Boy, are my legs tired

As in, this morning, when i woke up and rolled out of bed? I tried to stand up, and ended up falling on the floor. Now, granted, I'd been out to a trivia night at the local pub the night previous (amazingly fun - but more on that later), but that really wasn't the issue. My legs (quads specifically) were out of it. Very muchly.

2 things before I wax lyrical about the mountain climb:
1 - why do mosquitos make that annoying buzzing sound? If you are going to bite me, fine. But why do they need to wake you up to do it? Surely buzzing isn't a super useful skill to have from an evolutionary perspective, right?
2 - this blog is really good.
3 - I can't count.
4 - the big question time. Gentlemen, look at your hands. That's right, your hands. Girly style, like you are checking out your nails. Yeah, you like that, don't you?
Anyway, your fingers can be viewed in three segments (which I will call "bits"), the nail bit, and middle bit, and the bit that connects to your hand, and that rings generally... ring. Around. The posie.
the nail bits don't have any hair on them - but all the other bits do. EXCEPT that on my (more hirstute than average) bits, the right index finger middle bit? One hair. On the left hand - nada. And I've never met a guy who has hair there.
I'm seriously asking guys about their bits... I'm about to go to the local gay club (well, not here in SL, they don't have them) and start asking guys about their bits. I already freaked out one super-hairy dude I met by asking him. If anyone can find a study that explains why the bits all have hair except the middle index bit? I'd love to know!

Ok! Onto more travel stuff...

There's a nice photo of the mountiain on this page which is, really and truly, what I climbed. Hectic, much! Ok, so let me describe the climb.
Awoke at 2:30 am (or, I rolled out of bed at 2:30am, because I'd had no real sleep - the place we were at DID have a mosquito net, but it was more based on the "lobster pot" concept - they got in, and couldn't get out) - and left the guesthouse at about 2:50 in the morning.
Wandered up with Steve, past the sellers of a-grade rubbish, and onto the steps! They start out like a, uh, set of easy steps, that lull you into false security by getting VERY steep a good 30 mins into it. 5000 steps? That's alot gang, and the dude who cut them decided that:
a) quantity is better than quality
b) size doesn't really matter
c) nor does width

Steve is alot fitter than me, so as we are going up I get the distinct feeling that I am going to die. We stop intermittently - say, everytime I run out of breath - say every 4 mins - and then, to inspire me, Steve decides we RUN up one section, and then have a 10 min break.
Ok, now all this time, I've been keeping up with Steve's pace as best I can. Even as we run up 100m or pure step, I'm right behind him. ....and then my quads decide to take a vacation.
After nearly falling all the bloody way back down, and with Steve (aka Rocky) throwing his hands in the air at the top of the little section, we part ways for the time being. He heads on up, and I do it... at a more Andrew pace. I'm counting from 10 as I go up, ANYTHING to keep on going.
But I get to the top. View is nice - I have some photos, and I prayed at a buddhist thingy at the top. The top is kind of disappointing - in the West, we'd have, say, a revolving restaurant, a maccas, a view deck, and whatnot. Here, we have about 100 pilgrims, a loudspeaker that blares our religious mantras, and a wall that tries to block the view.
Oh, but I totally climbed it in approx 2-2.5 hours. From 3am until 5am (roughly).

Ok, get some photos, head back down, and head on - to Colombo! And back to a trivia night that I was at a week back. Good night - out team, the "Vestigial Women" (don't ask. Just don't) was Steve (ever ready), Paul (a britisher who buys and sells companies), Navim (a sri-lankan who owns a company that paints warhammer models for rich americans), Fiona (a sydney-sider [hooray!] poet-cum journalist), and me (the Greatest Man Alive). We're obviously the pick for the competition, but somehow we totally blow out chances by, well, not knowing a damn thing. Except I totally knew that a photo of Pol-Pot was, um, Pol Pot. Only we put down chairman mao because I was at the toilets at the time, and didn't see the photo until later.

Today I am either - going to a beach, or going to India, or not doing anything. It's a tough life here, but someone has to do it.

And that someone is me.

Have I mentioned how wonderful sri-lanka, and sri-lankans generally are yet? Well, let me mention that now - sri-lanka, and sri-lankans generally, are super wonderful. It's a great place to visit!

Ok, slow computer

That is also expensive. 4 rupees an hour! Sri lankan, but anyway.

So this will be a quick post. I've checked out an elephant orphanage, seene elepahnts bathe, swim, and charge the concrete barrier behind which all the tourists were at. The damn barrier buckled too...

In 3 or so hours, I begin the climb to Adam's Peak, which is where either:
Adam first stood after being booted from the garden of eden
OR
Vishnu hung out for reasons unknown
OR
Buddha stood for the sunrise. Maybe.

Ib any event, it's meant to be quite spectacular at dawn, so I head up there at 2:30am. 5000 steps? Easy... and my travel companion (the ever-present Steve) has a camera! And I have a camera-memory card! It's like, photos a gogo. We checked out the path up earlier tonight, and found it to be surrounded by the most incredible amount of crap in the world. I'm talking fair-ground crap here... dolls, hats, glass things, I don't know, they make it, so we can throw it away?
It also has alot of Sri Lankan "toughs" - the young kids wandering around looking, well, tough. I don't know, kids these days. They warm up to you with a friendly "ayobovan" (hello in singalese) though.

And now, something for the Women of the World.

Women of the World! I've been watching tv, and have seen the power of the things you call "pads". Please, for the sake of the world, DO NOT LET THESE THINGS DROP INTO THE OCEAN! We need that water, ladies, and according to my research, your "pads" can soak up gallons at a time. It's crazy...
On a more serious not, I don't normally let people into my "billionaire in an arvo" ideas, but here it is: I'm going to make ships with an inside lining that is pure "pads". These puppies will be unsinkable! I know, the lives that could have been saved on the titanic if someone had had one back then.
Also, as a quick question to the Women of the World: when you and your girl friends gather round to discuss "pads" (I'm not going to ask WHY you do that, it sounds boring, but here I am writing about it, so there you go), why is one of you (the clumsy, stupid one) ALWAYS drinking a weird blue drink? Don't give her that blue drink, she just throws it all over the pad. And what is the blue drink anyway?

Surely a cranberry juice would be more appropriate?

Ok! Onwards to the top!

Piranhas

Aok the spacebar hereisboroke.Soi s the keyboard. I hate this cafr.

I saw piranhs today,they werereallycool. But i can't write any more as it is badbad internetonnection.

blahj!

Alive and well in Colombo.

Although, between just the two of us, there's not a great deal to do here. I met an aussie at the airport, and so he and i went down to the city, and later on went out at night. The reason I am here is to get a tourist visa for india, which is all well and good, but takes a long time.
Not just the week of waiting, mind. I'm talking the time just SITTING in the embassy - a solid 4 hours of fun. Meditation? For 10 days? Easy after this!

So, last night I go out with Steve (that's his name - the aussie). We first get some beers at a local, and meet up with some journalists. The are telling us that Jafna is "safe", but that some other place on the east isn't. This really isn't very interesting to me (and probably to you too) because I'm not heading anywhere like that. Just down south to the beaches. The weird thing was when they heard my full name - the Ganapathy totally blew their minds.
And when I told them about the tusk that wrote the mahabarata? Whoa. They stopped calling Steve "Steve" and referred to him as "your friend", and offered to buy ALL our drinks. Which Steve didn't take them on... I don't know, but when people just HEAR my name and offer to buy drinks, I like to accept!
After that we:
* went to a casino where I was sized up like a piece of meat by ageing, ugly asian pros.
* left that Casino after being directed to the "special bar", which I really didn't like.
* pretended to be big wigs and wandered into the "Bellagio" Casino VIP room. Worked, because we are White, and All White People Have Money - so we ate a great dinner, drank beer (all free), and then explained we were leaving to get to an atm. Then we just left.

I'm going to Sri Lanka

And I'm talking to a girl who is trying to make a chocolate rose kettle cake. I think she is craZY though. I can hear her discussing the need to have "rose petals infused in the chocolate sponge." As everyone knows, when you make a chocolate rose kettle cake, you infuse the SPONGE in the rose petals. Geeze.

But I've decided! Finally! To go to Sri Lanka, extend the old indian visa, and then come back to india for more! Meditation! Going to an old religious site to send some blessings! Other!
Yup, the new revised plan is to be here for about 2-3 more weeks. THEN go to Greece.

As for what I've been doing - not a great deal. I'm currently staying with this a nice couple - I met the girl in Jaisalmer, and went on a camel trek with her, and her boyfriend is here for an IT project. They've been nice enough to let me use the flat, so I've been nice enough to, ummm, use it.

Bangalore was still boring today, I'd have thought that my stunning riposte on their culture would have shocked them from their apathy, but apparantly not.
I don't really know what riposte means either, let's find out! That's right, Andrew's Blog, where people LEARN. And learn well.
"A quick thrust given after parrying an opponent's lunge in fencing."
Well, there you are. Take THAT Bangalore. I totally outfenced you.

Oh, and last night I had a small amount of sheep/cow brain. It was... different in taste. Quite nice, actually, but I totally freaked out about getting mad cow disease, so didn't eat any moooo!

*ahem*

As for where I'll go in Sri Lanka, I don't know. Yet. But hopefully something good will turn up en-route to the airport/after flying there. Flying by the seat of your pants! I wish there were frequent air-miles for that.

Hmmm... I might put up a post detailing my adventures in Vietnam with Haran soon...

Bangalore. It's B for Boring

And it's a tragic shame. Went out last night, hoping for... well, anything, really. I'd already had a nice lunch - I'd met a Canadian insurance dude 3 months from retiring, had a good chat about jewellery prices and things like that, and then he buys me the drinks! What a champ! Props to Canadian Dave, (distinct from IT-Dave, Heli-man-Dave, and Crocket-Dave) for that, although he won't ever read about it. Well, he might. But I doubt it.

And I digress!

SO, I go out to the "in" bar. It's called Spinn... I have a look around, and it's all lounges. What the hell? Look, I *like* lounge bars, they are great for a lazy sunday, with a nice burger, some beers... is anyone who runs a place in Darling Harbour reading this? But this is the "in" bar. It's where you meet people, and party - it would be like going to the meat market that is Establishment and seeing rows of lounge seats.
Ok, that might work, but anyway...
And the music? I think it was a Cat Stevens Appreciation Night. I hope it was, but you never know.
And the dancing? Well, let's just say that they don't call it "dancing" here. They say "our bar has a discotheque. A discotheque. It's very sad.
Anyway, so, with expensive drinks, no dancing, ridiculous lounge settings I had a great night out.
Oh! Oh oh Oh! Gues when bars open! 8pm! Guess when they close! 11:30pm!! IT DOESN'T MAKE SENSE.
Bangalore. Once again, IT people come together to give industry practitioners a Bad Name.

I know I've discussed computers here previously, but let me do it again:
when I go into the internet cafe and see the computers are all in their own little room, invisible to the rest of the world, I begin to panic. It's a well-placed panic, as the drop down on my internet explorer is showing.
That and the fact that ie has been so hopelessly hacked that google links go to porn sites? Fantastic.

Ok! Going to book flights! Fight demons! Maybe, just maybe, meet a mystic martial arts teacher... but that last one is doubtful.

Here are some totally cool photos that a very nice canadian (god, what is with Canada? I'm totally going to go there), called Alicia, has taken the time to send me. Seeing as *I* don't have a camera, I'm going to put these ones up. I don't know where these photos were taken though, so you can guess! Ok, yes, they were taken in India.



This photo is quite cool, and mystic. I don't really know where Alicia is in it though... it looks like something out of that Indian Jones film - the one with the still-beating heart?



I want a waterfall! It also looks like Alicia is in a Bollywood film here, if you've seen a Bollywood film you'll work out why.
Alicia is a nice Canadian (yeah, tautology, I know) I met (and clicked with) oh-so briefly in Goa, who is a yoga-teaching, archaeologist waitress. I suppose that meant the Indian Jones thing isn't too far off - good luck with those Nazis, Alicia!
She's off back to Canada, and I'm here in a girl I travelled with's boyfriend's apartment.
All to myself!
Gosh, I should go out and party hard... oh wait, it's Bangalore.

Attempts at poetry #1

The room she lives in is small, spartan.
It's littered with holy books - yogis & gurus;
a portrait of Gandhi rests on the wall.
There's a small and gentle stove on one side, and a soft bed waits
in the center of the room.
A radio stretches out on the bed, she listens to it every night.

We crash through the trees
Past the watchful eyes of the mountains,
And under a sky scratched with red,
weighed down by a pregnant dark eternity.
We are heading home,
find out about where to head next
see the roots from which we've grown,
and grow some more with that knowledge.

Home.
I have never lived there.

He searches for peace and meaning, here in his hometown
but he does not know what that means, or where it leads;
ducks under a fan that wants to trim his hair.
Her life is happy, great peace in being there
in the ancestral house, looking for ...
she feeds him, they talk, he learns of a life without fortune.
Of days talking to children, of helping in schools

He nearly cries.
But I don't.

We see the serene street, where our forefathers ran as children.
Touch a tree so giant, so massive,
that surely they would also have known it?
Wander through an old house, where they would have grown,
eat simple food cooked by a relative
breath part of a life that might long be lost;
a life that they might have lived.
He feels calm in the presence of this area.

Calm.
But I know nothing will change.

Visiting a house, a street, a town
seeing a woman whose life is different from mine,
feeling calm for a day or two -
there is no change inside.
I still want more
than the calm life that they might have lived;
seeing the calm, living the area
will only be a memory.

I fly out today.

A train ride

Today I had lunch with Granny, very nice. It is super hot here in Palghaat/Vatakaandthra. An update on my camera - all is Not Good. A stupid cog fell out of it, and the camera just won't work without it. So I don't have any photos, no mountains draped in sunset, no trees racing behind me, nothing. And no granny.

I was going to write a short story here, maybe even one without a recurring theme, but I think i'd better find out about the train before I do that! Might make life easier for me.

Mystic moments a go-go

Ok, before I ramble on in my own unstoppable style about the beaches of Goa (and man, can you ramble on when you were acompanied by cool canadians, germans who secretly wanted to be Italian, and generic resort staff) i'm going to ramble on in my own unstoppable style about my totally mystic moment today.

Yes, today's blog is actually about today, I know, crazy. I flew from mumbai to Coimbatur on a lovely flight that had a valentine's day, umm, air-auction. I slept right through the thing, but you apparantly bid against fellow passengers for loverly jewellery and memory sticks and stuff. I then get the rickety clickety train from Coimbatur to Palakkad, or Palghat, depending on who is spelling it.
It was really very magical. The mountains to one side spouted out, we steamrolled into the setting sun, the sky was red... and I was on my way home. In that weird spiritual sense. Because, as we all know, I'm half indian, and the indian half comes from, as far as I can gather, this one little village in Palakkad called Vatakkanthran. And in this one little village lived my grandfather's brother's wife, and she is a really wonderful woman.

The sheer level of positive energy (yes, I spent a while in Goan beaches talking to yogi-types) and enthusiasm just bursting from her was... it made me beam. She is 84, and so of course I was "just a baby" to her. We chatted for a good long while, and the entire time I had the most wonderful feeling of having struck off one of those "to dos" that i made when heading out on this trip. Heading into the middle of Kerala to meet my ... I'm going to call her a granny ... granny has been one of the highlights of this trip. A key note, or centre piece, if you will.
It was very emotional, and I was very close to happy tears when I completed one part of my odyssey, wearily adventuring into the ancestral village, to found such a lovely person living there.

Ok, so i've done gone written a little poem about the experience... only it isn't quite finished!
Those of you who like poetic stuff should be constantly visiting this site, and telling all their friends about it, and sending me money. That last one is really important.

Happy Valentine's Day Gang!!!

* * * ** * * ** * * *

On a sadder note, my condolences to Tanya and her family. I've just read that her father passed away recently, and she has rushed back to Canada. As i've already written, Tanya is a wonderful person, and her father must have been a remarkable man to bring such a woman into the world.

Buonos sares, buonos sares senorita!

I don't know what that means, but it's mangled Spanish, in case you are wondering. Andrew-style mangled spanish. And, as ever, intrepid readers of my most innermost thoughts, there is a story to tell. About a palm-fringed beach, curdled love, yoga, a poet, and, of course, ze germans. And alcohol. That last one is a given though, right? Alcohol, not ze germans.

Where to begin? Well, as I always say, when you don't know where to begin, start at the end. The end.

Ummm, and seeing as that didn't work, let's push onto the beginning! So, I left Delhi, leaving behind many unread books and a cold climate, greedy auto-rickshaw (aka tuk tuk) drivers and business opportunities to go to the beach. And I do it in style - I'm sick and tired of Indian trains. They are C-O-L-D. And it would be a long journey too - so I fly down with Spice-Jet, a low cost carrier.
"How low cost, Andrew?" you ask.
"So low cost they don't have life-jackets. You take the cushion of the seat and try and float with it." Really. They also offer sweeties on the plane - I ate the butterscotch ones, yum yum!

Now, I no longer have a book on India. The pixies took it one day, and they never gave it back. I still think of those pixies, frolicking in the best places of Kerala, checking out the Taj, hanging with the monks in, um, monk-y-land, that kind of thing. All because they swiped my book.
Be that as it may, I end up in the Goa airport with an idea that I want to go to the nice beach that begins with a 'P' and with a feeling that I don't know what it is called, where I am in relation to it, or how to get there. Fortunately, I meet up with three nice girls (two Germans and a Canuke) who are also going there. Palolem beach.
We rent a car and head on down - and man, does our driver drive. He thinks he's Speed Racer, or something. He's turning from motorbikes, and avoiding trucks, and I'm sitting in the back seat while we are all discussing india, being a woman in india, and crazy drivers in india. Most of the time my eyes are closed (except when they are open), which made things better. I can still remember the classic moment when Tanya (Canuk) politely asks the driver:
"Do you want to die? Because I don't" - nothing stopped Speed Racer though, until we got to the beach.

Beach was fine, very beachy, the water was lovely, and the pam fringed-ness? Crazy. I was getting mini-scegasms (which is my New Word for the day, meaning a "non-sexual orgasm caused by seeing preety scenery") everytime I turned my head to them. On the first day I swam in the sea, and for the next two days my body muscles decided to spasm and contract in incredibly painful formation. So two days was spent wandering the beach looking for someone to fix me up - and aside from swarthy indian chaps who rub oil on your naked buttock (I'm not sure if I should pay them for this, or vice versa), there isn't much to be had.

Ok, so, scenery and my pains aside, let's look at the action and fun that occured at "The Found Things", which is where I stayed. First up, let's throw in the standard helpful, manuel-like, young indiginous waiter dude, this time called Sing. He's as nice as any of the other generic waiter dude's I've come across at beach resorts throughout this trip. Friendly, affable, basic english, helpful, I liked Sing.
He is, as all the generic waiter dudes are, after the ladies (in their own little way. Sing is a billion times nicer than the rogues that populate Jaisalmer, Udaipur and the rest of northern India though, because, being a generic beach waiter, he's laid back and cool, not a pushy arrogant money/sex-hound). And look, before I get anyone upset about my treatment of Sing - Sing was a really nice guy. I liked him, and got along well with him. But he's ALSO just like the standard waiter-dudes in all the resort-places I've been to. It's a pleasure to meet them though.
Sing has, I think, his eyes mostly set on Anya, who was one of ze germans (the other being Kathleen). Both Germans are, incidentally, generic Germans. Their humour is there (I think, it was in German most of the time) - but they are strong-willed, cautious, quiet (ok, so they spoke passing english), y'know, Germanic. Anya is a policewoman, which made me feel safe at night, and Kathleen is a physio, which had no affect on my sleeping habits at all.
Sing thought that Anya was... "dangerous", and that Tanya was "sometimes dangerous." I assume that meant that he was attracted to them??

Through the girls (who I was toying with hitting on, but then, as I might have mentioned previously, my powers of seduction hover around the zero mark, and Sing was working on them better than I could. And he could barely speak english) I meet Frankee, who is also a German.
He's a different German, he's tanned, toned, tattooed (yeah, I had a crush on him) and a really sweet guy. He was like some crazy amalgamation of some of the Wizard-of-Oz characters, but damn he had heart.
Frankee and I went out several nights to see if we could find "The Booby" which is what one of us referred to as the sum aim of all life. I won't embarrass that person by naming him (or her) though. Surprisingly enough, we never were, but we had perfected the art of being Italian troubadors (hence the title of this entry), with my name being Mario. I have a mafioso brother who is languishing in jail right now, but I'm clean. I don't know what women are looking for, but it certainly wasn't the two hottest imitation italian troubadors on the beach, I tell you.

Tanya introduced me to Johnnie, whose blog is linked on my page in a new effort to make this blog more, um, I don't know, blogger-riffic? Johnnie is a really cool guy - he's got a crazy beard that he puts lip balm on, but I won't hold that against him. Or anywhere, that beard must have been freaky with the lip balm. He's a canadian poet, and was sharp, clever and good looking. Fortunately, he never came with Frankee or I or we would have had real troubles! I think his major inspirations are Dr Seuss, but I never asked him so I don't know.

Finally, to round of my most recent travel companions, Tanya was another (And I've got to say, sadly, generic, Canadian) who was good looking, clever, witty and plain good old fun to spend time with. I don't know how much she appreciated my knocking on her door at 9am every day though. She teaches english in Taiwan, and also speaks Mandarin! Much mandarin fun ensued, until like Will she told me my Mandarin wasn't up to par. She and Johnnie are old friends, and there is a chance I might meet up with them sooner or later in Kerala.

But to destiny! Wait, let me take a check on my stories. It's a lot of blogging a man has to do, and I have a busy day tomorrow.

Ciao!

Just a note

Of thanks to my hosts here in Delhi, Subbah and Urmila, who were most gracious, intelligent and otherwise excellent hosts. They are both civil servants (and so when they explained that working for the government IS actually like "Yes, Prime Minister" I was floored) here in India, and have a nice house in the government sector - much thanks for letting me stay!
Oh, and all the best for you son's marriage later on this year. If you read this. Which you don't, but I think Devika does, and I'm sure she might mention this to you!!

**************************************

Ahhh, off to Goa, I still need to buy an Indian guidebook (which I unaccountably lost earlier). They really are worthwhile! Guidebooks in general, anyway. Well, not in Thailand, but for India? Definitely needed.

Just trying to sort out any contacts I have in Europe - I don't have a lot in the old blighty, which is a worry. Might have to buy a blighty-book or something.
And, of course, England play Australia in the cricket tomorrow. I think I'm becoming a cricket tragic like our PM.
That would make it a very sad day, for many reasons.

And lo, Lazarus did rise

For the son of the Lord had cured him.

No,that's not a quote from any bible I know. Of course, in the best Australian tradition, I was brought up a Bible-Heathen, and wouldn't know of ANY Bibles where from which I could quote ANYTHING. Except maybe "In the beginning" followed by (maybe!) "there was the word".

But! In exciting news, I have fixed my camera. Mostly. I It now works, will go on, show photos (oh, ok, I bought a new memory stick, so there weren't any photos TO show), zooms in and out and takes photos.

Sadly, I got vege oil all over the lens, or the wires, or something, because the only images I can see on the viewfinder are streaky red and very dim. Like red cellophane is all over the camera. Even sadder, is that the images it takes are exactly the same, only less red.
I'll pull it apart tomorrow, clear up the lens, and then get it going! V.excited!

Also! In new news, I am going to leave Delhi (for a bit!) and head to Goa. I'll then run to Vaddagandra, and then Bangalore, and then BACK to Delhi. Where I fly off! I don't have alot of time though, and I really want that totally epic moment when I get to my ancestral hometown. I also want to meditate, and to swim (just a tad!).

Uhm, I'd write more, but I'm sleepy! And, apparantly, by this post, very very boring.
Maybe something exciting will happen tomorrow! Or maybe not, I prefer days when nothing much happens, they are much more exciting. To not write about.

Phnom Penh - Khmer Rouge

Ok, I'm going to throw on some Phnom Penh pics here.

I initially had a snappy little paragraph joking about Cambodia here, but when I went over the photos I was showing (of the killing fields and the torture prison S21) I decided to remove it. I disliked Cambodia, I won't deny that. But what I experienced in Phnom Penh has affected me more than anything else in my travels to far, and for that reason, on reflection, I'd recommend Cambodia as a place to visit. It's just not a happy place.

Here is a signpost from Tuol Sleng. It's also called S21, and is where the bastards that called them Khmer Rouge tortured (and in a killing field nearby, later killed) some 20,000 people. Only 7 prisoners actually made it out of S21, and I was told by a guide there (the same one that gave me the 20,000 number) that these were artisans who pushed out endless busts and portraits of Pol Pot.
My trip to S21 (with a male sex-crazed sexagenarian, but that's a different story) was quite bleak, and set the tone for the rest of Cambodia. Whereas Thailand was all fun and games and surf and sun, Cambodia has a really bleak feel to it. There's a real sense of sadness (and poverty) that hangs in the air, probably because, while Pol Pot was the most efficient mass-murderer of his time, much of the populace that weren't being horrendously tortured were aiding the regime.
Just to give some numbers:
I was informed by several guides that estimates rocket to about 2 million people that went "missing" due to the regime. This in a country with a (then) population of some 8 million - so depending on numbers, from an eighth to a quarter of the population.
Comparatively, AIDS has killed 1 in 240, and Bird Flu's worst estimates are about 1 in 10.

S21 which used to be a school house before being converted into a secret torture-house, sits in Phnom Penh. Residents never knew what was going on inside the place, as no one who entered left free to talk about what happened. The 7 people mentioned above were freed after the fall of the Khmer Rouge. It's where horrendous tortures took place, and as I walked along there (not wanting to be overly dramatic), I was really quite... shaken. The floors have a dirty, stained look to them, the rooms are small, and no, there's no stench of death in the air. But it really really feels like there is.
Here's a signpost from within S21. It's a translation of the rules originally in Cambodian).



Next up is an image of one of the rooms in S21. This is where high-profile people were tortured, the tools and bed are the same ones as discovered when the Khmer Rouge fell. The only thing missing is the dead, mutilated body on the bed (but in all these rooms there is a photo of how the room was found, including the body. What's seen in the photo really doesn't resemble anything human).



I am going to put up next a photo I took of the photos kept in S21. The regime would take photos of the people interrogated there, for recording purposes. The photos are just passport shots really, head and shoulders. Sometimes the person has been tortured, and looks on in grim resignation, or fear, or hatred. The worst ones of these I found most upsetting were the ones where the person hadn't been tortured - they don't know what is about to happen to them, and look sometimes quizzically at the camera.
There were worse ones - of dead prisoners, but I couldn't bear to look at them, much less take a photo of them. I don't think many people visiting the center could look at those ones.
I get very upset when I see these photos - I don't think any of the subjects survived their internment in S21. That we share a world with assholes and cowards who could inflict so much cruelty on others is a very upsetting thought.
But that's the world we are in.
I hope everyone from the prison rests peacefully.



Another room from the prison - these are cells were people were held before torture.



Here is a tower of skulls, found in the killing field nearest Phnom Penh. There are slightly over 8,000 skulls in this glass obelisk, all dug up in the fields surrounding. I was told that there are thousands of killing fields dotted around Cambodia, with a varying number of people executed there. Some think only half or so have been found.



And here is a photo of the killing field near Phnom Penh. The holes are where bodies were dug up. Only the skulls were collected and put in the obelisk. The other bones, and the prisoner's clothes, were left. As you walk around the field, you can see bones and cloth lying all around the path.




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Next I have some happier photos - from the palace at Phnom Penh. It's big, and has a bust of the King riding a horse. As it happens, it's really just a Napolean Statue, with the head knocked off and the king's head put on instead (honest!). I don't seem to have a photo of the statue though, so here's a picture of a temple instead!



And here is an incredibly ornate stupa:



And here's me being a goose in front of a statue of... something. I don't know what.



And finally, some monks using mobile phones. It's weird, being a monk is an important Cambodian tradition, but the monks are only monks for a short time, before pursuing other jobs or careers. I don't know how much spirituality you can learn in 6-12 months, but there you are.



Ok, that was a little draining for me to put up. Next, some photos of Sihanoukville. And Ankor Wat - I'll even introduce you to the best girl I've met yet, Nancy!! I think it will be obvious when you see her that I rode her long and hard.

And in case you need more - here's a sneak peek of the adventures I had in Vietnam! They are so exciting, I can't even begin to put it all here, for fear of TOTALLY BLOWING YOUR MIND.

I am staying in a palace!

Well, not really. But it is the house of one of the ex-chief justice's of India's Supreme Court. It's also, I should hasten to add, very very nice!

This is such a lame post. I'm going to get my phone fixed, and then see the una-cyclers. I think. Maybe I'll even make a business deal, eh?

But the place I am in now? Fantastico! Well worth the effort of coming a halfway around the world to see. Not that that was the plan, but anyway. I really need this camera fixed! And some better stories. Maybe when I get to Goa I will have them.

Excelsior!

A Day of Rest

I'm currently reading "The Autobiography of Bertrand Russell". It is an interesting book, with many words, and an insight into one of the great minds of before my time. His journal entries (originally in Greek! The ancient kind, I think - but he's translated them) are especially interesting - instead of bemoaning life and love, he wonders about metaphysics and God and immortality, in a typically adolescent way.

What did I do yesterday? I drank 2 (two) beers (Corona!) and ate a burger. I know, it's like living in India without the Indians, or Indian culture! The place I was in (Connaught Place, in Delhi) is like a kind of slice of western civilisation (and I originally just put civilisation there, adding the western to be PC. But longterm, or really, any kind of traveller to India will know what I am getting at. People who haven't been, but have notions of "intelligence" or "worldliness" will probably find that comment rude or degrading. But they are muppets). I was very glad for the existence of some semblance of a pub.

I met a Frenchy the day before, well, really Swiss, but his accent was quite French. He's a friend of my cousin Lavenya, and works for the Red Cross here in India. He checks out on the state of prisoners of the Jammu-Kashmir conflict, and was quite entertaining! Went out for dinner at a nosh-posh place, and drank some Indian wine. Which wasn't bad at all, really.
As for his accent - when he said he lived in "the defence colony"I had to ask him how to spell "defence".
"Eeet ees joost 'ow 'ou wood spell eet een eenglish!" he remarked. Sorry, reemarked.
"urm, ok", and then I proceeded to write down d-e-s-a-n-t-s. My auto driver had no idea what colony I was talking about, and took me to Connautht Place. Very enterprising, but not quite the right area!
Several calls later, and I finally made it over to Nikolai's place. I don't actually know if that's the right spelling, I sure 'ope so! Also met a chap from the BBC, who covers Nepal, and another person who does interior decorating in India. Indians are into all things western, and, I am told, Westerners are into all things Indian. Except dust, I hope!

Onto another topic, does anyone at the BBC realise how sad it is that, on their "cricket" page, their most consistent link is one entitled:
Ashes review - relive England's winning summer
Get over it England! It was more than a year ago! My god, there must be something else you've won in the last ye... oh, there isn't? Oh well, fair enough then.

And the unicyclists have made it into Lahore!! And they will be back on monday evening... oh, wait, I just realised I never wrote about the unicyslists. Ok then, I probably should. It's amusing, really, to think that they may well be sitting around the computer, anxiously reading these very words, just waiting, WAITING, I say, to read about themselves on my blog.
Well, I'm sorry, but this posting isn't the one, gang. No, I won't be swayed by offers of any kind, you'll just have to cycle back before I start writing about you. But you came close!

Anyway, warmest congratulations to Siddarth (the Una-cycler - is the spelling right?) and Ben (the Una-Bi-cycler!) and to Samyukta (the Bi-cycler!), their parents Rajan & Devika, and to anyone else involved in what must have been an arduous, fun and story-for-the-grandkids adventure. In comparison, I've done nothing much at all, so you can really get a feel for what they're doing with their lives!

Finally, best wishes to an extremely good friend's mum who is under the weather right now. She's a wonderful, strong-willed, capable lady, and I hope that the future finds her very well very soon.

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Just read the usual rubbish from Miranda Devine, and though today was different as she trumpeted education (even using an Indian comparison! v.Good!) which I do agree with wholeheartedly, she didn't let me down. At the end was the usual rah-rah rubbish of bemoaning the loss of australian cricket players to Basketball.
I can remember the SAME ISSUE years back, when I was a littlee, about cricket players moving to basketball. It's been about a decade or so since, and we still have cricket players, and a good team, and heck, I now even follow cricket!

All this worrying about the need to "stave off the assault from basketball" and "Cricket is part of our cultural heritage" is rubbish. Our cultural heritage has been about winning sporting matches, regardless of the sport. I don't see people complaining about the growth of soccer and a decline (I hope, anyway) of rubbish like AFL or footie or whatever people play with those funny shaped balls.

I should round off with a frank expression of bball (as the cool kids say) as the dullest game imaginable. In the true american tradition, points are scored with ease, enough for anyone with even a crippling case of ADD to remain fixated by flashing lights and fancy colours. If there is anything to be bemoaned by the growth of bball, it should probably be the growth of American-style Advanced ADD in the youth. Maybe that last point is old-person nonsense, but I stand by the description of bball. Or even "ball" as some people call it, I suppose the word "basket" or letter "b" is just too much these days.

I am in zee ouse of zee french

And zere ees no exclamation marks, or question marks. ând zey ave idden zee y key, eet was ard to find. But all ees well now.

Ah ahm unsewer as to where ah was een mai storees, zo ah weel just add a storee from zee other day, a storee... about love. Zis storee, eet ees not een zee french language (are ou not appy to be reading french) as eet ees really an email orrespondance.

well, last night I propositioned my male would-be masseuse when I asked him for a root, but I don't really want to put THAT on the bloody blog. (zut alors, i ave put eet on zee blog)
I don't know who was more surprised - him when he thought my one word swear word beginning with f (exclaimed in exasperation about the lack of english he spoke) was me wanting to do something very inappropriate, or me, when I realised that HE thought that me swearing was me wanting to do something inappropriate.
It was a tense moment, defused beautifully by me running away. No, really. Meanwhile my erstwhile travelling companion had just upset the rickshaw driver that had dropped me off at the supposed massage-place (which it wasn't! They cut hair there!) by refusing to pay the full fare, as he wasn't taking her the full distance!
So she runs INTO the store, as I'm running out, and explains that, well, maybe it's best we don't leave right now. Then I explain that maybe it's best that we DO leave right now. By the time we've explained the situation (and amid weird stares from the masseuse and his fat boss) I figure (correctly) the rickshaw man has had to drive off with the flow of traffic, so we head out.

okey, zat ees all for now, i am needing zee, ow do ou say, brekkie

a bîentôt
Andrew