really was standing.  At each stop I was expecting someone to come up with a reservation. Never happened. Were they sorry for an old fart? Frightened of strangers? Just very well mannered? Actually I don’t think a reservation was booked for my seat – nobody came close with a piece of paper in their hand looking in my area.

I found out that there was a reason for crowded trains – Mid Autumn Festival - (unusually late, it is often in August) which a couple of people translated as Thanksgiving (in the East they don’t know that it is a Yanks only festival – sorry Canada). I could have sworn that Thanksgiving was after the harvest had been brought in successfully – not before it.

Got to Seoul and everyone got off the train – well nearly everyone. I realised too late that this was Souwon (another Seoul station that I knew nothing about) – hence some people staying on the train. It took me another 1 ½ hours on the metro to get to my dosshouse.

Korea has been at war for 65 years. An armistice agreement was signed at Panmunjon in 1953 but there has never been a peace treaty. The Demilitarized Zone – a four kilometre wide strip of land along the demarcation line has become a tourist attraction. With my usual organizational expertise I had failed to book the full Panmunjon tour so was on a half day trip. Just as well I think.  On the bus going there for fifty minutes we had a tirade of anti-Japanese and anti-North Korean rhetoric – all bound up in democratic clothes naturally. Although this guide didn’t talk too quickly she did only talk to half the people – she didn’t wait for the rest of us to get off the bus. I don’t think I missed much. Five minutes after she assured us that she could not guarantee our safety in the North the bus had an accident – minor but well timed.

The propaganda (sorry information) film that we taken to see ended up with the clarion call of “Unification, but until then the DMZ forever” Work that one out.

The best bit was going into the “Third Infiltration Tunnel.”  This had been found in 1978 (there was a fourth found in 1990) that was 70 metres below ground level and penetrated  to about 400 metres across the border line. North Koreans must be quite small because we were issued with hard hats and, apart from the usual babble, the only thing you heard was the slap of feet on a wet floor and the regular clunk of a helmet hitting the ceiling – mine got knocked off at some point. The guide told us that you could sometimes here North Koreans on the other side. What you got was a small window and another one on the other side. Personally I just think that there was a mirror.

As you probably know I am crap at photos and don’t normally bother but there is a bunch of us with identical T – shirts and we are taking photos of the T shirt in unusual places so you are getting three terrible pictures – well two, I didn’t take one of them.. The selfies are in the tunnel where you are not allowed to take photos.

Know the film?

We went to a "ginseng museum". I knew I should have stayed on the bus. The museum guide talked so fast and told us nothing apart from it took six years to grow – she padded it out to eighteen. Nothing about the type of plant, its family, where it grew – nothing. Of course she had the patter to tell us that this type was good for period pains, blood pressure, heart burn and that type was good for bowel movements, baldness, longevity blah blah fucking blah. There were about forty of us on the trip and I am glad to say that nobody bought anything.

Toothpaste. Now there is an odd subject. I told you that all hotels, no matter how cheap provide toiletries. Many of them lots of stuff – not just shampoo and soap but all sorts of slime to put on your skin. They also provide toothpaste. This is not the usual tube where you are lucky if you can get two cleanings out of it but full sized 150 ml(?) tubes and nobody knicks them! I know a good few Yorkshiremen who take it as a matter of pride to liberate shampoo, soap etc. from large hotel chains but here you just use it and leave it. A nice reflection on both trust and honesty I think.

Should you visit Korea?

It is safe, clean and cheaper than Europe but not dirt cheap.

However, those are not reasons to visit a country. The guide book and the guides say that the people are friendly. Hmmm. I did have one guy ask me if I was lost (No, I can’t be lost I don’t know where I am going.) but that was it. I would say that on friendliness they get an absolute maximum of 40%

Life. The majority of visitors don’t leave Seoul.  That is a mistake – there is no real reason to go there. Busan is a much livelier city and here is no interesting countryside in Seoul – well a bit but much better out and about.

Wildlife. I was my usual unobservant self and saw no big mammals or birds of prey. Lots of butterflies but I am used to that in China. Dragonflies – yes  - great. The odd pretty bird and one small snake. The highlight for me was watching five frogs no bigger than two centimetres long, They were of different colour schemes (including one who was very bright green – which normally means that it is poisonous) but seemed to be a group. Shy but patience was rewarded.

        

Historical sites. All modern reconstructions.

Music and culture. They try quite hard in a touristy sort of way but it certainly is dominated by western influences day to day.

So no, don’t bother visiting not unless you are in the area.

Done In Donuts & Bugger King

Well I had actually got a plan when I got to the railway station in Seoul. This was from The Rough Guide so I should have known it was dodgy. Go to Busan (Korea’s second city) the slow way stopping off occasionally.

So I was heading for Danyang. The guide tells you that Seoul has several bus stations but fails to mention that there is more than one railway station – there are at least three. No prizes for guessing that I went to the main railway station only to be sent on my way. Korea has a very small  but well run, timely  rail network so why there are two separate terminii (at least) in Seoul is beyond me. It can’t exactly have been the great railway boom in the UK in the 1840s when all the independent railway companies built separate stations along the Euston Road.

Anyway I am on my way and can’t stay awake. Bart will tell you a few stories about me, public transport and sleep – I have even been known to sleep through aircraft take off.   The reason you go this route is because of the scenery! Got to Danyang. Well close. This is one of those places where they decide to build the railway station near the railway line, not near the town – planners! A taxi ride for 7 or a walk of 40 minutes along the river? No contest. Cross the main road and take the track down to the river. A guy stopped me and said no – he had no English but his meaning was clear. He was right. You walk 1 ½ kilometres along a main road, including crossing the river, and then walk forty minutes along the very good path.If the guy hadn't stopped me it would have meant a very difficult walk and, maybe a swim with my pack.

The following day I had another example of kindly interference. I was walking along the river for four of five kilometres to look at some famous rocks. The road/path deteriorated until I was on a fairly rough track heading under some giant concrete stanchions that were to support a six lane highway.

Some guys at the top of a bank of rubble under the aforementioned highway said no. I should climb up to them, which I duly did. One of them lead me out on to the unopened highway and offered to drive me down it. My destination was only a kilometre away so I declined. Did they really build that road just for me to walk down?

My destination was three rocks in the river. Apparently these were a man in the middle with a concubine on one side. On the other – facing away- was an angry wife who didn’t like the fact that her husband had taken a concubine because wifie couldn’t give him a son.

This is the sort of imaginative bullshit? incite? that I am used to in China. The Chinese and Koreans have, hardly surprisingly, many things in common.  They drive on the right but they walk on the right too – odd. Confucianism. Rather surprisingly its influence is probably stronger in Korea. Budhism – the temples etc. are very similar. Manners – they both tend to think that they are looking after their business, it is up to you to look after yours – this can be irritating when, for example, somebody walks out of a shop, phone in hand obviously, and cuts straight across you without looking. Driving is a bit better in Korea – many cars will stop at pedestrian crossings – not taxis obviously.

The guys who stopped me making my mistakes to some extent went against trend.

Manners wise there is one significant difference between the Chinese and the Koreans. If you are out for a walk in the hills the Chinese will acknowledge you in the same way as westerners – a greeting of some kind, a nod or a smile. Not so in Korea. You go wandering in the hills and do the normal things – nothing. Apparently this is because you haven’t been introduced. You don’t know each other’s age, social standing, family attributes etc. This means that you don’t know who is the superior and thus how to behave. Now, in most cases I am going to get the points on the age scale but I hardly dress to impress so ??? So should they bow deeply to me because of my venerable age or ignore me because I am a tosser? We won’t be taking a vote on that one.

Korean public toilets are good (better than China). They are clean, many of the newer ones will have sit down bogs, not just squatters.  Be warned though, in most cases you have to collect the bog paper at the entrance – there is none in the cubicles.

Sitting in the bar, as one does, I kept seeing the top of paragliders! Danyang is the paragliding centre of Korea and what was happening was that tourists were being flown down in tandem paragliders to the “Light aircraft landing strip” – otherwise a car park. This was by the river – eight metres below me.

I tried to get off my fat lazy arse and do some stuff. A local limestone cave. You have probably seen similar. The imaginative names for the stalactite formations came into play again like China but “Rice paddy fields” actually made sense. There were lots of steps and signs saying “Mind your head” – the only things in English. They could have done with a few “Mind your beer gut” signs. At one point I was bent down very low and met a set of steps going down. Turning around my gut to go backwards was not the easiest of tasks. It was only 16 degrees inside the cave but 97% humidity so those of you who know me will know what happened – I  sweated.

At the exit I tried another local drink. Essentially this is fermented milk with nuts added – quite tasty. Rough Guide says try the local stuff straight from the? I did. The bottled stuff is better and not a rip off.  I paid about ten times the price for the “authentic” stuff than the bottled stuff.

Danyang is a mountainous area, Nothing big, maybe 1,200 metres but steep and tree covered. I had a wander up one of the lumps. Jesus it was steep. 500 metre height gain in less than two kilometres. Fortunately for an old fart like me there were many sections with steps and many other sections had solid steel fences to cling on to. You can imagine that I used these extensively both ways.

The problem was that I was going up a ridge that quite often became an arrette i.e. a steep drop on both sides. There were lots of the aforementioned iron steps but in between some proper mountain walking. I had gained about 350 metres easily (because of all the steps) when I came to a rounded boulder sloping on three sides. I could get up it no problem but coming down? I dithered and watched a couple half my age (the first people I had seen) go up easily. But still coming down? (I can hear Guido laughing now). I turned round about 150 or 100 metres from the top.

A very good decision. Blaring away all the way up the climb had been “music” from the place that the boat trips left for a lake tour. Do you really want to hear Abba's “Super Trooper” 400 metres up a mountain?

I got back just in time to catch the bus back into town. The next one was 3 ½ hours later so I would have had to go on a boat ride to try and escape the “music”.

It also meant that I had time to go and look at a temple. Why should I go and look at a temple? I have seen hundreds of them and they all the same – OK very similar. This one is described as the most unusual temple in Korea. Now I have been to no other temples in Korea so who am I to judge?

Why, my usual conceited self. I have been too many many budhist temples. This one makes no pretensions to age – it was founded in 1945. Boy have they been building since. It can now hold 1,000 monks (and feed an extra 1,000 visitors).

Walking in the first thing you notice is hammering and electric grinders – just what you expect from a peaceful budhist community. As you go further in you see lots of buildings with non-standard decorations, smell huge pots fermenting something and hear a fair amount of chanting – I think I saw a little bit of private chanting that I took to be a funeral or, given that there were only about eight non-priest types there, the anniversary of a lady’s death.

The particular sect encourages diligence during the day and contemplation during the evening.  There were lots of monkesses being diligent but, unless the metal bashing lot at the gate were monks, not a lot of diligence from the chaps. Now there’s a surprise.

It is now late September and the colours are starting to turn. It is 36 degrees north but a couple of hundred metres up so perhaps not so surprising. In a couple of weeks it will be beautiful. The rice fields are now nearly golden and the lotus plants are wilting/ I only saw one field being harvested. Late September is a good time to visit but I guess early October would be better. It would still be warm enough for T-shirts and shorts in the day and you would get the proper colours of Autumn and see the harvest being gathered.    

From a slow start I quite liked Danyang.

This is the reason that you go travelling – to look out of your hotel room window and see these pair of socialist success stories in the title of this article. That is my view in Andong. Still only seen one Mcshit, no Substandards or Kick the Fucking Chickens on the whole trip and I have been going over a week now so it is not all bad.

This sounds good but, as a non-meat eater, food has been a bit of a problem. I have found fishy places but they all want you to eat hotpot. This is designed as a meal for at least two (Koreans never eat alone) but, being a pig, I can usually mange the lot but dinner contains a huge amount of fat. By the time I got to the third of these (in Danyang) it got to be a real problem – I had to sit on the floor. The problem with that seating position is that your beer-belly gets scrunched up and there is no space to get the food down! As the meal cost more than my room for the night I was less than ecstatic.

I should explain that I like Korean food in China. The whole Kimchi mentality where they bring several little spicy vegetable dishes once you have ordered something is great – you get your five a day with no effort. However in China it is, inevitably, modified. In true Chinese style you order several dishes. If there is only you, you order two or three dishes so they are quite small. In Korea you order one big dish for two or three of you.

I had been lead to believe that Korea was the most “English hungry” place in the world. Many young people have some idea (and some speak good English) but many people know less English than I know Chinese. What I have learnt is that persistence works – using the stuff in the guide book to explain that I don’t eat meat brings results – last night I got taken to a fish restaurant by the guy from a meat only place. Tonight there was a crabby elderly lady in a mackerel restaurant (the local speciality - salty mackerel, not restaurants) who wasn’t interested in my business. It wasn’t until I went outside and pointed at the fish on the sign that some kids got the message and told her. Both damn good meals. And less than a tenner each including a beer.

I went to this “typical” village today. It is meant to be kept to show the traditional life. When I got there the first thing I saw was a picture of Queenie. She must have been to more countries than me.  Apparently she was at the village with Phil the Greek in 1999.

The village struck me as similar to many villages in rural China (or many other places in South-East Asia) but richer. My thinking is that the wealth has spread out more in Korea than China – lots of the houses had cars and everything looked well maintained. I haven’t looked it up but I suspect that GDP per capita is substantially higher even now that in China. There are many more interesting villages in China and other parts of South-East Asia.

Walking round I saw loads of nuts. The shells looked like sweet chestnuts, the inside looked a bit like conquers or hazel nuts so why were so many on the floor and not collected? Because they tasted horrible! I thought that things like fruits and nuts were supposed to taste nice so that the dumb saps eating them spread the seeds. Clearly I have something wrong here.

At the end of the afternoon they were starting to set up tents and music systems – presumably for some sort of money making venture. Obviously they test the PA system with some local folk music. Yep, you guessed it – Santana.

I didn’t really take to the village (or this town). There is a funny place within walking distance of the tourist bit of town (the rest is a bit of a non-entity and I am writing that opposite DD and BK remember!) that is a combination of a “Folk Museum” and twenty or so old houses that they moved when they built the local damn. I found that much more interesting and informative. A nice walk there and back undoubtedly helped.

Surely I have been in the East long enough not to get surprised by stupid shit by now? Oh no! 

As I approached this area there was a “Love Wall”. This is basically a mesh fence where you can attach a small plastic bottle. In the bottle there is supposed to be a message or saying about the appropriate person or persons. Through the screw top of the bottle and the lid is a three part combination lock (heart shaped, of course) that attaches it to the fence. This goes through the top of the bottle and the lid so you can’t unscrew them without the combination – naturally I tried. So how come about half the bottles had no message inside? Had somebody been along looking for a particular bottle once they knew the combination? Is someone so bored that they try combinations and bottles at random?  Do people buy them and then don’t know what to write to whom? I think we should be told.   

Heart to Seoul. Sorry

Money is confusing. When you buy a couple of Japanese beers and a 500 ml. plastic bottle of strong  “wine” (it is called soju – originally based on potatoes but now probably just chemicals) in a convenience store and they  say “Eight” they mean 8,000 Won. That is nearly as daft as some of the South-East Asian countries, not the sort of currency you get in a “developed” country.  For the record, there about 1,800 to the pound (and, these days, 180 to the RMB) or 1,200 to the USD, so not a bad price really. As a bottle of beer is more than a bottle of soju I might be stocking up on the wine for when I venture out of Seoul.

Seoul is a new city. It was founded over 700 years ago but in 45 years of Japanese occupation they tried to destroy as much of the Korean national identity as they could. What that failed to destroy 3 years of Civil War, when the city changed hands four times, did destroy.  Old streets are thirty years old, all the palaces (there are five, or maybe six, of them in the city) have been completely rebuilt in the last fifty years.

The metro is odd (they are about the only country to follow the yanks on this and call it the subway but I am sticking to the universal term) because of escalators. There is a very big system; it seems to work and the main part looks as if it was completed for the 1988 Olympic Games. Every station I have been in so far has escalators but none of them do anywhere near half the height from the platform to the street.  The many steps are quite steep and you see a lot oldies (real ones, not like me) pulling themselves, very laboriously, up the handrail for quite a long time.

Today I thought that I would do my cultural tour and go to two or three palaces and, maybe a shrine. Logically I got the metro to the farthest with a view to walking back to my dosshouse.

The furthest also happens to be the most popular and “oldest.” The original was 14^th Century but there was nothing left after 1953 so it is a complete replica. Frankly I can’t tell the difference between Chinese designs and Korean except the colours here do not indicate the dynasty (there was only one from the 14^th century until the Japanese invasion in 1910) and the Koreans are not as fond of dragons as the Chinese and some other countries – remember in the East the dragon is a goodie. This meant that I didn’t find it that different or interesting. It was also crowded – the only thing to rival the number of selfie sticks was the number of tour group flags or, in many cases, toy animals on sticks. The reason that there were so many toy animals was the huge number of school kid groups – some no more than three or four years of age. It was busy when I got there at 10.00 but when I left at 11.30 it was absolutely heaving. The Koreans have many of the traits of the Chinese including that their kids should be being “educated” at all possible times in all possible ways. The palace is called Gyeongbokgung and I would give it a miss if I were you. The best bit is outside and free. At 10.00 they changed the guard on the gate. The “guards” are all dressed up in silly outfits and false beards. There is some music and they march up and down a bit with a few drums being banged. Quite entertaining.

Had to wander into town a bit to get a reviver and then back to the palace next door – Chandeokgung. This has many similar features but a more relaxed layout and about 1% of the people – well maybe 2%, but no more. The bosses preferred this gaff because it has a damn nice garden. The trouble today is you can only go in the garden in a tour group. There are eight tours a day in Korean, two in Chinese, one in Japanese and four in English. This worked out OK timing wise BUT. The guide spoke too fast and her pronunciation wasn’t clear (she had a two minute speech about a tree that I thought she called “baobab” – only found in Africa – then maobab –never heard of it; it was only when I asked her off microphone that I found it she was saying mulberry, as in silkworm food).   Also she was only interested in telling you about the buildings in the garden (what they were called who built them, when and why – the sort of stuff you haven’t a hope in hell of remembering) and not giving you any time to wander round and look at the trees (160 types) or look for the wildlife. A shame really, because it is a nice garden.

Despite that, the palace was still preferable to the scrum of the morning. One feature that I found irritating in both palaces is that you are not allowed inside any of the buildings – you can look from the outside. The ceilings are often the most interesting parts and in most, but not all, “old” buildings in China you can go inside.

And so to the Jongmyo Royal Shrine. Er no. This is the same mularky – it is a big garden and you can only go in tour groups, I arrived at 4.25 – the last tour of the day in English was at 4.20. I could see the people about 100 metres away but no – this is Korea and things run on time – if you are too late, you are too late.

So stroll back to the dosshouse via a very large market whose second most popular product was seaweed - a long, long way behind dried fish. It was 5.00 and everything was open but nobody was buying. There were about 1% of customers per stall holders. The only person I saw spending money was me – on a reviver naturally.  So was it the end of the day or the beginning – I will go back one evening to see.

There is a reason I refer to my clean, tidy, well-run guesthouse as a dosshouse, Think size – if you have stayed in a cheap place in Hong King you will know what I mean. Total floor area is about 20 square metres (it is a “double”) including an oversized shower room. The bed is next to the shower room wall and from the end of the bed to the full wall window is about twenty centimetres. There is no chair but there is a large flat screen TV. Unfortunately that is also on the wall next to the shower room. The only way to watch it would be to push the bed up against the window but the window frame would ensure a gap between the bed and the window that would need six pillows to fill. Good job I don’t watch TV.

Still it is clean, has a personal door locking service, includes lots of free toiletries and breakfast for 55 per night.  Mustn’t grumble.

Well I went back to the market at 7.30 p.m. and half the stores had packed up. Today (Saturday) at 11.00 there were a few people but the number of stallholders still substantially outnumbered the number of buyers. I suspect it is a wholesale market but even so how can they make a living?

Back to the Jongmyo shrine (I had bought a combined ticket and wasn’t going to waste money). A bit of luck – on Saturdays you don’t have to go on a tour. The shrine was much better than the palaces. There is a film with English subtitles explaining the ceremony for honouring the dead. In its time Korea has been dominated by Budhism but revolting Christianity is now the number 1 religion - although there are not too many obvious churches. However, the real underpinning of society is still Confucianism and that means honouring your ancestors.

 Confucius was a wandering would be Prime Minister who went from state to state with a few followers selling his skills. In this he was a conspicuous failure but his school of thought grew up with respect for ancestors (four generations so you probably had never met the oldest one or two generations) and order. To become a government official you had to learn all the thoughts that were set down. These were attributed to Confucius but written down after his death so who knows?

 The film displays the whole rigmarole and Korea is the only country that still performs it, all-be-it once a year not five times as of old when it used to take a week of solitary contemplation each time before the ceremony. So, if you come to Seoul go there on a Saturday and forget the palaces apart from the comedy changing of the guard.

Seoul has dozens of museums (there is even a tax museum) and I went to a couple. They are well presented but they don’t have any exhibits of real age. Time to wander into the city centre. Like all big cities (Guangzhou excepted) you can walk around the most parts because distances aren’t great. Think Marble Arch to The Tower or The Battery to Central Park. So, suitably revived, off I went and found a demonstration.

This was a very Korean affair. Everybody was sat down whilst they were harangued, there were polite ripples of applause and even the occasional shout but it was all very orderly. There were a few marshals with nothing to do and no cops but lots, and I mean lots, of cops in groups in the side streets, keeping out of the way.  I think the police outnumbered the few hundred people at the rally. Now here is the surprising bit – no shields, no batons and if they had guns they were very well concealed.

In my wanderings in the last couple of days I must have seen about 15 or 20 Starfucks but that is only one or two per cent of the coffee shops. I have seen two Bugger Kings (one is even marked on my tourist map) but no Pisser Hut, no Substandard, no Kill the Fucking Chicken and no McShit. I am sure there must be a few but they have the least coverage of any big city that I have been to.

These last two points have definitely raised my impression of Seoulites but it is time to get out of the city so off to the train station in the morning and get the first train to anywhere that sounds vaguely interesting.

Go North Young Men and some not so young.

A brief introduction for those who don’t know my Dutch friend. He is 20 years younger, 15 centimetres taller and weighs less than me. When we started walking together twenty years ago, I was stronger than Guido – those days are long gone but, to quote the man himself, “We make a great team”. 

I navigate and clean up, Guido does everything else – driving, cooking, carrying the pack, bullying whimpish old men when they get nervous etc. We both are big fans of walking in north-west Scotland and have been there together seven or eight times.

Guido gets very effusive about the area and takes any opportunity to get his kit off and get into some water – any water – sometimes with a beer in his hand in the sun. I have seen his arse far too often. He had three swims in one day. He is also an expert naturalist so took a thousand photos and kept himself amused when I was trailing behind by looking at lots of different grasses!

This year we had several interesting events.

I have read quite a bit about how intelligent crows are – much brighter than dogs and three year old kids. We had a brilliant demonstration of this. We were sitting on a rock having a break when a crow came and sat on a rock about 15 metres away and watched us. Guido put a bit of cake on our rock – nothing. He threw a bit off the end of the rock – a tour of inspection. He threw a bit half way across the gap between the two rocks– grabbed. I threw my apple core about a third of the way – an inspection.  We left and stopped after twenty metres. The apple core was picked up taken to her rock and partially eaten. The rest was hidden in the grass. Next was the bit of cake on our rock. She hadn’t remembered the exact location of the bit thrown off the end of the rock but it was soon found and eaten. She then flew off, knowing that we hadn’t left anything else. Brilliant!

When was the last time you saw sheep walking across a beach? We were watching this strange event when the farmer’s mother happened along and explained. There was a small piece of nice grass at the other end of the beach from the sheep’s main grazing and the same sheep regularly lead some others across.  Once a lamb had been left behind and mother hadn’t realised until the tide was in. It was only about 300 metres but Mother swam back. Wool gets waterlogged and sheep do not have big flippers or hands at the end of their legs. One strong sheep with very powerful mothering instincts, if a little unobservant not to have noticed the absent lamb for a few hours. You might need to look carefully at the photo.

We had just had lunch in the pub in Sheildaig when we were accosted by a man older than me. He had been walking when two dogs chased him – he had turned to face them, taken a step backwards, fallen over and damaged his shoulder. Could we put his canoe on the roof of his car please – of course.  This is hardly worth mentioning but it continued our list of odd things and came the day after the twenty-four hours of mad Germans.

We had just arrived back at our bothy (how we got back is later in this article) at 9.00 p.m. when a young German couple rolled up. For those of you that don’t know, a bothy is a building that you can use to sleep in and cook in – it is free and most bothies are in remote locations so very handy for walkers. They vary greatly in size but this one was big with two “living rooms” and four “bedrooms.” Guido and I had occupied two of the bedrooms but there was plenty of room. The Germans refused the offer of some Talisker (very god whisky for the ignorant – we always carry a bottle) and said that they were very tired. We said cook first – no we will cook in our room. It was quite cold so Guido got a fire going – I told you he did everything else. The Germans emerged from their room at 10.30 p.m.  – there was still some light - with their packs on and said that they were going further because they had a schedule to keep! We warned them that the path they intended taking was not easy and would be dangerous in the dark. Half an hour later we could see their head torches off the path and moving pretty aimlessly. The following morning Guido went down or, more accurately, up the path they were on and told me how dangerous it was. Obviously he had overtaken the Germans. I had walked out a different way, collected the car and had gone to collect Guido. Just as we were about to leave the Germans arrived. Naturally they refused our offer of a lift. Guido thinks that the only reason that they came to the bothy was for a little sexual interplay.

Guido is a big fan of small rodents, he squealed with delight every time we saw a vole. He was slightly less happy about our mouse. (A few years ago one bothy that I was in had a mouse that kept scampering around all bloody night. I got up many times to try and get rid of the little bugger but didn’t sleep much.) The first night in the bothy this time the food was in Guido’s room and everything was fine. Not so the second and the mouse had a feast.

We had had three nights camping and bothying so were in severe need of a shower and to do some washing so we went to a bunkhouse.  We went to the area and wandered off for an afternoon stroll. We paused for a game of backgammon and a beer. 

This slowed Guido and speeded me so, for the only time on the trip, I was setting the pace. After three hours we reached our objective and turned round. After half an hour we met two nineteen year old German girls who were carrying three packs and a very large handbag between them going the other way. They asked how far it was to Glen Brittle. Ah! “This isn’t the way to Glen Brittle.” They had been walking due South for more than two hours when they had needed to go West-South-West. It wasn’t cloudy and upon enquiry they did know that the sun should be in the West at 6.00 p.m. We showed them where they were on the map and the obstacle to getting to their objective – The Cuillins Ridge – 900 metres and extremely steep – it is a climb. They had a map – of Scotland - and totally inadequate footwear. It was four hours to the bothy we had been in previously (with no escape route) and they had food but no cooking equipment. We persuaded them to return the way they had come and took a bag off each of the girls. There were some tears and five hours after they had commenced they were back at their starting point. Instead of staying in the same bunkhouse as us they were determined to get to the hostel they had booked. Guido got them a list of taxi phone numbers and left them to it. Guido said that he would take them (it was a 45 minute each way drive) if the taxi was too expensive. After we had got cleaned up and gone to get fed we saw the girls talking to some Germans on our way into the pub.. They had disappeared half an hour later. We were not convinced that they had believed anything that we had told them. We ran into them the following day when they managed a few smiles and finally remembered to say “Thanks”.

 We had, independently, arrived in Inverness in the late afternoon and headed straight for Applecross. This is our favourite place in the whole area – it has the best pub in Scotland. There were some entertaining people including a couple of blousy, drunken thirty-seven year old women who were very amusing. Net result – excess.  Back at the campsite I managed to put my tent up just about OK. Guido half erected his tent but it did not rain so that it did not matter too much.

We both woke up early and Guido drove off for a swim. I couldn’t get back to sleep so packed everything. Guido returned after two hours looking (and feeling) dreadful – having not swum. He  was no better after breakfast so I had to drive over the Pass of The Cattle – uninsured naturally. The Pass of the Cattle goes from Sea Level to Sea Level in about 15 kilometres and is over 600 metres high. I began to feel rough then and Guido, who was feeling better after yet more coffee, took over. We were on the way to Skye. We loaded up with food and liquids so our packs were about 18 or 20 kilos each. The walk to the bothy was only 5 or 6 kilometres with a small climb of about 250 metres but I was knackered and we only managed a 2 hour stroll after. This was the route that the young German couple took the following night after they left the bothy at 10.30 so we knew what they were in for.

The following day we had a walk planned. Due north for two hours, turn south west over a three hundred metre climb, circle a lake and walk back round the headland path to the bothy. Estimated time – 7 hours. The walk north was on schedule at two hours. The walk over the hill was wet and took over three hours, not two. Guido said I was alcohol-lagged – I had only been in the UK a week. I persuaded Guido to abandon the walk round the lake. We stopped for a bit to watch an outdoor wedding and Guido went off to do a bit of exploring whilst I had a rest. 

The Wedding - You can see it was not a hot day!

We had been told that there was a boat going across the bay to a place 7 kilometres from our bothy at 4.30. I was tired but perfectly capable of doing the five kilometre or so walk to the bothy. We set off and soon saw some seals – Guido counted at least thirteen.  The first kilometre was fairly easy and then came a bit (which I had only noticed on the map an hour before) called “The Bad Step”. Tricky. Guido tried to find a path going up the cliff whilst I tried to find a way round the rocks. The path was clearly marked on the map as right next to the sea. Nothing. Maybe you could walk round at a very low tide (we were an hour or so after low tide). Defeat. Back the way we had come. This was a daunting prospect. Another boat came in and left at 5.00. We tried to flag it down but weren’t seen or ignored if we were.  The seals enjoyed watching.

Before we started the main part of the slog back – which would probably have taken seven hours I was so tired, I sat down and Guido went off to investigate if there were any boats at the landing point or a method of contacting somebody (there was no phone signal – there never is in that neck of the woods). 40 minutes later I was cold but getting optimistic. We had arranged a signal if there was a boat but Guido reappeared with no signal so I started (as agreed). Guido, however, had two guys with him and they soon caught me up. Guido had managed to hail a yacht and these two had got dressed up, lowered a dinghy and come to talk to Guido. He told them what was happening. I was nearly seventy, we had been walking seven hours, I was on heart pills and was stumbling and falling over. The two others had come to see what state I was in. I didn’t know what exaggerated tale Guido had told but promptly slipped over. We headed back to their boat after they asked me if I could get there. Guido’s tale was given even better credibility by me falling over on some stepping stones and losing my compass.  The crew of the boat were all Swiss French teachers – mainly retired – none of whom spoke good English which is why Guido had had difficulty in getting them to call the coastguard to, in turn, call a water taxi.

A nice warm boat, a cup of tea, a biscuit and a beer perked me up. I explained the problem fully and they took us home! They were just going back round the headland when the first mad Germans arrived.

It is the first time I have had to be rescued.

Splendid people, the Swiss.

Guido has his uses.

Most of our rescuers

The last bit to the bothy - not as planned.

The last two photos are from Martine Meyer, the rest, with one obvious exception, are by Guido Lek.

Bill is a traitor.

I had just moved back to Guangzhou in September 2013 and my boozing partner (he has a Chinese name but even his wife calls him Bill) announced that he was moving to Toronto.

So he came to the UK. He only had eight days so, naturally, the majority of the time had to be spent in Northwest Scotland because it is the most beautiful part of the UK. Norman, who Bill didn’t know, came along and they got on very well – it would be difficult not to get on well with either of them.

The weather was shit - worse than it had been with Guido – and that had been pretty crap – it is the risk that you take when you go to an area that has 150 cms of rain a year.

After checking about 15 hotels and B&Bs in Ullapool we realised that we would have to camp.  Putting up the tents in the driving rain was not much fun. We went for dinner in a nice hotel and suddenly I was so ill that I couldn’t even drink my beer. You know how serious that is!

The illness passed quickly and we went for a walk the following day the main feature of which was having wet feet for hours on end. We also had some difficulty in route-finding. Some bastard had put up fences across the marked path. This can be, and often is, a difficulty in Scotland. Essentially there is a right to roam wherever you want. However, this also means that the “right of way” concept in England doesn’t really apply and marked paths are not to be relied on, as Guido and I already experienced a month previously (and on earlier trips). So who needs paths? Well it makes finding a route a bit easier for one.  At one point we were pushing through bracken that was more than head-height – a new experience for all three of us I believe.

The best walk I know in the area is only 900 metres high but has fabulous views at the top. I had done it twice before so knew what was required. We decided to give it a go despite the weather looking horrible. It was The Glorious Twelfth. For those of you not part of the slaughtering fraternity The Glorious Twelfth is August 12^th – the first day of the hunting season.

We got onto the ridge at 600 metres but we were in solid cloud – very windy cold cloud and I explained the difficulties of the route ahead and thought we should turn round.The other two agreed.  Fortunately the cloud cleared momentarily and there is an excellent view from the ridge,  So far, no story. But the only people we saw on the hill were hunters – six in total – all well equipped and obviously competent in the mountains complete with expensive equipment, lots of money (I heard one of them say that at some place it cost a thousand quid a day to slaughter harmless birds – oops no, he said to hunt) and the right accents. However the weather was so shit that not one of them had fired their gun all day. We felt so sorry for the poor lambs. They should have come out with us. On the way up Bill had spotted some birds that we got to less than ten metres from. About half a dozen ptarmigans. Hah!

Our last day turned out to have the best weather – just one shower and sunny most of the time. We were doing a walk from Applecross up on to the hills until the path ran out. Make our way across the top to a path down.  It was less than two kilometres from the end of one path to the start of the other and it was a nice day so no problem.

Well there was one. Norman is afraid of cows. These animals may be large but they are harmless (unless you take a dog) and you just push them out of the way. These particular beasties were highland cattle who have huge horns but are exceptionally docile. Bill is a Guangzhou city boy who has barely seen a cow so, when there were a few on the track in front of us, I was outvoted and we had to rake a diversion. An hour later with very wet feet, of course) we were back on the track and five hundred metres further forward.

Once we got up on top we saw a couple of deer early on but we gradually split up, I was heading for the ridge, Bill going in a straight line and Norman somewhere between, As I got on the ridge I counted at least sixteen deer. Unfortunately, the other two didn’t see them.

The idea of getting on the ridge was to have an easy direct walk off down the ridge. Ah! Stupid me had forgotten that flat ridges are not really ridges at all, They are called “areas of indeterminate  drainage” i.e. the water sits on the top, not knowing which way to go. In other words, a bog. The other two had to sit and wait for me for quarter of an hour whilst I found my way through this shit. It took us nearly two hours on a nice, clear, warm sunny day to do those less than two kilometres.

I felt sorry that Bill had not got high and seen the fabulous views but he is not a complainer and took quite a lot of photos of the mosses and lichens (unfortunately most with a proper camera; here are two he took with his phone) – it was a new experience for him. The highest we got was over the pass of the cattle in thick cloud!

Norman (who has also had two trips to the area with no luck with the weather with no big height gain but he is English) flew back to Bristol but Bill and I enjoyed the night train back to London – a civilized experience.  

The Eclaires

My sole experience of India was nearly twenty years ago in transit to and from the UK to Kathmandu. We had had one full day in Delhi. So naturally we spent four hours each way in a taxi to Agra to see the Taj Mahal. One day a week entrance is free and we had, by luck, hit that day. Bad luck – it was absolutely heaving.  We had also had just long enough to catch the shits.

Naturally to get from Guangzhou to Bangalore you have a night in Kuala Lumpur. This was distinctly unmemorable – beer cost 9 euros for a decent sized bottle in a shop – I am used to paying about 60 cents in Guangzhou.

Got to Bangalore OK and got 1,000 rupees at the airport. I wasn’t sure of the exchange rate but went to the pre-paid taxi place and got asked for 1,500 rupees. I realised that I had made a decimal point error and had changed 12 euros.  I went back to the ATM and got another 10,000 and then got the bus into town.  The bus dropped me off at the wrong place but I found the hotel after a bit of wandering. This was easy because, to my surprise, English is almost universal in the city.

Off for a bit of a wander and found the crowds, the cows in the streets and roads packed with tuc-tucs (they are called auto-rickshaws here but there are no manual rickshaws). Not really what I had expected in the IT hub of India – there are no skyscrapers. I am told that all the big companies have their own compounds out of town where people live and work in a western style with western facilities but I didn’t see any of that. I was ambling along when I heard this cry of “Ed” and saw Ed the Wiser waving from a tuc-tuc but they didn’t stop! Bastards.

The reason for choosing Bangalore as my destination was to spend a bit of time travelling with Ed the Wiser and Claire D – hence the title.   When I got back to the hotel I realised that the reason that they hadn’t stopped was that there were three of them and lots of luggage in the tuc-tuc. Since arriving in India, Ed and Claire have had a continuous stream of visitors and there was another one (Louise) leaving that night.

Worryingly, on my wanderings I hadn’t located a bar but E & C are old Bangalore hands and that was soon remedied. Ed is a real veggie so food-wise he is in the ideal country. Claire is a coeliac so places with lots of rice dishes suit her. Dinner for three (no booze) - 7 euros. I think that China is cheap but it ain’t that cheap. The next day E & C both had organizational things to do so I wondered off to the big botanical park (“The Kew Gardens of India”). Kew it isn’t but it is still worth a visit. There are lots of different types of trees with some good flower displays. It is well used too, lots of people (most of the women in traditional dress) picnicking on the grass, a few monkeys and black kites everywhere. Black kites are fairly common in the tropics but I have never seen anything like the numbers that there are in Bangalore.

Oh, I didn’t mention the traffic. The roads are narrow and full of potholes, there are approximately  equal numbers of motor bikes/scooters, autos (I still think of them as tuc-tucs) and small cars (fortunately there are few Range Rovers and other such revolting tanks that are so popular in Guangzhou) – there are virtually no push bikes. This makes for interesting driving as everyone jostles for position constantly – there are, naturally, no lanes - and all drivers must know the exact dimensions of their vehicles to the centimetre. I am used to similar jostling in Guangzhou – the main difference (apart from the aforementioned absence of revolting tanks in Bangalore and the absence of motor-bikes and tuc-tucs in Guangzhou – banned, of course) is the speed. The jostling in GZ can be at anywhere from zero to 100 kph, in Bangalore it is from zero to 15 kph.

Claire decided that she had things to do – that was her excuse anyway – so Ed and I were off on a night bus to Kerela. This is the most south-westerly state of India and has a good reputation as a nice place.

I haven’t done a night bus for a while and I know why. We had acquired a small quantity of rum and coke to encourage a bit of sleeping. There were two buses that left at 9.00 and we had deliberately chosen the slower one so that we didn’t arrive at our destination at 3.00 a.m. Instead we chose to arrive at 7.00 a.m.  The difference being largely accounted for by the bus pulling over and stopping for a couple of hours or so. An excellent chance to sleep! No. An excellent chance to listen to myriad different snoring tones.

When we arrive at our homestay our overly solicitous host gives us breakfast and a rest and says yes you can get an “auto”  to some caves and walk back – 15 kilometres.

Sounds OK. The caves are a bit of a disappointment – some rock carvings from 3,500 years ago but hardly caves, just small areas that might provide a bit of shelter from the rain and, because of their location, from some enemies.

There were some nice things about the walk back – did you know how lovely and sweet coffee flowers smell? – funnel web spiders are ridiculously common – convolvulus of many colours etc. Bit of a problem though - it was all roads of various grades. If they were fairly narrow you only had to leap out of the way when vehicles were going in both directions otherwise you can poodle along at a reasonable pace. On the bigger roads there is constant traffic in both directions so you just have to put up with walking in the gutter (there are no pavements worth the name, even in Bangalore) enjoying the sounds of constant horn-blowing. I should mention that rubbish bins are rarer than new ideas in India. In any Chinese city street they are every fifty metres but still the assholes throw their fag-packets on the ground so there is an army of street-sweepers. In India it is simpler – there are no bins and no street-sweepers so  everything lies comfortably on the ground – for years.

Ed is commonly known as Ed the Wiser because he is wiser than me. So this sage informs me that Kerela has ambitions to become a completely “dry” state – I have no idea why, there are a few Muslims but not a significant number. What this means is that you are constantly on the look-out for bars (even in January walking in Kerela is pretty hot) and you don’t find them. After 4 hours walking we were in this rather mundane town but it had a bar. This is a dark dinghy affair (typical I am told by the fount of all knowledge. I can understand where the term “dirty drinking hole” comes from now) so we down a couple of large Tuborgs and go looking for the local “wine shop.” You don’t go to such places to buy wine but to buy local rum, whiskey and the like.  These are cheap. I should explain – the Eclaires have been on the road for nearly six months travelling from London to India without flying – buses, trains, ships, hitch-hiking all the way – so, although India is cheap, money is not to be thrown around. I have no problem with concurring with that attitude. After a bit of effort we found the wine shop but, and it was a very big, but it had a massive male, of course, queue outside. This queue was not moving so we guessed that it hadn’t opened yet. We realised why the queue on the morrow.

If you want to understand one of the key differences between India and China walk around when schools are closing for the day. In China many kids are picked by their parents in cars or grandparents to take them to the bus or metro; you will see a few kids walking home in ones and twos with maybe a couple of different school uniforms to be seen – and that is in the cities. In India at 4 or 5 o’clock the vast majority of people on the streets are school kids. It clearly illustrates the success of China’s one child policy and the fact that it was persisted with for about ten years too long. It also illustrates that India has need for a couple of decades of such a policy.

After another hour or so we came across a “Toddy Shop.” These are excellent institutions that take the sap from coconut trees and let it ferment during the day and flog it the same day - you can see the stuff fermenting in your glass. Nearly forty years earlier I had tried something similar in Tanzania and that made us very cheerful, very quickly. The Indian version had the same effect. So, after consuming a litre and a half between us we bought another litre to take away but found no other wine shops.

Ed and I had had the impression earlier that white people walking down country roads is not common. Walking down them in the dark is certainly not common. We were late for dinner, so chickened out and got an auto.

The following day it was off for a mountain walk. I won’t dwell on the walk but there were several things about the day that were very educational. Public transport. Chinese cities have superb public transport in the cities but not in the countryside. In India you can get buses from anywhere to anywhere – you just have to change a lot and it takes a long time. Our homestay really is in the middle of nowhere and it is a good twenty minute walk to the local village. It was then three buses and one and a half hours to do the 30 km to where we want to go to get a tuc-tuc up the mountain to start our walk. After our walk, we could not get a tuc-tuc down the mountain because there was a road block. We did the seven km off the mountain in eighty minutes with no sign of a road block.

We were also back into the problem from yesterday – where to get some beer etc. On the walk to the village in the morning we had passed the local toddy shop and I had enquired on Ed’s behalf about closing time - 9.00 p.m,. so a backstop.  We enquired in the various towns where we had to change buses about wine shops and they were all closed for “the holiday” (We later discovered that  it was Mahatma Macoat Day and the old todger was famously abstemious from anything that sounds like fun).

So a dry day! Santosh to the rescue. We had begun to warm to our hoist quite a lot. Me - “Santosh, how do you stop the birds eating the rice?  Santosh - “How much can they eat?” Santosh is a non-boozer but he produced a quarter bottle of his father’s honeybee brandy which seemed to have the desired effect.

At 5.30 in the morning I set off with Stephen, another resident, for the wildlife sanctuary. Ed isn’t called The Wiser for nothing - he went back to Bangalore. The sanctuary was shit. I saw much more wildlife in Santosh’s father's farm later in the day. However, if you like to see a chained up elephant the “nature reserve” is the place for you. The vehicles took us out too late, they have rooves too low to look out of, the guides didn’t give a shit. We were back in one hour having seen a few buffalo. It was a disgrace.

However, it turned out to be a fun day. Back in the nearest town I was looking for a wine shop to replace the honey-bee brandy when I wandered into a local “Jain” place. Don’t ask me what “Jainism” is all about – it is some religious nonsense.  Anyway, in I went . There was not much too see but it emphasised the overwhelming nature of the demographic. I was seized by three 15-16 year old girls and quizzed about where I was from, where was my family etc. to the extent that they forgot to take their shoes off when we wandered near the inner sanctuary. The guy told them off (but not me, obviously, even I could draw the relevant conclusion) and opened the inner sanctum – not much to see. An easy morning - probably only twenty photos taken of me. Why am I not considered handsome in the West? (No answer required.)

Anyway, the wine shop must be found and, after a lot of farting about, asking directions, autos (yuk) etc. I got to the place in time for the midday sun.

Did I mention a queue a couple of days previously? Well that was nothing. I had to join to replace the stuff that we had drunk the night before. Initially the queue did not appear to move at all but after about twenty minutes there arose the idea that I should go to the front of the queue. Why? There were quite a lot of other old men as well as me (naturally, there were no women). So I stood in my place but they all pushed me forward. Inverted racism is an odd thing but I have seen quite a lot of it on my travels.

There is no honey-bee brandy but I get the next best (plus a spare – obviously). The oddity was that the guys who I had all delayed clapped, cheered, shook my hand and hugged me

 Question one for you. Is the fact that I was pushed to the front by the oppressed minority racist? Easy answer, I believe.

Question two? Was I right to accept? Trickier!

 

Back to the farm and what do I do?

Well, obviously, I visit the toddy shop on the way, refuse a lift from Snatosh’s neighbour and thoroughly enjoy looking at stuff. Stuff consists of birds that I don’t know, plants that I, mostly, don’t know and people doing things that I do not understand.  When I venture forth on the farm I am in a birders paradise. I guess that I saw thirty different species in half an hour – naturally I could identify none of them unless they have cole tits in India.

The brandy had proved a wise investment as when I got to the Toddy Shop the next day they had sold out by 3.30. I was in the company of a couple of Americans (technically he was Chinese). Jasmine had had an ambition to milk a cow for three years.  Today was her day.  She asked a local who took us off to an old lady’s farm where the deed was done. I have to say that Jasmine was pretty crap. When we got back to the farm Santosh, without hearing the full story, immediately set about arranging cow milking for the morrow. BTW he had already got in the man that morning to demonstrate tree climbing and coconut cutting. The coconut juice was especially welcome that evening for the brandy.

The Americans were a late booking so I was moved downstairs into the house proper so I could drink brandy and coconut juice with Santosh’s dad. Bed and board was down to five quid a night but this was mate’s rates – Santosh liked me and I like him. Will I be back?

The next stretch proved rather odd. Santosh had given me instructions about where to go next. He was a bit inaccurate but it didn’t matter. People just help and I got the next bus in the right general direction until I reached my goal and got a train. The oddity in the bus was that I was sat in a three people seat by the window. A young guy was sat on my left and, after the right hand seat was vacated, he seemed to think that it was OK to lean on my thigh with his right elbow. When his left hand also appeared on my thigh I made my feelings plain and he moved away.  Why should a young guy – no matter how perverse – be interested in a 63 year old man?

Well here I am sitting in an air-conditioned carriage on a train to Goa. There are sleeping places for six and, at least, room for twelve people to sit on the seats at normal level. This can’t be an Indian train. I have lashed out 8 euros on this 5 ½ hour trip. There is clearly something wrong.

I wrote that two days ago. The food in Goa was good and the streets quite clean but it is not India; it is the sanitized version like Hong Kong is the sanitized version of China. Maybe I should have ventured to the beaches where the westerners hang out to try a drug or few.

This train (with an upgrade) has cost me two euros for another five hours – I am sure that I will end up somewhere! There are loads of men wandering up and down the carriages selling shit. I am fairly sure that they are speaking some variety of English but I have no idea what they are selling.

The town I was heading for proved to be real wild west. There were loads of drinking holes.  The gin came with orange already in the individual sized bottle. You bought soda water (no tonic) separately. Naturally they cost pretty much nothing so I had a couple.

To Hampi. My hangover has gone and I am awaiting the Eclairs who are getting a night bus to arrive in the morning.  This is a real hippy tourist spot – with no booze! I don’t know how The Wiser will cope.

Well the Wiser coped very well. He bought a bottle of whisky and a bottle of rum which the three of us demolished in one night. We weren’t the brightest crowd today. Yesterday we cycled but were too rough to do so today so we hired little motor bikes and I used less than a litre of fuel and we probably did 35 kilometres.

Hampi is a lovely area. It is famous for temples but we spent more time looking at the rock formations and the incredibly green rice. There are lots of birds and Claire bought me the local bird book which was very useful.

 Obviously it was a washing day. The Eclairs had left and I wandered off to see a couple of temples but there was Lashme in the first temple. We had met her a couple of days earlier emerging from her bath. I stood and watched for a bit whilst she collected coins, ate the odd banana and tapped people on the head. She is 28 year old Indian Elephant. The tap on the head is thanks and the coins go into her trunk for here keepers to retrieve. The temple was mildly interesting but when Lashme was off for her bath I left. Indian Elephants are considerably smaller than African elephants – I doubt that she weighs three tonnes – and I have little experience of them. The oddity is that her back was humped whereas an African elephant sags in the middle of its back like most large quadrupeds. Still pretty tall though – 3 metres plus in the middle of her back but is she deformed?

Once down to the river the chief mahoot (elephant trainer) persuades her to lie down on her side and scrubbing commences. This isn’t a gentle tickle with a back brush but vigorous scrubbing with scrubbing brushes and rough rocks. Most of the time she is kept in the temple so tics are not so likely but the skin is very thick and peeling skin can be very itchy. Apparently, in the wild, Indian elephants spend three hours a day scratching against trees. 100 rupees (1 quid) to join in the process for the tourists and after 45 minutes it is time for her to turn over. This is a very slow process taking five minutes or so but even then when she finally dropped her head in the water there was a damn good splash. Her ears got particular attention and she certainly didn’t complain – an enquiring trunk was an obvious good sign. I didn’t join in the scrubbing but did rather regret not getting the offered ride back to the temple. (No photos, my phone had fried.)

This took an hour and a quarter. A bit of a wander round some obviously poor area plus a couple of temples and there was much more traditional washing with lots of beating against rocks by (mainly) women.

 A relief at lunch time when beer appeared but it was time to move to Hospet. This is close but not touristy – the hotel I am in is twice the price of Hampi but half the efficiency – and that is saying something. Yesterday in Hampi it had taken twenty minutes to produce an orange juice for Ed; two minutes to collect a beer for me today had turned out to be twenty and “half an hour” to prepare lunch had been over an hour.

I was wandering in to town when I came across a man waist deep in the river. He was washing his cow. And, judging by the fact that the other three cows were pushing close, it isn’t only elephants that enjoy a good, vigorous wash.

The last wash of the day was a man with his tuc-tuc (sorry auto) next to the river getting that good and clean.

OK I was the last wash of the day but that can hardly be classed as edifying.

Back to Bangalore. Travelling is a bit slow but the general principle is get on whatever bus or train is heading in the direction you want to go – don’t wait for a transportation device to your specific destination. This concept works quite well but I got caught out by not hurrying a bit. A night in Hospet, having arrived at 5 p.m. seemed like a good idea. It wasn’t. Hospet is a complete dump and if I had got the train to the next junction I could have got to Bangalore the following day in time for a good boozy night with the Wiser before I left.

In stead roll in near midnight and watch the Wiser working for much of the following day. Well actually that statement is not true. Brunch together for the three of us and then drag Claire off to the pub to talk about places to visit (on their way back to the UK) in Myanmar and China. I didn’t force her to watch cricket – honest – she was willing.