From traveller to tourist and back again.

I'm aware that I have been through an entire country since I last updated this, and whilst I want to write about Vietnam, I also want to share my experiences of Cambodia. I'm not sure I'll reach Cambodia in this post, but we'll see.

We arrived in Vietnam across a bridge, which seemed strangely fitting, as for me it sort of marked the end of the beginning of my trip. Originally I'd never intended to go to Russia, Mongolia and China, and had thought I'd start my trip in Vietnam. My first Vietnam visa had expired over a month before I'd arrived, having spent much more time than expected in China. But here a was finally - Southeast Asia.

The weather was terrible, but I was immediately enamored with the country. When had we barely stepped across the border, we found a little street cart selling sandwiches in freshly baked baguettes. There are many things you can say about the decades of French colonialism, but they certainly taught the Vietnamese to bake. In fact the French influence on Vietnamese culture is everywhere to be seen from cooking to architecture. It gives Vietnam a unique feel, and somehow mixes perfectly with more traditional Vietnamese culture.

Our first stop in Vietnam was the sleepy hill town of Sapa. This rather wonderful town has steadily gathered pace as a tourist centre, and now boasts a number of slick hotels alongside the usual backpacker haunts. We rented little 125 cc motos, and rode Easy Rider-like around the surrounding Cham minority villages, often wreathed in thick fog. We were welcomed into a local house by some women, who told us about their day to day lives. It was a fascinating insight that can't be gained just by doing the usual tourist things.

Hanoi has the most amazing traffic I have even seen. It's as if the entire population decided to ride a motorbike all at once. They take their motorbikes everywhere, and are astonished that foreigners might consider walking a few yards down the chaotic streets, as if we'd decided to cross a lake by swimming rather than boat. But again the French influence means that chic boutiques and cafes rub shoulders with noodle stalls and metal fabricators, and the whole city oozes charm.

Halong Bay provided a surreal break from our usual budget existence - we ended up on surprisingly luxurious boat trip with a number of honeymooning couples, and felt out of place surrounded by the more civilized tourist classes. The package tourist experience was a little claustrophobic - strange to be penned-in by structured itineraries and plodding behind the annoyingly effervescent guide. Nevertheless, the scenery was spectacular, and we met some great people, who were to become accidental traveling companions as we bumped into them again and again at various stops on the way south.

As we headed south, the weather deteriorated, such that many places we stopped were almost completely flooded - the locals paddling the streets in canoes - and we were left to wade knee-deep in the suspicious murky water. We had rather dapper suits made in Hoi An, by a particularly camp tailor and his equally fay and diminutive assistant. They turned out well, but very fitted, leaving little room for any additional traveling-chub. I shall have to go easy on the spring-rolls.

That's all for now, but some more soon.

XX

Ahhh, ok here goes.

Yes, so I've lost some momentum, at least as far as chronicling my adventures goes. A lot of the time the summarising of the things I've seen and done seems a little empty and trite. But I appreciate that at least someone might be interested. Nevertheless, from now on, I've decided as far as possible to treat this as my own personal travel journal - the public be damned.

I've been in Vietnam for over a week now - the experience is very different to China - much more oriented to western tourists. This is a mixed blessing. Everything is laid out for the traveler on a plate, tours are cheap and easy to organise, and people are relentlessly helpful and friendly. But you also tend to feel funnelled into a pre-defined tourist programme, meeting the same (albeit friendly) fellow backpackers at every stop, doing the same tours etc.

I suppose I should make some effort to sum up my experiences in China, or at least the highlights. But I'm afraid it's bullet points again.

Highlights:

The freedom of cycling round Beijing, blending in effortlessly with the locals.

The atmosphere of Shanghai side streets, so many peoples lives in such a small space.

"Meat on a stick" at midnight - diverse meats and other treats cooked on tiny street barbecues.

Waking up from hard-sleeper journeys at your next destination.

Jumping from Jade Dragon Bridge, swimming in the river, then taking a sleepy bamboo raft trip down the river, as the sun sets with spectacular karts mountains all around.

Leaving the crowds behind, and discovering some spectacular scenery.

Meeting mad locals in clubs who refuse to let you buy a single drink all night.

Renting electric scooters, and whizzing round the countryside.

Freshly steamed dumplings, for pennies.

Eating snake.

Lowlights:

Crowded, maddening railway stations, trying to find a seat, being made to feel very unwelcome.

Being ripped off in situations where you're trapped, eg bus journeys.

Trying to order in restaurants where all the food is clearly on display, but the cashier can't be bothered to look where you're pointing.

Pollution.

Traffic.

Noise. Oh the noise.

Eating snake.

That's all for now. I'll remember more soon. Our hostel has a pool, so I'm going swimming. I miss you all (all of you I know at least)

Mountain

Ok, so it's not exactly the biggest mountain in China, or even Yunan, but I climbed it.

A few days ago (don't ask me exactly how many - the boundaries blur), Ben and I took the overpriced (aren't all tourist attractions in China?) chairlift from Dali old town up to 2600m. We marched up the last 150 meters along a precarious footpath, following the signs to the Higherland [sic] Hostel, as recommended in the LP (of course). By the time we reached the hostel we were both aching and panting like octogenarians; I was secretly pleased that Ben appeared almost as tired as me, having 6 years extra slobbery under my belt.

The hostel was an eccentric collection of tumbledown wooden buildings with corrugated steel roofs, liberally painted in a mishmash of styles - the guests are encouraged to contribute their own artistic talents. We were shown to a cosy twin room, with amazing views through the pine trees, down to the town below.

We spent the afternoon tackling spectacular but un-challenging walks that traverse the mountains; cascading waterfalls crash down steep gullies, the path dropping off to sheer rock-face on either side. Every few minutes we would pass a group of Chinese walkers, always immaculately dressed, and would greet them with a cheery "Nee How", usually returned with a "Hallo".

In the evening we ate local food (fresh lotus buds, shredded beef, cabbage with chillies)at the communal round table, and shared stories with other travellers. The hostel had a calm and relaxed feeling that I think is often associated with places genuinely off the beaten track, that require some special effort or exertion to reach.

The next day we attempted the summit, and set off early, fully equiped with water and rations for a full days climbing. After about an hour we realised we were hopelessly lost; the hand drawn map from the hostel making up in character what it lacked in accuracy. We climbed up a virtually disused trail beside a waterfall, the path falling away on occasion, requiring us to cling insect-like to the sides to avoid sliding into the torrent below. Eventually we accepted that we could go no further, and examined blisters and other minor scrapes beside the glistening clear pools. Nevertheless, we returned to the hostel slightly dejected, to eat our packed lunch in the courtyard, and spent the afternoon reading in bed, somewhat sulking in our failure.

Determined to succeed, that evening we re checked the route with the hostel staff, and having discovered the cause of our error, re-calculated our route, and rose early the next day.

The start of the climb gave some forewarning of the challenge to come. Within minutes we were both struggling hard with the barely discernible trail, which struck upwards at such an oblique angle that we were reduced to scrambling on our hands and knees at almost every step. The going eased a little after an hour or so, giving us false hope as the path then sprang up even more steeply than before, emerging through dense bamboo scrub into bleak rock-face, traversing an escarpment, dropping hundreds of meters to either side. I could easily have imagined myself in the highlands of Scotland, were it not for every breath reminding me that we were at altitude far exceeding anything on the British isles.

The day had stared with wisps of cloud, but rather than abating as hoped, the mist drew in closer, until visibility had dropped to 50 meters at most. Nevertheless, the penultimate marker before the summit, we stopped to share a sandwich, and debated our course of action. Each of us held just too much pride to make the decision to return, although each of us would have quickly accepted the decision had the other taken it. Therefore we pressed on despite the inclement weather.

We were both almost certainly ready to call it a day when we reached the final marker indicating 40 minutes to the summit. At this point there could be no question of going back, and with renewed vigor (and other cliches), we pushed along the increasingly worn path. The temperature continued to drop below 8 degrees, and the visibility to a few meters. The wind whipped cloud up the mountainside, and for a moment I could imagine myself melodramatically on the North face of the Eiger. Finally we sighted some abandoned machinery, and soon afterwards the shape of the television transmission tower marking the summit loomed out of the mist. We were elated, at 4092 meters.

The summit held a small building, and peering inside we were greeted by a couple of somewhat perplexed engineers, apparently permanent residents on the desolate peak. After a hastily munched sandwich held in frozen hands (I had never imagined I would be so cold in China), and shivering posing for celebratory photos, we said goodbye to the engineers and began our decent. The decent seemed to last for ever, we soon began to slip and fall due to fatigue and the residual effects of altitude. The last 2 hours seemed to last for ever, particularly as light rain had turned the rocky path ice-slippery (both our walking boots had "Vibram" soles, which seem to have all the adhesion of polished teflon). Eight and a half hours after we had set off we reached the hostel again, just as the heavens opened, and we scurried to shelter.

That night we had the fortune to celebrate the moon festival with the hostel owner and her family, and were treated to one of the most sumptuous and extensive feasts I have had in my whole time in China. This was washed down with home made plumb wine, followed by traditional moon cakes. After eating I felt my eyelids gradually closing with contentment, and I made my excuses and collapsed into bed. I slept like I had never slept before.

Dali

Sorry that the last post was a bit rubbish - this one won't be much better.

We (Ben, my new travelling buddy, and I) arrived a couple of days ago in Dali. After a tedious train ride, only made bearable by sleeping on the luggage racks, and bus ride crammed with Tibetan-looking locals and their produce, we arrived at sunset. Dali has an almost Tibetan feel - this is definitely not the China I was used to - far too sleepy for one thing.

As we wandered the streets looking for the requisite LP recommended guest house, a local man run down the street with a chain of lit firecrackers, scaring the living daylights out of everyone (except us hardened travelers of course).

Yesterday we cycled through the local rice fields. Despite having spent some time now in fairly remote parts of the country, this was the first time that I really felt like I was seeing Chinese farming life for real, unchanged for hundreds if not thousands of years. These are the real poor, people left behind in the great push for modernisation. Most don't even own a motor vehicle for taking their rice back to the communal farming communes, instead pulling traditional carts by hand.

I felt pretty ill on the way back (a combination of altitude, sun, a greasy breakfast and cobbled streets conspiring against my constitution), and struggled the make the 18 km ride back. I lay in my bed with the room spinning around me, and for the first time missed not just my friends and family, but home itself. But this morning I feel fine, so we're setting off up the mountain to do some hiking in the clouds.

Hong Kong and Macau

Hi folks! Yup, I know, I know.

Again, I think this is going to be another bullet-point post, as I'm hungry, and I can smell something great cooking somewhere.

- Hong Kong has the best trams in the world - weird narrow double decker things that clatter along exactly as they have for at least a hundred years - oblivious to the metamorphosis of the city around them. There is nothing better then watching the city go above it's business from the top deck.

- Macau is actually a beautiful place, if you avoid the casino side of town. I ate wonderful Portuguese food, and wandering the colonial squares and alleys, I could almost imagine myself in Lisbon. They also make great pastries.

More soon..

Shanghai

Shanghai exhausted the last of my traveling energy, leaving me is something of a slump. Unlike its cultured and self-content brother Beijing, Shanghai is a grasping, aggressive city perfectly willing to sell any soul it had for the fastest buck. All the hyperbolic descriptions ring true; there is no doubt that Shanghai is transforming at a spectacular pace, and I'm sure that this will eventually bring trickle-down benefits for the multitudes, but it is still depressing to witness the wholesale erasure of whole swathes of historical buildings to be replaced with tasteless steel and glass monstrosities. I plodded through the usual tourist attractions, the sterile hotel-like aquarium with its unimaginative presentations and procession of inmates, including particularly forlorn penguins and seals. They were incarcerated in a grim arctic simulation, hidden deep in the bowels of the cavernous complex, bathed in cold, florescent light as if David Lynch had turned his hand to wildlife documentaries.

The city is an architectural crime scene, and whilst the views from each of the record breaking towers are initially breathtaking, each are the same - grey humanless sprawl to the horizon.

The older, less sanitized parts of the city hold a magnetic charm, similar to the hutongs of Beijing, but wilder and more boisterous; even here commerce is king. My best experience of Shanghai was wandering the old quarters, self consciously sneaking photographs, unwilling to make myself any more conspicuous than I already was.

Nevertheless, the city kept me trapped in it's clutches for too long, the pull of western indulgences (bars, nightclubs, fast food) and the calculated bureaucracy of arranging onward travel conspiring against me. I met Hugo, from Lisbon, who teaches English, and is a talented photographer, and together we planned our escape, heading south to Hong Kong to renew visas, then back into the South West to discover the real rural China...

Around Jinan

I left Beijing on an overnight "hard sleeper"; triple stacked open bunks in a dorm-like carriage, crammed with people and baggage. A woman on the bunk across from me inquired softly where I was from in perfect English - it transpired she taught English and business at a University in Beijing.

I arrived in Jinan in the pouring rain, and checked into a small hostel beside a pond, with delicate carved bridges over adjoining pools. The staff spoke no English (many hostels in China are primarily for Chinese people), and I was shown to a compact damp private room, smelling of mildew and with only a small fan to stave off the cloying heat.

Jinan was a depressing sodden sight, any character long ago obliterated by identikit corporate offices and municipal white-tile high-rise apartments. Down a side-street I found the crumbling remains of an old temple, roughly walled off to deter would be visitors. The fabled springs had been callously surrounded by overpriced touristy parks, with the exception of a a jewel-like temple, sat like an oasis in the centre of looming corporate offices. Inside through the incense smoke, a statue of the God of War guards menacingly over his domain.

The next day I woke early to find a hidden village 60 km outside Jinan, recommended in the LP. At the long distance bus station I bought a ticket from a brisk, glum-looking woman, and boarded a modern air conditioned bus which sped us along flooded dirt tracks, crashing and lurching through swollen brown puddles and growing streams, dodging through the thick traffic. The city disappeared behind, and the roadside turned to muddled checkerboard fields of corn and lilies, with steep sided mountains behind rising into grey-brown mist, and the occasional dark temple silhouetted on a peak.

I was dropped unceremoniously at a chaotic mid station, buzzing with criss-crossing buses taxis and tuk-tuks, and shouting traders and hawkers, huddled in shacks from the incessant thin drizzle. A group of gleeful taxis driver eagerly crowded round, offered to take me to the village for 10 times the bus fare. I waved them away, and eventually found my rickety onward bus. The local villagers in the bus eyed me warily.

Three hours after I set off, I was dropped in the outskirts of the sleepy village. The whole place seemed deserted, and I drifted along the path between dry-stone walled gardens, and solid stone and mud houses. The ramshackle village wound its way through a steep- sided valley. The occasional duck or goat wandered across the path, and middled aged women with lined faces, bent over carrying huge bundles of firewood passed with mildly suspicious grins. I had somehow traveled back in China's feudal past - the crashing modernism of the cities a distant dream. The calm was disconcerting. I climbed to the peak of a small hill overlooking the village, and surveyed the mist shrouded vista from the balcony of a narrow temple, as giant dragonflies drifted lazily around me.

China

I know, I know, I'm a bad blogger. It's so hard to consolidate your thoughts in a crazy place like this. So I'm afraid it's bullet points:

- Bikes. Millions of them. Half of them electric. Despite having huge pollution problems, Beijingers probably own more electric vehicles than the rest of the world put together. They zip silently along the cycle lanes, effortlessly, making you wonder why everyone in the world doesn't own an electric bike. This along with the electric trolley buses, and natural gas powered buses, should make this the most pollution free city in the world. It isn't. The other 10 million petrol cars might have something to do with it.

- Beijing is READY for the Olympic Games. No Question. The state TV station says so, so it must be true. They staged a televised debate between two experts (both from the Chinese Olympic committee), and they both agreed that everything is going according to plan. So there you have it. Ignore any complete chaos that suggests otherwise.

- Beards amuse the Chinese.

-Never judge a restaurant by it's cover. The more brightly lit, and the dirtier the floor, the better. Order half what you think you will need. And order quickly.

- I didn't think I was a fussy eater. I was deluding myself. It turns out I am extremely picky. I won't eat insects, bones, elbows or knees (of mammals and birds), dogs, cats, most amphibians and reptiles, most land-dwelling invertebrates, eyes (of any species) eggs (fertilised), spinal cords (or other major nerves, when served plain), feet or heads, or endangered species. This can be limiting.

Great Firewall of China

I will write a longer post on China soon, but in the meantime, I just wanted to note the difficulties that one encounters with internet access. I can access my Gmail email no problem, and the Guardian website is unrestricted. But access to BBC news is blocked, as is access to ALL blogs, including my own. I can, however, update my blog. Weird.

Swimming in Siberia and drowning in Mongolia

You'll have to excuse me if this post isn't up to my usual (poor) level of English. My brain is frazzled after a night sampling the Beijing clubbing scene (bizarre to say the least), and a day tramping around in the baking humidity and smog of China's capital.

So much traveling, so many experiences - there is a danger it will turn into a blur unless I write some of it down.

Irkutsk is a sleepy, messy, tumbledown city; a ragged collection of soviet blocks, and charming whimsical old wooden houses, with an almost continental feel. The buildings appear to be slowly sinking into the ground, as if the whole city is too exhausted to protest. Walking the tree-lined avenues, it's sad to see a number of houses recently burned to the ground (apparently under sinister, government related circumstances), and indeed a further historic house mysteriously caught fire during my short stay. The river through the city, which widens to enter lake Baikal, has a charming little island, with an abandoned open-air concert venue, reminiscent of a miniature Sydney Opera house.

I took a bus to the lake, and staying in a charming Dasha, run by a sweet middle aged woman. My room was adorned with old soviet posters, a giant sized painting of Lenin, and an old record player, complete with 1960's 7 inches of patriotic Russian marching songs.

The next day I walked into a small village on the side of the lake, and took a short boat tour from an old man with and aging but capable skiff. Later I ate smoked Omul (which only lives in lake Baikal), and swam in the freezing but crystal clear water. I semi-deliberately missed my bus back to town, and stayed the night in an actually rather fancy hostel (my first indulgence of the trip). In the morning I took a fantastic old Hydrofoil back into the city.

The train from Irkutsk to Mongolia was crowded entirely with Mongolians, with the exception of my couchette, which contained a wonderful Spanish couple, Pedro and Eva. They were traveling non-stop from Moscow to Ulan-Bator, and were looking forward to a shower after 5 days in the train.

The Russian border crossing took 8 hours, the only relief being an impromptu shower from a man washing his car beside the station. Afterwards the landscape through the train window gradually changed, with birch trees giving way to barren plains, dotted with Yurts.

Ulan-Bator is a strange city - part Metropolis, part slum, part campsite. The people are well dressed, but it is immediately clear that you are in the 3rd world. Almost immediately after arriving, I set off with my new Spanish friends on a two day excursion to a traditional Yurt camp in the nearby national park (eg a simulacrum of traditional Mongolian life - ecotourism if you will).

We trekked and rode tiny protesting Mongolian horses across the plains, and on the second day rode for 4 hours through the most incredible freak rain storm. The rain continued through the night, turning our cozy Yurt into a sauna, as the cental wooded stove heated the tent to boiling temperature, and dried our sodden clothes strung from the decorated roof supports.

We spent a last day visiting ornate but somewhat shabby Buddhist temples in Ulan Bator, and walking through the ramshackle slums, filled with children playing improvised games in the caked mud paths, and older men playing pool on outdoor tables. The next day I left my hostel early and boarded the contrastingly smart and efficient train to China...

Strange train situations.

Hi people.

No time right now to write a long post, but just a few observations about Russian trains.

Motherly Babushkas, offering to make you tea, but tutting loudly and wagging fingers when you make noise or are awake after 10 pm.

Thickly smoke filled smoking sections at the end of each carriage, with no ventilation, crammed full of sweaty topless Russian men.

Plump flirtatious train cleaning-girls, speaking no English, who pinch your arm, and drag you protesting to their booth, where they simperingly try to sell you a dubious looking DVD about the trans-Siberian, unrelentingly for 1 hour.

At every station stop, various hawkers and traders, selling ice cold beer, and delicious pastries and freshly picked fruit.

Quiet,childishly young-looking russian soldiers, and their hot-panted girlfriends, who point-blank refuse to share your vodka, despitite all your cajoling. Vodka is not the drik of choice on the trans-Siberian.

All for now. More soon

Yekaterinburg

I wasn't quite sure what to expect of this city. I've just finished reading the unrelentingly bleak "In Siberia" by Colin Thubron, which I highly recommend, but I'm finding my trip so far to be almost the mirror image of his experience. He travelled here about 10 years ago, when the Soviet Union was still the overreaching feature of most peoples lives for as long as they'd known, and dramatic changes at the collapse of Russian communism were freshly experienced, and acutely felt. Thubron sees a country in decline, on the verge of collapse even, and a people who have lost their identity.

This is not the feeling I get as I walk the streets of Yekaterinburg a decade on. Of course, it is easy to be tricked by the basic material changes; the Ladas replaced by Hondas, the packed coffee shops (not to mention MacDonalds) on every street. But when talking to Russians, they seem to have put their demons to rest. "That is our history" they say. "It is important, but it is history".

On arriving in the city, my first reaction was to agree with Thubron that this is a fairly bleak-looking place. The detritus of Soviet collectivist architecture litter the skyline like some apocalyptic science fiction film. The first night in my hotel did little to detract from the notion that I has somehow been transported back to the 1970's. I spent yesterday wandering the town, and with the exception of a few grim but interesting examples of Soviet municipal architecture, or humourless monuments, I remained fairly unimpressed. "But this is Russia!", I kept reminding myself.

That eveing I was determined to salvage some sense of fun, and boldly strode from the hotel determined to sample the Yekaterinburg nightlife. Like all tourists, I fought the pull of the Irish theme pub, and lost, finding myself in an anonymous Dublin-esque boozer, surrounded by Guinness posters and photos of Temple Bar. I ordered a pint of Harp, and tried to make faltering conversation in Russian with the unimpressed barman. I looked hopefully over at a lively group of 20-somethings at the other end of the bar, immersed in their own quick Russian conversations. I was about the leave, and was asking the barman to point out tourist sights on my map, when one of the group overheard our conversation, and came over to help translate. She spoke excellent English, and was soon joined by her equally eloquent friend. Almost before I knew it I was welcomed into their group, introductions made, the two English speakers translating my answers to their multitudinous questions for their less English speaking friends.

After a quick introduction to Russian hitchhiking, I was taken to one of their friend's small neat flat, some way from the town centre, where they prepared a midnight feast of fresh sushi, and was introduced to Ukrainian chili vodka. All of them were incredibly friendly, with even the least able at English commanding that their friends translate their questions, and waiting patiently for the translation of my no-doubt tedious answers. We made toasts in the traditional Russian way, laughed, ate, and drank copiously. The night spun into a blur, but at some point my phone number was given out, with a dedicated drunken invitation to take me to visit important sights in the morning. I humbly accepted, whilst insisting that I not take up any more of their kindly given hospitality, and fully expecting that the offer be tactfully forgotten in the harsh glare of morning.

At midday today I was roused from my drink-eased (fully clothed and booted) slumber by a phone call from my new friends. They insisted on meeting me later to drive me to a Monastery in the countryside. Sure enough, at 3pm, a gaggle of them arrived in a smart new Astra, and greeted me like an old acquaintance, polite enough not to mention my clearly hung-over state or my likely cultural transgressions the night before. With Russian rap music blaring from the stereo, we sped out of the town on the potholed Russian roads into the Siberian forest. After winding lanes we arrived at the wood built Monastery, completely hidden from civilisation in a clearing in the woods. My companions explained that they were all dedicated Orthodox believers, and enquired as to my religious status, to which I mumbled something about Anglicanism. I was quite surprised to see the reverence of these young people, who the night before has been so drunken and lively, if not exactly debauched. The girls donned headscarves and wrap around skirts lent at the entrance for the purpose of concealing shorts and jeans.

As we entered the compound, I realised that I had read about the place in Thubrons book. It is a newly built Monastery, on the site where the Czar and his family were dragged by the Bolsheviks, still alive, after their brutal butchery in Yekaterinburg itself (that site now marked by a grand but gaudy new cathedral). The bodies were burn with petrol and sulphuric acid, and the remains buried unmarked.

The site of this horrific event is a slight depression in the ground, now covered by wild flowers and (I suspect deliberately planted) lilies, and ringed by a covered wooden walkway. The area is dotted with traditional Orthodox wooden churches, some still under construction, built by hand. Despite feeling strongly reminded of my own lack of faith, there was something ethereally peacefully about the place.

Afterwards I sampled some tasty monastic food (mushrooms in pastry) and was made the gift of a bizarre-looking monk-made brew (from raisins, bread and honey), which apparently has healing properties. My new friends drove me back to the town, and we said teary goodbyes and made promises of meeting again. I truly hope I can keep mine.

In Siberia

Ok again I've been a little slack in updating this. This is just going to be a quick one, rather than my usual verbose ramblings, due to time constraints.

Moscow is a great city (well obviously, in the sense that it's one of the great cities), but actually the first word that comes to mind is fun. It's also surprisingly easy going, on balance less stressful than Paris or London. And a lot of places are open 24 hours, which is a mixed blessing. I will return in the winter some time, which I think is really the best time to see Russia.

I've just arrived in this sprawling hotel in Yekaterinburg, and it feels like I'm right back in the Cold War. The staff are hilariously rude in a way that only Russians can be (but paradoxically incredibly helpful and friendly), and I had to go through a 4 stage check-in/security process before I even got to my room. Why have one person doing a simple job, when you can spin it out into bureaucratic employment for 6!

Any how, I'd better go and look at the city.

Brief update

I'm sorry to have neglected this blog lately - unfortunately my actual traveling has taken precedent over writing about it. I am now in Moscow, having been to Bulgaria and the Ukraine previously. Bulgaria was warm both literally and emotionally, and it was interesting to see how the country had developed since my last visit 5 years ago, but unfortunately that process has inevitably taken some of the charm out of the country. The streets overflow with expensive cars, and in the centre of Sofia posh European and American brands have replaced local shops.

I will write more about Kiev soon, as I think it warrants it's own separate post. For the moment I will just say that Kiev is a confusing and contradictory city, with much to recommend it.

Yesterday I arrived mid-morning in Moscow, and after getting a little lost in this most sprawling of cities, arrived tired and hot at my hostel mid afternoon. After a brief power-nap, I ventured out to explore the nearby sights, and walked through Red Square and the circumference of the Kremlin wall. As I strolled through the gardens, the heavens opened, and I retreated the the shelter of an archway, which I soon shared with a growing group of drenched tourists, and bizarrely two mounted policemen and their nervous grey horses. As the storm grew ever more fierce, we we treated to a spectacular lightning storm, and watched as the small babushka at the nearby ice-cream kiosk fought to keep herself and her parasols and tables from being swept away. The rain become a torrent, and fierce gusts of wind blew the downpour into our shelter, prompting shrieks from the huddled group. As the visibility reduced to feet, I was amazed to see the rain turn to hail, and then quite suddenly the storm broke, and one by one we emerged into the light.

A few minutes later as I crossed Red Square towards St Basils Cathedral, the rain briefly returned, and I sheltered in a Russian Orthodox church (no doubt famous) by the side of the square. Inside I stepped dripping into a scene that could have been 500 years old - a mass with the most haunting singing I have ever heard. As the rain recommencing its drumming rhythm outside, the alternating voices of the priest and congregation almost seems to be directed at the weather, and indeed as the mass reached a crescendo of singing and chanting, the bells of the church rang, and again the rain stopped. I returned to my hostel with a light step, looking forward to what else this overwhelming place might throw at me.

Cycling round Vienna

I fell completely in love with Vienna, with it's beauitiful architecture, and stylish attention to detail. It has a sense of purposeful contentment - it feels a bit like a more civilised and less pretentious Paris, with an overall feeling of calm self-acceptance. Vienna must offer more public transport options than any other city in Europe, with Metro, trams, buses, horses and carts, Segways, and bikes all weaving in and out of each other with a measured and delicate precision, less like the chaos of Cairo or London, than a carefully choreographed waltz. On my second day in the city I made a delightful discovery that in a way quite literally changed how I saw the city for the next few days. Vienna has free bikes. Yup, free as in free beer. Actually, that's not entirely true, - you do have to pay an initial Euro registration fee, and the time consuming registration process is taxing enough to deter all my the most determined cyclists. However, once the process is complete, with a quick swipe of a credit card and the entry of your password onto the touchscreen terminal, you are able to select the ride of your choice from the electronically secured rack, and ride it gratuit for 1 hour, before returning it the another "City Bike" station, where, after a 15 minute rest, you can pick up another brightly coloured bike to continue your tour of the city. Longer sojourns are charged from a very reasonable one Euro, but as long as you watch the time and insure the bike is returned before the free period expires, you can happy explore the entire city for free over as long as you like.

Having logged on, I selected my new steed with some trepidation, no doubt compounded by a slightly foggy head from the night before. Not being a regular cyclist, at first I lurched alarmingly from side so side, as I hesitantly joined the fast moving stream of cyclists on Vienna's extensive but confusing cycle-routes. My lack of control was compounded by the puzzling breaking system, by which the bike could be slowed by pedaling backwards. I found that I had to fight from allowing myself to hang back on the pedals, inadvertently lurching the contraption to a stop at inconvenient moments such as mid junction. However, as I learned the machines idiosyncrasies I gained confidence, and was soon speeding down the leafy boulevards with a wide boyish grin on my face, or panting up narrow side streets, only to freewheel carelessly down the other side, the sights of Vienna whistling past me. In two days I'm confident that I saw more of the city than I would have by any other means, certainly more cheaply, but also felt more engaged with the ebb and flow of city life. I felt a genuine sense of sadness when eventually I left my final bike in the rack, and returned to my hostel to pack for my next adventure.

The weird world of sleeper trains.

I've just arrived in Vienna, and of course I'm hopelessly lost. Last night's train journey was charming and bizarre in equal measure. After spending what seemed like a lifetime hanging around in Strasbourg station until late in the evening, I made my way to the indicated platform, only to find there was some confusion as to the correct carriage, the air conditioning having "gone crazy" in my originally allocated compartment. Re-installed after some debate over the validity of my reservation, I was ushered into a ship-like cabin, with numerous folding devices and contraptions. My co-traveler was a middle-aged gentleman, of hard to determine extraction and limited French, who's primary distinction was his smell. Nevertheless, I presumed that my nostrils would acclimatise, as indeed they did, and he seemed amiable if somewhat quiet.

The train manager brought blankets, pillows and a sort of train-optimised sheet sleeping bag, and with little else to do, I climbed onto my bunk and made preparations to go to sleep. It was here that I learned my first lesson in "couchette etiquette" - don't dangle heavy-booted feet over the edge of bunks, as my traveling companion knocked his head painfully-sounding against them. After profuse embarrassed apologies from me, I carefully removed my footwear, and settled in with my book, read by a small reading light above my head, as the train rumbled into the blackness.

The calm was regularly broken by additions and subtractions to our carriage at various stops, so my sleep was fitful at best, no doubt exacerbated by my sense of excitement at what seemed like the first proper journey of my trip. I eventually woke early as my last remaining companion - the same strong smelling gentleman from the night before, put away his things anticipating our arrival.

The train was running late, so after tidying my own things and installing myself on the bottom bunk/seat, I went back to my novel. After an hour or so, a bearded man in jeans and casual denim jacket came to the door of our compartment. I took him to be the friend of my co-traveler, until he produced a crested badge from a leather holder, and I realised he was an immigration policeman. He was accompanied by a further male and female colleague, also in plain clothes, and asked to see our passports. He briefly quizzed me in perfect English as to the purpose of my visit, but it was clear that his focus was on the other gentleman, who it transpired (from what little I grasped of the German conversation) was Albanian. The policeman somewhat forcefully began to rifle through the gentleman's bag, whilst his colleagues barked questions and noted details on a laptop. The Albanian looked rather frightened, and nervously emptied the contents of his suitcase, whilst I pretended to read my novel nonchalantly. As the first policeman bent over to examine the case more closely, I noticed the barrel of a handgun poking out from underneath his jacket, the sight of which sent an irrational shiver down me, so utterly foreign are such things to us cosseted British. I felt that the police were being a little pedantic, and was waiting for them to move on to the next carriage, when the policeman produced from the Albanian´s bag a two large metallic slabs, one the size of a paperback book, the other smaller and squarer, wrapped in some sort of tightly fitting fabric. The policeman barked something like "Magnetten?", and the Albanian, angrily grabbed for them, clearly keen that the two pieces be kept apart. The my imagination quickly darted to the cold-war thriller scenario of smuggled plutonium, kept in pieces that must be kept apart to avoid a critical reaction. However, the policemen seemed unconcerned, and it became clear that the pieces were simply very powerful magnets. At this point the Albanian produced a plastic shopping bag which he emptied onto the bench, out of which spilled hundreds of gaming dice, of all shapes sizes and colours. The purpose of the magnets seemed to be to test the magnetism of the dice - presumably to avoid cheating. The police spent some time examining the dice, and placing a number against one or other of the magnets. The first policeman then produced a camera-phone, and after taking a number of pictures of the bounty spread over the compartment, he nodded to his colleagues and they left as suddenly as they had arrived. The Albanian looked across at me and gave me a sheepish grin, which I returned, with a sense that I had witnessed something bizarre slightly beyond my comprehension, but that in such circumstances it is best not to pry too deeply. The Albanian packed up his things, and we arrived in Vienna shortly afterwards to a grey and drizzly day.

Onward

Train number 3, new TGV from Paris to Strasbourg, was probably the poshest I'll see the whole trip. Fastest train in Europe, blah blah blah blah, but I'm sure you don't want to hear about trains. Loos were nice though. And Paris to nearly-Germany in 2.5 hours. Can't be bad.

I've seen the future!

Those weren't actually the photos I wanted to upload at all, but it turns out that blogging from a phone is harder than expected.

Euro Star?

Train number 2

Well, here I am on train number 2 - from London to Paris. This journey is completely familiar to me, and yet today there is an unmistakable sense of the unknown on top of my usual warm feelings about arriving in my favorite city. I have a little Eurostar tradition of buying one of their horesdously overpriced and yet strangely satisfying sandwiches,along with a bottle of extremely strong Duvel beer, which is almost impossible to find in the UK, but relatively common on the continent. However, today, in a bold mood, I varied my habit, and went for a little bottle of Bordaux, and some sort of "thai chicken" concoction, ordered in my best French, of course. I like speaking French on the Eurostar - for some reason all the staff are French, and it makes me feel like I've already arrived a little bit. Any how, the meal was, of course, revolting, and yet I still enjoyed every mouthful. I will no doubt also eat another 3 courses at the Zebra de Montmatre when I arrive. Vive la France!

first train

my first train. Brighton to london. :)

I'm off!

Well this is it - all packed and ready to go. Feeling pretty nervous now, even though the first bit of this trip is something I've done a hundred times before. I think I've got everything - my rucksack weighs a ton, although I've tried to remove as much as I can - and I've shaved off all my hair (well not all)so now I'd better be going. I'll try to update this a little more frequently as I go along.

See you all soon

Laura

Here is Laura, at the end of her 20's, and the begining of her next adventure.

i'm a bit drunk.

I'm a bit drunk. :-)

mobile phone test

Hey people. I'm just testing to see if this works from my new phone! And it does! :-)

Preparations

Ok, I think it's fair to say that there may be some little gaps between posts on this blog, say on average one month. But It quality not quantity, right? In which case... :-/

Anyway, having now managed to secure finances for my trip, all I have to decide is actually where to go. This is proving a little more difficult than anticipated, as it turns out that the world is much bigger than one might expect, and there is actually an almost limitless number of different places to go. Therefore I am planning my trip by process of elimination. I have so far successfully identified two whole continents that I almost certainly don't want to visit on this particular trip (apologies to residents of the Americas and Australia, it's nothing personal, it just that you know, you can't go everywhere, and erm, my Spanish isn't very good, and look, it really is about me not you, please don't...), which already cuts down on the decisions hugely, and leaves only a few continents left.

For the majority of my journey, I plan to travel overland, and wherever possible, by train. As I want to spend as much time as possible in Southeast Asia, the first part of my trip will be through Europe (via Bulgaria; more on that later), to Moscow, and there to join the trans-Siberian express. This will take me across Russia and Mongolia into China, from where I can journey onward into Vietnam and the rest of Southeast Asia. However, it turns out that the trans-Siberian Express doesn't actually exist, and is actually a catch-all term for a multitude of different long-distance and local services, any combination of which can be used to complete the journey. Although it is possible to take one direct train from Moscow through to Beijing, it seems a pity to cross such a huge distance without stopping along the way, not to mention the discomfort of such a long (7 days) uninterrupted train journey. So I have to choose from about a thousand potential stopping off points, each one no doubt with their own merits and insights. I am tempted just to ask my friendly Russian travel agent to recommend their top 3, but that seems a bit of a cop out.

My intention is to book my tickets next week (this week??!!), and begin the long, and certainly unnecessarily complex visa application procedure, but already the the trip seems tantalisingly close (despite not having actually set a departure date) and frighteningly real. My daydreams are filled with the rumble ancient rail carriages and imagined exotic vistas from the windows of my compartment.

Eventually...

Well, I eventually did it. Those who know me may well be amazed. I have overcome my own brain (good title, yeah, getit?), my lack of free will and general apathy/confusion etc, and started a Blog. Not that that is necessarily something to celebrate; as if there were not already enough monkeys typing away into the cyber-net-space, without me adding my own little squirt of warm gas to the cacophony. Furthermore, I doubt the content itself will provide any unique discoveries, illuminations or perspectives, based as it is on my going on quite a long holiday.

Ok, 'holiday' might not be quite the right word to describe a 7 month (why 7?) trip halfway across the world on a fairly meager budget. Many would describe such a journey in terms of 'voyages of discovery', or a 'search for enlightenment'. Ok, fine. But, ultimately the main difference is the duration. The idea that backpacking round the world (by train, I might add!) is necessarily a more noble or meaningful pursuit than a week in Pathos is simply a kind of travel-snobbery. Both are equally self indulgent. Nevertheless, I do hope that my mind is a least a little broadened (heaven knows it could use some exercise), and as a form atonement I intend to keep at least a some sort of threadbare record of my travels in the form of this web-log (or "Blog").

Seeing as I won't actually be leaving for another 6 weeks, for the time being, these memoirs will consist mainly of a record of my preparations, in exquisite detail. For example, today I bought a new rucksack. It is green with back straps and fetching grey piping, and is made by a manufacturer called 'Lowe-Alpine'. It was reduced by £15. See, fascinating isn't it? I bet you can't wait until tomorrow, when I might buy a mosquito net, or one of those torches you strap to your head.

But you'll have to wait...

P.S did anyone see "Hair Wars" last night on BBC 2? Brilliant!