Bangkok Surprises

It took 16 hours on the bus to get to Bangkok from the border town of Rantau Panjang and was not an experience I care to repeat. Despite a luxurious bus, which was air-conditioned and had comfortable reclining seats it was still about 8 hours past my endurance limit. We are determined not to fly needlessly, but perhaps it might have been a better idea. In fact on further reflection a couple of days later we realised that it wasn’t the safest way to go either. Before we left Malaysia we’d already heard that there had been some trouble in Bangkok as supporters of ousted former leader Thaksin Shinawatra were staging demonstrations against the current government. We’d also read that in recent times there has been trouble in the south with Islamic separatists who had, among other things been blamed for derailing trains and disrupting bus services. With political unrest stirring in the capital it was possible the paramilitaries in the south might take advantage. Fortunately for us that wasn’t the case and other than have to slow down every few kilometres for the first few hours of our journey as we passed through army check points our journey was uneventful. In fact the only thing violent we saw was the first film that was shown on the bus, a badly made Thai equivalent to a Tarantino movie. Within the first 15 minutes we’d witnessed several acts of violent murder, a rape and some paedophilia. Certainly an interesting choice for the passengers made up of all ages.

We arrived in Bangkok in the small hours of Monday morning at one of the main bus terminals. We were both exhausted, so after a light breakfast we jumped in a taxi which took us to Banglamphu an area of Bangkok where you’ll find the majority of visiting backpackers, especially in and around Khaosan Road. On the ride over I got my first impressions of the city, just as it was beginning to get light. I was slightly worried about being back in a big hot humid city with thoughts of our stay in KL coming back into my mind and I already had other negative preconceptions about Bangkok, mainly due to its infamous reputation for sex tourism. In fact before I saw it with my own eyes I found it difficult to visualise the city in daylight, with images of shady clubs and red light districts popping into my mind. But obviously there was going to be more to this place than middle-age tourists cruising bars trying to pick up young local girls (and boys).

Initially I found myself constantly surprised by the reality of the place. Banglamphu is certainly nothing like China Town in KL. As we walked past restaurants and guest house just opening for the day after being dropped off by our taxi there was something much more aesthetically pleasing and as a result more inviting about the place. It is easy find places to kick back and relax with a beer at one of the many cafes, bars and restaurants. And then there is the food. We’d already had a brunch of scrambled eggs on brown bread that was better than any breakfast we’d had in Malaysia, but it was our first dinner where we really appreciated the change in both skill and love that Thais put into their cooking. Whether it’s a simple pad thai whipped up at a street stall, a spicy glass noodle salad or a rich creamy red curry it rarely fails to be anything other than delicious. In fact, in a complete contrast to Malaysia where we laboured to find the good places or good dishes to eat it seemed that we couldn’t go wrong. The quality and freshness of the ingredients here seem to go a long way in guaranteeing this, but Thais truly seem to have a deep understanding of what makes good food. I couldn’t wait to be hungry again after eating. What’s more, especially in a city setting, it’s all good value with the portions generous and prices cheap. A chicken pad thai served up by a street stall is as good as anything you get served up at home and costs less than a pound. And to wash all that great food down, we could now get a bottle of beer for a third of the price they charged in KL. Happy days.

Our first task though in Bangkok before sight-seeing was to get some practical things out of the way. With Vietnam one of the countries now on our itinerary we needed to visit the Vietnamese embassy to apply for a visa. Also, with my camera’s touch screen proving to be too fragile to withstand even a couple of months of backpacking (not my most sensible purchase I’ll admit) I had decided to treat Maren to an early birthday present. With her own camera having broken sometime ago she was missing having the artistic license to take snaps and I was only too happy to hand over reigns.

To get across town to the embassy, we made use of Bangkok’s river ferries harking back to a time where Bangkok was known as the “Vience of the East”. Again this confounded my expectations having never imagined the large river which runs through the city. As we cruised along in the morning sunshine passing beautiful wats (temples) and seeing the modern skyscrapers in the distance I realised that Bangkok had much to offer with a contrast of modernity and ancient traditional as extreme as anywhere we’d been to so far. After dealing with some rude staff at the Vietnamese embassy, we made our way back to Siam Square to witness the modern side of Bangkok, with its glistening malls and shopping centres that wouldn’t have seemed out of place in Singapore. It wasn’t long however before we were leaving again having quickly picked up a camera at a reasonable price. We did however stop at a nearby restaurant thoroughly enjoying our meal, especially a starter which involved wrapping fresh crispy green leaves around an assortment of fillings and dipping them in sweet chilli sauce. By the time we got back to our hotel we had just about enough energy to organise our train tickets to our next destination and we had an early night so we were ready to see ancient side of the city the following day.

After a good night’s sleep we were up early for breakfast and we made our way by foot to Wat Phra Kaew, also known as the Temple of the Emerald Buddha one of the country’s holiest sites for its Buddists who account for nearly 95% of the population. Maren had already spoken highly of the temple and the Grand Place located on the same grounds. Having got a glimpse of golden temple roofs gleaming in the late afternoon sun on the river boat home the day before I had high expectations. On entering the complex visitors are first checked to see they are dressed appropriately, which of course many of westerners are not. Fortunately you can rent clothes for a few baht, along with a deposit which makes for a comical scene of men and women disappearing inside the gate office wearing their shorts and sleeveless tops and reappearing in whatever trousers and shirts they could find in their size. Maren and I had made efforts to be dressed correctly having had plenty of experience with this sort of thing, however Maren’s shawl which would normally made the grade when entering a temple in India was not accepted. Forced to hire something else, she also disappeared into the office and reappeared a few minutes later in a very fetching purple shirt. Once past the stewards we began to make our way around the grounds. It’s a stunning place, not only because of the temples, but also because of the ornamental guardian statues, mosaic encrusted walls, the galleries of wall paintings and the manicured trees and gardens. It’s a sensory overload of glimmering colour and beauty and a worth home to one of the most famous Buddha images in the world, the Emerald Buddha. Later in the morning we visited Wat Pho where, among the largest collection of Buddha images in the country the equally famous giant reclining Buddha is housed. At 46m long and 15m high it makes for a good photo and I took the opportunity drop a coin into each one of the donation pots that run the entire length of the Buddha. The temple complex itself is also equally impressive and the temple that houses the reclining Buddha is the largest and oldest in Bangkok.

After a morning of tradition and temples we stopped for lunch and decided to head over to China Town in the afternoon to see if we could find some bargains at the Thieves Market and Sampeng Lane. We soon found ourselves spending money freely on a number of small items that we didn’t really need, but would be useful all the same. Among other things we bought a lock, a torch, a decent pack of cards, headphones (amazingly cheap - £3 for a pair of Sehnhizers buds!), pens and socks. However it wasn’t long before we were exhausted and ready to head back home to relax with a beer back near our guest house. We were soon comfortably sat at a table on the street back in Banglamphu enjoying a couple of large bottles of Chang and taking a look at our haul of goods from the market. In particularly, I was busy inspecting the quality of my new plastic playing cards when a guy a table next to us asked me if I was going to do any tricks, so I happily showed him an old favourite of mine that never fails to impress and we got talking. Tommy was in Bangkok having been forced to leave India due to the same Indian visa rule changes that had affected our own plans. Unlike us however, he lives there for the majority of the year with his other half Damitar who soon joined us having spent the day trying to get a new passport and also struggling to get a new visa. She described them (and her mother) as “visa refugees” having been forced to leave their home in India for at least 2 months and travel elsewhere until they could reapply. They aren’t the only ones in Bangkok, with Damitar amusingly pointing out the Sardhu like “Baba” walking by who whilst looking like an Indian holy man was clearly Western in origin and most likely had been forced to take a holiday from roaming India. It’s hard to say just how many others are in this situation, but clearly the visa rules are causing a considerable inconvenience to people like Damitar and Tommy.

After been invited come along to dinner at one of their favourite places to eat in Bangkok, we had the opportunity to pick their brains for information on how to spend our own 2 month exile in South East Asia before we could return to the north of India. So, at a huge Korean restaurant on the river, where we cooked our own food over hot coals we got to know them a little better and get a few ideas on where we might go over the next few weeks. Co-incidentally, they also happened to live near one of places we’d be going to first when we came back to India, Manali. This seemed funny to us, since we don’t tend to actively strike up conversations with every fellow traveller we meet and so took it as another little sign that we have to go back. Regardless, it was a pleasure get to know Tommy, Damitar and her mother. It was interesting listening to their story having spent the last twenty years living in Asia and about their lifestyle. Back in India, they get by on just a £100 a month, which is a modest budget, but they do have a house in the country with a big garden in one of the most beautiful areas in the world. The most work they choose to do is growing vegetables, some of which they sell at the local market to make a little extra money. It’s a far cry from the squat in Hackney (London) where Damitar used to live before she went to find her mother in India.

Having personally consumed enough for at least two people my stomach was feeling a little tender the next morning, so we decided to take it easy on our final day in Bangkok. We were now thinking about how we were going to spend the rest of our time in Thailand. We already booked our train to Chang Mai in the north and then we were looking to get away from streets and back to the countryside, hoping to find somewhere in hills and valleys that would be a good place to relax for a while. Later, in the evening we met up with Damitar and Tommy again where we drank more beer than we had done in weeks (about 3 pints each) and they took us to a street stall for dinner that served a great, but very spicy, noodle soup. We now have a few more people to try and meet up with in India when we return.

The next day we were up early, taking a taxi across town to pick up our passports from the Vietnamese embassy and after another inexpensive pad thai we headed off to catch our train. We were both very curious about what the train journey. The classes of ticket offered were much the same as the Indian railways, and the journey would involve travelling overnight on a sleeper, something that we’d always thought had been a civilised way to travel in India. Our experience on the Thai train compared favourably with little stress and being well looked after. Staff were regularly doing the round serving drinks (as in India) with even the option of a cold beer (not in India!). We had a nice meal brought to us at dinner time and when bed time approached our bed was even made for us by the train staff. Overall, a very pleasant experience and a far superior option to another long bus journey, so unlike our arrival in Bangkok we were leaving in comfort and would arrive in good shape once we got to Chang Mai.

All the images from Bangkok at http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/kris.lander/Bangkok

Halfway to somewhere

Now that I’m roughly half way through my trip I’ve decided to write something a little different in this post. When I originally planned to go away at the beginning of last summer I had few expectations. I was simply in need of a long holiday from work to re-energise myself. I had few aspirations beyond parking myself up on a beach somewhere, perhaps in Thailand and doing very little for as long as I felt I needed to and then come back to London to pick up my career from where I’d left off. I didn’t even have much of a desire to experience new countries and cultures, as much as I normally find this interesting. It wasn’t meant to be a journey of personal discovery either. I didn’t feel like I needed to “find myself”. I just needed a break.

It did however always feel like this was somehow the right time to take such a break. A number of external factors had neatly aligned themselves to make this trip as easy as possible. There always seemed to be little pieces of luck when arranging my affairs for example. Also when I spoke to friends and family, I rarely had any other reaction other than extremely positive. Even my Mum was overwhelming enthusiastic despite, like all mums, sad that she wouldn’t see her son for some time. It’s always felt like this trip was meant to be and that feeling only grew stronger as I got closer to my leaving date.

However by the time I left the UK the trip had already morphed into something quite different. I certainly didn’t expect to be in a relationship by the time I left and that obviously led to some dramatic changes in my plans. India wasn’t even on my radar, until I started seeing Maren in the middle of July last year. She was leaving in October to take 6 months out from work as well and it wasn’t long before we were talking about how we were going to meet up. However both of us had made commitments to work and I’d already booked my flight to Australia in December. Whilst neither of us wanted to be apart for a couple of months, it again felt like the right thing to stick to our own plans and we planned to meet in India just before the New Year. The trip was now going to be a shared experience with someone who I’d quickly fallen in love with.

This alone has made the trip a truly amazing experience. Despite my best efforts it always seems impossible to prevent my posts turning into some melodramatic cheese-fest because of the way I’ve been feeling. That is what love does to you. I’d not normally consider myself a romantic, but so much of our time together has been so perfect it’s hard not to get carried away. However primarily this blog is for me. I wanted to capture my thoughts and feelings so I don’t want to censor what I write. All I can say is that if you were witness actual events and conversations I can assure you that you’d be reaching for your sick bucket even more regularly!

Besides, one of the things that I have realised whilst I’ve been away is that I am cheesy and that’s not the only thing I have realised. Whilst I said this wasn’t meant to be a journey of personal discovery it has been one all the same. I’ve learnt a surprising amount about myself, and that is in no small part thanks to Maren. I’ve never been more myself as I am around her. The other big factor is simply the sheer amount of time I’ve had to reflect. Initially when I left the UK I was happy to do nothing more than chill out and during the first few weeks of my trip on the beaches of Goa I did exactly that.

But increasingly as weeks have become months I’ve found myself reflecting on all sorts of aspects of my life and the life I want to make with Maren when I get back to UK. Before I left the UK one of the things that I said repeatedly was that I was already excited about coming home because break would enforce a change in job and I’d also decided that I wouldn’t move back into my flat on returning. However, inspired by our experiences and our conversations we both have started to think bigger about what we might be able to do when we return. To be truly happy with my life I know that I need to do something that I believe has a real benefit to people for it to be truly rewarding. Whilst I’ve never taken jobs purely for their financial reward, I also never worried too much about the product or service I’m helping to create. In the past my reward has been professional, measuring my achievement personally or in relation to the expectations those I have worked with and for. But I’ve taken professional passion as far as I can, so I’m looking for something more meaningful than building websites for companies that sell holidays, mobile phones or TV subscriptions. That might be easier said than done when the realities of having to pay the bills hit home on my return, but right now I am excited. I am a bundle of energy, almost unable to relax as I think of what might be possible. I am anxious to get started on whatever it is we will end up doing. I can’t wait to start bouncing ideas off all the talented we know.

However, it’s not time to return just yet. We both still feel we have a date with destiny in the north of India. Something is calling to us there. Perhaps it’s just to make good on our promise to see Sky and his visit him in his new restaurant or maybe it’s something deeper. Either way we are determined to go back so during our last few days in the Perhentians we put together the last part of our plans. We planned to make an arc around countries north of Malaysia, starting with Thailand. Once over the border we planned to take a bus straight to the capital, Bangkok.

One last thing before I go, it will soon be my birthday and some of you would normally be buying me a present or a drink at the bar. However, since I won’t be around this year I’d like to ask you to consider sponsoring my good friend Damo in his attempt to run the London marathon. Check out the link below for details about the cause and to make a donation. Anything you can give will be gratefully received.

http://www.justgiving.com/damian-saunders

The Perhentian Paradise

After thoroughly enjoying ourselves in the Cameron Highlands, we were really beginning to enjoy Malaysia, so we had high expectations for our next stop the Perhentian Islands. With the east coast monsoon just finishing, we were going to be amongst the first visitors of the new season. In fact when, Jay, one of the ladies who worked at our guest house in the Cameron Highlands had made reservations at a guest house they recommended, she revealed that that we’d be arriving on their opening day.

To get there involved a six hour journey by minibus to take a “ferry” that ran to the “big” and “small” island. Our guest house, D’Lagoon, was located by itself on a small beach cove of the small island and the only access was by boat. When we arrived at docks on the mainland around 6pm there were a couple of surprises waiting for us. The first surprise was our mode of transport. As we were ushered towards the jetty, the large ferry we might have imagined turned out to be a number of small 12 seater speed boats waiting to whisk us across the sea. The second surprise was the weather, more specifically the stiff sea breeze that was blowing. As a result the boat men were saying they wouldn’t be making any drops through the choppy waters between the two islands. Whilst the main beach affected by this, Long Beach, could be reached by taking a 10 minute walk along a jungle path from Coral Bay on the other side of the island, D’Lagoon was an hour’s walk across the length of the island and not practical with heavy back packs. After pleading with the boat men to take us to D’Lagoon they directed us to board one of the boats and instructed us to put our belongings in bin liners before stowing them towards the front of the boat. As we departed the harbour we soon understood why as our driver struggled to negotiate a path through the swell that I would guess was well over a meter. The front of the boat rose high into the air and the propellers of the outboard motors struggled to stay in the water as we rode over the top of the large waves at speed. The hull of the boat slapped the water hard again and again with salty spray constantly washing over us. With the sun low in the sky, the wind in our hair I felt like I was in a scene from Miami Vice as we raced across the water to the islands and was thoroughly enjoying the joy ride. The same could not be said for the little boy being clutched in the arms of his dad, who was screaming in fear until he was finally so exhausted he fell asleep, with his mother fretting the entire journey. As we approached our first stop, hugging the coastline of the small island the waters were far calmer and we arrived at an oasis of tranquillity and stunning beauty, Coral Bay. At this point our driver informed us that he wouldn’t be going to D’Lagoon after all and we’d have to get off here. After being dumped, we phoned through to D’Lagoon who told us our driver was being lazy and advised us to walk over to Long Beach to find a water taxi to complete our journey. We made the final part of our journey in an even smaller boat and as I held on to either side of the boat I thought there was a high chance of being thrown overboard if we caught a wave the wrong way. By the time we arrived at D’Lagoon we were drenched, so it didn’t matter much when both of us fell over into water getting off the boat at the shore. Our spirits were far from dampened though as we looked at where we’d be staying for the next couple of days. It was a stunning location, and once we got the key to our room Maren had a grin on her face from one ear to the other as she opened our window looking right onto the beach.

The weather however was still an issue. Whilst it was warm and sunny, the blustery conditions continued to whip up the surf and the snorkelling we hoped to do during our stay was impossible here. As a result on our first day we took a short walk to a beach on the calmer side of the island. It was even more beautiful here and we found ourselves alone as we dived of the rocks and watched the sunset. Unfortunately, back at D’Lagoon things were not getting any better, in fact the wind had strengthened and the sea seemed even rougher. The staff, whom had just finished fixing up all the damage done during the monsoon, were having to batten down the hatches to stop all their repairs being undone. At night it was far from peaceful with the wind howling through the huts so we made plans to go back to the two beaches we’d passed through on arrival to see if things were any better.

The following day we set off early to make the hour walk south through the jungle. We struggled to follow the trail but eventually made it back to Coral Bay where we’d first been dropped off by the ferry. The conditions here were in complete contrast to D’Lagoon, with little wind and small waves lapping the shore. We quickly went about securing a good room at a guest house before the start of the holiday weekend and then found what looked to be diving school to get our diving license. Unfortunately, this would involve another wet boat ride to transport us and our belonging. It was worth it though. We had a lovely room a stone’s throw from the beach, a choice of new places to eat at night and we’d be starting our diving course in two days.

After moving and settling in it was time to start our course. Predictably, the first day began with a lot of theory, involving watching naff instructional videos that mirrored the material in our new diving manuals which we’d been given on signing up. Scuba diving certainly has plenty of technical aspects most of which are vitally important to be able to dive safely. Pressure, nitrogen absorption, scuba equipment and buoyancy control are just some of the subjects that you need to learn about to minimise the dangers of diving. Our instructor, Simon (surely not his real name being Chinese-Malay) was keen to get the theory out of the way as quickly as possible and I feared that we wouldn’t even get in the water on the first day. However, after lunch it was time to assemble our scuba equipment (air regulator, air cylinder and BCD - Buoyancy Control Device), and suit up (wetsuit, weight belt, mask and flippers) to do our first confined water dive and breath under water for the very first time.

Despite how comfortable I am in the water and having done plenty of snorkelling in the past my first dive was still a completely new and alien experience. Diving, as I quickly found out, is all about breathing. The first aspect of breathing is learning to breathe in long, slow deep breaths, since breathing in a normal way is neither efficient nor effective, especially once your air begins to compress under pressure. It’s harder than it sounds. Breathing is something that you normally do so subconsciously. It’s hard to override your natural instincts and when you start becoming breathless, even under just a couple of metres of water it’s easy to start panicking. The second aspect is breathing is your primary way making yourself go up or down, something I hadn’t really considered before. In a nutshell, you will go up as you your lungs fill with air and down as they empty. By biasing the length of time you spend breathing in or out allows you to go up or down respectively. Again, this is not as easy as it sounds, especially if you are struggling to get your head around the first aspect to breathing. For Maren this was her biggest challenge (I’d soon be struggling with other skills), but it wasn’t too long though before both of us were sitting on the sea bed and we could start to take in our new underwater world.

Diving is something I’ve dreamed about doing since I’ve been swimming in the sea and it was everything I imagined and more. Just being able to hang out underwater knowing that you don’t have to worry about getting back to the surface anytime soon is cool enough, but it’s a more than that as it transforms your physical world. You are now for all intents weightless and your motion is slowed down by the all the water you are surrounded by. Your eyes see the world differently with colours changed by the effect of water absorbing different spectrums of light at different rates and object appearing a third bigger than their usual size. Your ears hear strange new sounds, the loudest generally being that of the bubbles being constantly released by your breathing equipment and with sound travelling several times faster underwater it’s very difficult to determine the direction any sound is coming from.

All of this takes a little getting used to and as we swam to a deeper location to continue our exercises we could spare little time to look around though I still managed to spot a Barracuda cruising nearby. Having completely some basic skills, like clearing our mask of water whilst submerged, we headed back to shore. After disassembling our equipment (something we’d be very familiar with doing over the next few days) Simon told us to take a break and surprisingly told us we’d be doing our first open water dive later that afternoon. Aside from going over procedures before descent and ascent, this would primarily be a recreational dive and our first chance to look around our new underwater world. It wasn’t long before we were kitted up again and back in the water. We’d not be going far. With our control of buoyancy just developing we’d be staying away from the big coral reefs that could easily be damaged by our clumsiness so we’d just be making our way out to deeper waters near the jetty. They’d still be plenty to keep us occupied though.

Our first challenge was to simply descend around 8 metres to the sea bed where we’d have our first real experience of pressure. In a reverse of the effect of flying at altitude, the air in your lungs, sinuses and ears is compressed as you descend leading to what diver call a “pinch” which can be very painful and cause physical damage. The key to prevent a pinch is to keep equalising the pressure of the air in your cavities to that of the surrounding water. The air in your lungs takes care of itself as you breathe in air from your tank which is always at the correct pressure, however getting more air into your ears and sinuses doesn’t always happen naturally. Instead the most common way to do this is by holding your nose and attempting to blow through it every few metres as you make your way down to the bottom.

I was first to descend whilst Maren waited on the surface. As I went down I struggled to equalise and experienced horrible pain across one side of my face. It’s a bit like having sinus cold headache, only much worse. After repeatedly having problems as I went deeper, I gave up and let Maren have a go whilst I waited on the surface. As she disappeared below me, I worried that I might have some sort of problem with my sinuses, but thankfully on my second attempt I realised that a little more brute force was required to equalise all of my sinus cavities.

Once we were both safely down we began to explore. Despite being one of the more lifeless areas being close to the jetty there was still plenty to see, from a variety of fish, sea slugs and clams. The highlight for me was to see a family of Clown fish (made famous by the film Finding Nemo) who initially disappeared into safety of their seaweed home as we approached. They soon reappeared however, seemingly as interested in looking at us as we were them. They would become a common sight during our dives but their behaviour never ceased to raise a smile which surely is how they got their name and why the animators at Pixar made them the stars of their underwater film. We looked forward to what else we might see during our dives, with any kind of shark high on my wish list and Maren hoping to see a string ray in the wild after touching one at the Underwater World in Singapore.

The next four days passed quickly. The theory felt like being back at school, but fortunately there wasn’t too much to stress over and we both made the pass mark on the final exam. The dives were more challenging. It was on my third confined water dive that I realised just how important our training was. One exercise involved taking off our masks and continuing to breathe underwater for a minute. I found this difficult, being somewhat sensitive about my eyes and I struggled to deal having to open them underwater whilst the bubbles from my respirator went over my face and up my nose. One trick is to breath out through your nose whilst breathing in through your mouth to avoid water going up your nose. However as natural instincts kicked in I ended up trying to breathe in through my nose resulting in dose sea water going down my throat. Coughing up sea water whilst trying to catch your breath with a respirator in your mouth isn’t easy and I found myself panicking. When this happens it’s difficult to control your urge to head straight back to the surface which is exactly what I ended up doing the first couple of times. This isn’t a problem when you are just under the surface, but swimming straight up to the surface when diving at depth can be extremely dangerous. It was a sobering lesson and I realised how important it was to be become comfortable and familiar with being under the water so that you react in the right way to common accidents like your mask being knocked off.

On my next open water dive I had a renewed respect for what we were doing, however our confidence was also growing. I was happy when I had no problems swimming in tandem with Simon without my mask and opening my eyes to see where I was going. I’d overcome my problems the previous day. Maren was also finding it easier and easier to control her depth through breathing and quickly got rid of the extra weighting she’d required on the first day. All that now remained was our final open water dive which promised to be the best yet, requiring a ride in boat round the island to a coral reef in War Bay. It would also be our deepest dive which would be in excess of 15 metres. Visibility had been disappointing on our previous dive around coral, but conditions were improving all the time and hoped we’d see something special.

We weren’t disappointed. Seeing the landscape of coral formations alone is magical, with all varieties of colours, shapes and structures. Massive, bulbous coral some as big as a small car with a surface etched in fluorescent green which made it look like a giant brain. Tree like coral, with branch after branch of rich reds and oranges. Huge disc like coral, stacked on top of each other like floors in some futuristic multi-levelled building. But these corals also team with life with all sorts of fish to be found swimming in and around taking advantage of the shelter they provide. The most common, were often the most colourful, such as parrot which display a rainbow of colours. We also saw a couple of much bigger and rarer fish. The weirdest was a puffer fish, with their strange box like bodies and their odd propelling fins which were arranged vertically, rather than at the side like the vast majority of the fish we saw. However it was right at the end of the dive when Maren had her wish come true as she spotted String Ray flapping its “wings” gliding effortlessly through the waters. With that final sight it was time to make our way up to the surface and once we were safely floating on top of the water again Simon congratulated us. We had completed our course and we were qualified divers.

I felt like a diver now as well. As we waited for the boat to pick us up I was unconcerned when one of the tubes on my regulator burst open and started venting out air. I knew exactly what I would have done had it happened underwater just a few minutes earlier. I’d experienced what it was like to run out of air under the water, having being through a simulation earlier in the course where our tanks were shut off. Even as the air rapidly left my tank I’d probably be able to breathe for a couple of minutes anyway. This would give me plenty of time to get attention and use signals to tell my “dive buddy” that I needed to share air. I would have then made my way over to Maren to breathe from her alternate air source and we would have made a slow controlled ascent to the surface just as we had practiced during the last few days. This is exactly what we had trained for.

Back at shore we logged our dive and reflected what had been the best dive yet. It’s hard not to be moved when visiting this underwater world. Your breath is taken away as you marvel at sheer variety, density and beauty of the life that has evolved here. There seems to be so much going on in these colourful, inventive and complex eco-systems. The pace at which you explore though is a gentle one, as you take care to not to disturb the inhabitants whilst also saving energy and air allowing you to extend your stay. It’s this combination that makes diving relaxing and exhilarating at the same time and is truly unique experience. What’s more, you are truly a guest, just a temporary visitor to this otherworld with your time limited by the air you carry. Even when we’ve trekked through what is largely pristine jungle, the well worn trails scar the forest floor and clearly mark where others have gone before. This human presence is much harder to detect when diving which makes it even more special.

That’s not to say humanity is not having its impact on the sea world, in fact it is perhaps here that it is at its worst. As we walked along the beach that night we could see the lights from the large fleet of fishing boats on the horizon plundering the ocean, as they do every night, and it was almost uncomfortable to see String Ray amongst the display of freshly caught sea food on offer at one of the restaurants along the beach. Anyone that knows me well knows how much I love eating seafood, especially sushi. I’ve been trying to ignore some uncomfortable facts about my favourite food for a while now but with this experience it’s now impossible. I sure that Maren and I will be trying to reform many of our eating habits when we return home (Maren has already felt the need to stop eating meat) and our sea food consumption will definitely be scrutinised. Fishing however is just one aspect of the damage being done to the oceans. We’ve been using it as one massive dumping ground for some time. Whether it be the poisonous metals from industrial processes, our own effluence or simply rubbish we can’t be bothered to depose of correctly we seem to think that the oceans also have an infinite capacity to absorb our waste, along with providing a never ending supply of food. If I had a symbol of this disregard for the sea or perhaps the environment as a whole then it would be the humble plastic bottle something that is sadly an all too common sight along the beaches I have visited during my trip. Some of the most beautiful places I have seen have been have been spoiled with bottles washed up along the shore, but that is almost literally the tip of the iceberg. When I see these bottles I always think about a story I saw on the news at home about the vast floating islands that you can find in the Pacific Ocean. These huge floating masses can be several kilometres across and are primarily made of plastic bottles that have been gathered by ocean currents. It will be just one of the many reasons that I’ll be re-doubling my efforts to live in a more environmentally friendly way when I get home.

Fortunately there are still places in the world that are as beautiful and as unspoilt as the Perhentians to remind us of our relationship with the environment and the way it should be. The Malaysian government has committed many crimes against its environment in the past, but its acting with more wisdom these days and it looks like the Perhentians will be afforded its protection. It was nice to see that a wind turbine (which we saw as we trekked across the island) will one day provide some of the electricity here. It’s also nice to be somewhere where the only mode of transport on land is by foot. So after completing our diving course there was nothing else to do but continue to appreciate where we were and decide where to go next. We did this by spending most of our time lazing around on the beach with a good book and breaking up the day with an hour or two snorkelling around the reefs (where I got to see some sharks!). It was a perfect end to our last few days in Malaysia.

All the pictures at http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/kris.lander/ThePerhentianIslands

The Cameron Highlands are cool

We were on the move once again. Having somewhat ridiculously got ourselves stressed out in KL we were glad as our bus left the city and began its four hour climb into the Cameron Highlands. Almost as soon as we were surrounded by green again we felt relieved. By the time the roads began to wind and our altitude began to rise city living was quickly forgotten and replaced by the anticipation of stepping out in the clean mountain air. As we got closer to our destination we got a brief preview of the beautiful tea plantation vistas we’d soon be seeing on mountain treks and we were excited. As we approached the town itself, buildings that wouldn’t seem out of place in the European Alps began to appear. There was something strangely familiar and distinctly non-Asian about this place. When was got off at Tanah Rata the bus it felt like we’d been transported home as we inhaled temperate mountain air. We couldn’t wait to check in and have afternoon tea, hoping to also find the scones, butter and strawberry jam we’d seen advertised along the road.

Checking in however ended up taking a little longer than we would have liked. We’d made friends with a fellow bus passenger on the bus, Heidger, who like most of the people we’d encountered had a reservation at Father’s Guest House, the most popular room in town. We also tried to book ahead, but having only tried the night before and with it being the start of a Malaysian holiday we were out of luck so we’d decided to chance turning up and looking around. After making our way to every guest house, we were fortunate to find a room for two people, never mind something to our liking. However, tomorrow would be the end of the weekend and we’d be able to upgrade from our room with two single beds to a double and a guest house with a little more appeal. First though we sat down for some fresh local tea, along with freshly baked scones, butter and locally made strawberry jam. We almost had to pinch ourselves. It was all very British, though that isn’t so surprising given the history here.

The Cameron Highlands are a throwback to British colonialism where the tea loving Brits had taken advantage of the highlands to grow altitude-loving tea plantations in the hills. Naturally they’d brought other cultural influences from home with them as well and whilst the British may have left, the Cameron Highlands haven’t changed much since. Aside from the tea and strawberries, many other crops are grown here which you wouldn’t normally find in this part of the world and the locals have preserved the British customs around our favourite beverage. It’s unique and unusual place, which is just as popular with Malaysians wanting to get away from it all as it is with backpackers.

Dinner soon followed after our tea, and with night time temperatures well below twenty degrees, I was looking forward to my first decent sleep (requiring the use of a cover!) in days. After moving over to Father’s Guest House the following morning we had a lazy day simply happy to enjoy the climate and tranquillity, whilst orientating ourselves and planning our first trek. It wasn’t long before we bumped into Heidger, who we’d seen the night before stocking up on supplies for his first trek with a Spanish traveller, Eneko who he’d met at his (and now our) guest house. They we raving about their day in the jungle and the view of the tea plantations at the top and were keen to follow up with another trek tomorrow. We wanted to tackle the highest peak on the map, which naturally meant taking “jungle trek No. 1” a climb of over 1200 metres to reach a peak of just over 2000 metres. We weren’t alone this desire and it wasn’t long before our group increased in size. By breakfast there were eight of us ready to go. With Germany, Britain, Spain and Norway all represented Maren christened the group using a word that I’d just recently explained to her and so “Euro-rabble” was born.

After a short local bus to the start of the trail we began our assent. Despite it being much cooler than KL the steep climb up soon got our hearts pumping and the sweat pouring off us. Whilst the path was well trodden, it required some concentration to negotiate the natural steps made of exposed tree roots and the obstacles in our path. Which also made it a lot of fun. As we went up we increasingly noticed the plant life, some of which is quite unusual. The wildlife we saw however was fairly benign, with butterflies, spiders and birds the only inhabitants we spotted along the way. Despite needing to stop for regular water breaks and some minor scrapes (especially with overhead branches - see pics for the blood running down Maren’s face) it wasn’t long before we reached the top where we climbed up a watch tower to get above the tree line for a panoramic view of the highlands. After resting up we were keen for another challenge and decided to take another trail off the road back down to town that we hoped would lead to another nearby peak. This was even more demanding and amusingly two of the group (Mirage and Eneko) managed to end up knee deep in mud. However after realising just how far we had to go and with our supplies of water quickly running out we decided to turn back. It was simply going to take too long. We returned to the road and started to make our way home. It wasn’t long before we found ourselves surrounded by neatly trimmed tea plants, which when viewed from a distance look a little like someone has created a massive garden maze onto the hills. The contrast of the rich deep greens and the blue skies with fluffy white clouds make for a pretty picture. After making our way a little further along the road we came to a strawberry farm which had a cafe for visitors. We were all in need of refreshment and were beginning to get tired, so it wasn’t hard to convince the group to stop for a break, especially with the prospect of some fresh strawberries. The home made strawberries ice lollies were the choice for those seeking instant gratification (like me), with the others in the group (like Maren) having to wait a little longer for their strawberries and ice cream. My strawberry lolly has to be the best lolly I’ve ever had. When we were back on the move it was clear that fatigue was setting in and it wasn’t long before we were trying to hitch a ride back to town. Fortunately is very easy to do in these parts with those who have space in their car happy to pick people up. The first person who stopped did so after his young daughter had took pity on us apparently saying “poor them” as they passed. We were grateful to the little girl and his kind father who gave us a ride all the way back to town. The others had little trouble either and it wasn’t long before we were all back at our guest house ready for a good meal and a beer after our exploits.

The following day Maren and I got up to hike again, but this time following the trail Heidger and Eneko had taken a couple of days previously. Whilst it wasn’t quite the same jungle experience on the way up the views of the farms and tea plantations on the way down were even more picturesque. After we’d made it back down into the valley we ended up at tea plantation cafe, cooling off with a long glass of iced tea. Refreshed, we headed to the nearby town of Brinchang to visit a butterfly farm which also had displays of some of the other forms of wildlife you might find in Malaysia, with insects and reptiles making up the bulk of the display. It was the butterflies that were the star attraction though with some beautiful species some of which were as wide as my hand. It was another great day and having worked up another big appetite we thoroughly enjoyed our dinner at back at our guest house. We were joined for dinner by Heidger who shared a final beer with us. All of the Euro-rabble were leaving in the morning to popular destinations on the back backpacker circuit. Heidger was off to Thailand to meet up with his girlfriend, the lads (Mike, Mirage, Eneko and Sam) off for more jungle experiences in Taman Negara and ourselves along with Vaira heading to the Perinethin Islands. We were looking forward to being at the sea again and from what we’d seen of the pictures the Perenthin Islands looked amazing. We’d read that they were one of the best diving and snorkelling locations in this part of the world, so what better place to learn to scuba dive and get our open water diving license? We simply couldn’t wait to get there.

All the pictures for Cameron Highlands at http://picasaweb.google.com/kris.lander/CameronHighlands

All City-ed Out

Our first stop in Malaysia took us to the coastal town of Melaka. With a two hour bus journey from the border required to get us there and still south of KL (Kular Lumpa), it seemed like a good place start our Malaysian experience. It was recommended to us by Kirsten and featured in our brand new Lonely Planet guide that we’d bought for south east Asia. Neither of us were sure of what to expect once we crossed the border from Singapore since neither Maren or I had been to Malaysia before. Nevertheless, having negotiated the bamboozling India I was quietly confident we’d manage. In fact as we changed bus at the border things were almost as organised and straightforward as they were in Singapore, albeit with a little more dirt. Our “express” bus from Johur Bahru was modern, air-conditioned and had huge comfortable seats with a surprising amount of leg room that easily accommodated our long legs. As we have since found the bus services here are well organised, cheap and comfortable. We also quickly found that it was easy to communicate with the locals, with many of them speaking very good English. So far, so good.

Things didn’t get much harder once we got to Melaka, however it wasn’t quite how we’d imagined. We were looking forward come time near the sea and perhaps a day on the beach, but it quickly became apparent that this isn’t a really sea-side town. Melaka one of the largest cities in the Malaysian Peninsular with around three-quarters of a million people living there and tourism is far from the biggest generator of income. It has a long and rich history with it being a major trading port in the past and has been ruled by several different empires in the past, notably Indian, Portuguese and British. As a result there is melting pot of cultures and Melaka has its own unique Eurasian cuisine. Due to its unique past, Melaka has recently been listed as a world heritage site and there were still signs around town advertising the party that was thrown to celebrate its new status. The Lonely Planet recommended that we made our way to the China Town for cheap backpacker friendly accommodation. Once we got there it was easy to find a guest house, with the standard of rooms high and reasonably priced. Whilst it might not be the most charming of places, for £8 a night we had a large clean room with the luxury of air-conditioning which made it good value, even when compared to India. The eating options were as varied and thus as baffling as in Singapore. We struggled to decide on anything, from where to eat and what to eat. Our first breakfast was particularly difficult and unfamiliar. In both Chinese and Malay cooking a rice and meat dish is just as normal for breakfast as it is for dinner and when we were unable to find anywhere serving anything close to eggs and toast, we ended up at a local place eating chopped chicken with plain rice at 10am.
With Maren not feeling 100% we limited ourselves to spending most of the day looking around China Town. It’s definitely the most charming part of Melaka we saw and many of the buildings date back hundreds of years. There are lots of shops selling all sorts of things, from cheap tourist gifts to Chinese antiques, art and curiosities. The Chinese Taoist and Buddhist temples were the most attention-grabbing places though from the colourful paintwork of the building to the holy shrines inside. Interestingly however, even in China Town, there was still a Hindu temple and Mosque as well. Cultures seem to mix well in this part of the world. That even we went out for dinner in the porteguese area of the town to try one local fusion specialities, devil’s curry. On our ride over in a ricksaw it seemed that there wasn’t much anything we want to see that warranted another full day here so we planned to take the bus to KL (Kuala Lumpur) the following morning.

The next day, after another comfortable bus ride we were dropped off at KL’s main bus station in the heart of the city. Again China Town was the place to head to for backpacker accommodation. It was mid afternoon and with our heavy backpacks we walk across town in the humid stifling conditions. Daytime averages at this time of year are rarely below 35 degrees and with it being at the tail of the monsoon humidity was always close to one hundred percent. Fortunately after a somewhat arduous walk we had little trouble in finding a guest house, but unsurprisingly, space was at a premium and the prices a little more expensive.

It wasn’t long before we were out exploring the city. My first impression was that we were no longer in a utopian city like Singapore. There was a little more dirt around for starters, with more rough edges giving the streets a grittier feel. Cafes and restaurants spilled on the pavements where they could get away with it, the traffic was more chaotic and there noise and buzz that was missing in Singapore. I also felt the need to be just a little more alert and wary. This instinct that was later proved correct when a girl sitting at a table next to us had her bag stolen as she ate. That said we felt far from unsafe. This somehow made it seem a bit more familiar and reminded me of London. There are of course huge differences as well. The skyline is unique being home to several unusual and tall buildings which pop in and out of view as you walk around the dense city centre. The two most famous of these are the KL Tower and the twin Petronas Towers, which have both held the world record as the world’s tallest buildings. In fact Malaysia is a country that is obsessed with world records; the weirder the better. You’ll often find a copy of the Guinness Book of World Records on a table in a guest house or hotel. They even have their own version specifically for Malaysian records. However, these aren’t the only interesting building in KL, with an eclectic mix of architecture present around the city centre. The country’s Islamic influence is well represented with the national mosque looming over one side of the city. However, it was the Masjid Jamek mosque close to the centre of the city that was particularly beautiful. Not far away one of the taller skyscrapers in the city seemed to be inspired by Islamic art which we thought looked particularly cool. However, with a sizable Chinese and Indian population there are plenty of other religions and cultures represented. Walking round Little India we soon found a local Hindu temple, cafes full of Indian men drinking Chai and the local bazaar featuring all the usual Indian wares. China Town was a bigger and badder version of one in Melaka and whilst it had plenty of character it didn’t have the quite the same charm. Again there seemed to be a thriving mix of cultures and we liked KL.

That said we were finding it difficult to relax. With alcohol relatively expensive here spending time at a bar was disconcertingly expensive and our guest was not a great place to relax. When we got back to our room, whose only window was into the dark hall, it was positively claustrophobic. This wasn’t the only thing that was bothering us. Having spent over a week in Singapore, a couple of days in Melaka and now KL city living, especially as back packers, was beginning to wear thin. The heat wasn’t helping either with the torrential downpours in the afternoon only seeming to make matters worse. Since we didn’t have AC sleep had been almost impossible. Eating was also becoming a source of stress, especially breakfast. On our final day in KL we found ourselves in McDonald’s (wrong!) getting a coffee to go with the donuts we’d purchased in a supermarket as we were unable to face chicken and rice in the middle of the morning again. We were over being in the city, any city and it was time to do something a little more unusual and perhaps a little more meaningful. Looking at the options on the backpacker circuit one destination immediately stood out. The Cameron Highlands. Promising treks in the jungle to get to panoramic views of its famous tea plantations and average temperatures ten degrees lower than KL it was an easy decision. Despite thinking highly of the city we couldn’t wait to get out of KL and get back to more natural surroundings.

Check out all the pictures

http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/kris.lander/Melaka

http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/kris.lander/KuluaLumpa

Spotless Singapore

The moment we walked into Bangalore International airport it already felt like we were in a different country, but the contrast on arriving in Singapore after our three and half hour flight could not have been greater. Singapore wasn’t originally on my list of places that I’d like to visit having spent nearly two weeks here back at the turn of the millennium. I knew what the pros and cons of the place were but after coming from India the pros were all the sweeter and we wouldn’t be around long enough to worry about the cons.

We arrived early in the morning having barely slept on the plane and we were looking forward to the fresh European style coffee that Maren’s friend Kirsten had promised us. Kirsten is another friend Maren made during her time at the Sivananda Ashram. She’d given Maren an open invite to stay at her apartment should we come to Singapore, so here we were. Kirsten is a fellow German like Maren who has been teaching at one of Singapore’s many international who cater for the large ex-pat population that is present here. One of the perks of her job is a generous allowance for renting an apartment and we were so grateful that she was sharing her beautiful home with us. When we arrived she was as good as her word and it wasn’t long before the promised coffee was brewed, along with some European cheese and bread. We felt at home straight away.

After recovering from our flight it wasn’t long before we were taking the bus into town to see the city. Singapore is an ultra-modern city which feels both Asian and European at the same time, which influences coming from its neighbours and its colonial past. The first thing that you notice is how clean the place is. Singapore is almost unnaturally immaculate, largely thanks to draconian laws that severely punish those who drop litter with huge fines. It’s rare to see any litter anywhere and it makes London, which isn’t the cleanest place, looks positively filthy by comparison. Once we got off the bus at Orchard Road, the heart of shopping in Singapore, it was hard to find much dust anywhere, never mind litter. We quickly made our way to China Town on the MRT keen to see an area of town that would reflect the main Asian influence in Singapore with some seventy percent of the population having Chinese roots. With the two celebration for Chinese New Year almost half way through decorations were up all around the city but none more so than in China town. We were hungry, so before we’d had a chance to sit down we’d already been coaxed into sitting down at a local eatery and were quickly served an ice cold bottle of one of Singapore’s most famous exports, Tiger beer. Now we just had to choose what to eat and we were faced with another huge contrast, with a bewildering number of dishes to choose from and a menu that ran to several pages. We felt like fish out of water having eaten largely vegetarian Indian food for weeks. Now we were presented with numerous fried rice, noodle and soup dishes that all invariably involved meat or seafood. Thankfully this menu at least had pictures of each dish (something that would be a luxury elsewhere during our stay) but it took us a good twenty minutes to decide what to eat. This somewhat frustrated our waitress who seemed almost as bemused as us as to why it was taking so long to make our choice. In fact you rarely seem to be afforded anything more than a couple of minutes before someone wants to take your order her. After much deliberation we finally ordered and when our food arrived it was a taste sensation with forgotten flavours igniting our taste buds. This pattern continued during our stay. With so many options, especially at the food courts which you’ll find in most of the basements of the malls all over the city, it was always hard to choose, even stressful at times! We were thankful when we had Kirsten was there to take us out and order for us. However the eating itself was always a pleasure.

The next few days past quickly as we took the opportunity to do things we hadn’t been able to do easily whilst backpacking. We took pleasure in making breakfast for ourselves for the first time in months. We stocked up on anything that was often hard to find from toiletries to memory cards. We took a couple of years off Kirsten’s washing machine making sure everything we had got a proper wash. We found a cinema that was still showing Avatar (in 3D of course something I thought I might miss having left the UK on the day it came ou)t. We went clubbing at the world famous Zouk though sadly Timo Maas bored us to tears. We used Skype to call home to family and friends which was particularly nice. We made use of the large swimming pool in Kirsten’s apartment complex completing fifty lengths each morning after breakfast. We enjoyed all sorts of Asian food whilst seeing the sights and been taken out in the evening by Kirsten.

To repay Kirsten’s generosity putting us up for the week we decided to have a dinner party for her and her friends with us doing all the cooking. With a Chinese supermarket well stocked in Asian spices and sauces and huge counter full of fresh fish, I got all the ingredients for my red Thai fish curry, which some of you reading will be familiar with (or it’s chicken variant). Given the pressure of cooking for a large group of people and not having my cook book to hand I was relieved that I, along with Maren’s help, managed to rustle up something more than edible. Whether they were being polite or not everyone seemed to enjoy it.

Finally on our last full day in Singapore we decided to go to Sentosa Island as I was keen to visit the Underwater World which was supposed to be the largest in the world. This ended up being our final extreme contrast to India. Sentosa Island is a massive holiday resort cum theme park, built on what I suspect is largely reclaimed land. Is about as made-made and artificial as a place can be which served to remind us of all amazing naturally beautiful places that we had visited in India. Aside from seeing, in some cases touching, all marine life at the Underwater World we felt just wrong being there. It’s sad that we invest so much money in making such a place, no doubt at great cost to the environment, when there is such natural beauty that is being destroyed elsewhere.

That said we had a great time in Singapore. I had fun the last time I was here, but it wouldn’t have been a place that I would have put high on my list to return to. Singapore is somewhat of a police state using harsh laws with tough sentences to control the behaviour of its population. In some ways you can’t argue with the results. It’s successful, it’s clean, it’s safe and the people are friendly and well behaved. However, when you hear a story or two about being on the wrong side of its laws then it makes you feel uneasy. Kirsten and her fellow teachers told us over dinner how teenage students are routinely tested for drugs and alcohol which can in some cases lead to imprisonment. However, I was surprised at how much I enjoyed myself this time round. What I really appreciated when I was twenty two was more limited and in some ways different. I found myself thinking about what it might be like to live and work here and based on what I saw and Kirsten’s lifestyle it wasn’t a bad image. Which led me to another thought about one of my oldest and best friends, Dom. If all goes to plan he will shortly be moving to this part of the world and working here. Well I can happily report that I’m sure he’ll have a great time and Ettie, his wife, is also going to love as well, especially the food and shopping.

With our stay quickly overrunning on time it was time to get back on the road. We were resupplied, refreshed and ready for new experiences. To cross the border into Malaysia was as simple as taking the same bus we’d been using to get into the city for the last few days, except in the opposite direction. Our first stop, Melaka and then on to Kuala Lumpur.

Pictures from Singapore at http://picasaweb.google.com/kris.lander/Singapore

In search of a saint

It was early morning on our final day in India. We were booked on a late night flight from Bangalore International to our first destination in south east Asia, Singapore. However before we left we planned to visit the most famous living guru in India today Sathya Sai Baba, said to be the reincarnation of the great Maharashtrian saint, Sai Baba of Shirdi.

Since I’ve been in India I’ve been looking for an opportunity to have some kind of spiritual experience. Around ten years ago I started practicing meditation after reading a book lent to me by my now good friend Tobias whilst I shared an apartment with him in the summer of 2000 whilst working as bar tenders. It was written by Osho, a somewhat infamous guru from India “who had the ability to explain the most abstract concepts in simple language, illustrated with witty anecdotes, who mocked gods, prophets, scriptures and religious practices and gave a totally new dimension to religion.” [quote from Khushwant Singh former editor of the Hindustan Times reflecting my own opinion at the time] After reading this book, which was largely a deconstruction of organised religion and an analysis of the woes of the modern world it made a big impression. One of subjects Osho tackled was the problems with stress that increasingly plagued the western world. It was something that I’d recently had very personal experience of and he said that just a few weeks practicing meditation would solve most, if not all of the problems for anyone suffering debilitating stress. After reading all his other insightful views on other subjects which I always found myself agreeing with I was willing to believe his claim, so I set out on trying to meditate. Whilst the book was not a practical guide to meditation, there was constant referral to high states of consciousness and awareness reached by achieving a state of mindlessness. Despite having little instruction I spent many hours alone in my room trying practice awareness and watch my thoughts until none remained. When I successfully achieved a temporary state of mindlessness something, which I still can only describe as some kind of magic, started to happen inside which induced feelings of well being. It was a turning point in my life. If I had to say one thing that helped me recover from my depression and panic attacks it was learning to meditate. As a result I’ve had an interest in metaphysics ever since and a number of experiences have led me to believe that there is more to the universe than the known physical realms of space, time, matter and energy.

Now I was in Osho’s homeland and the land that has given much of the world’s spiritual teachings and practices. Notably, India was the country in which Buddhism was born after Siddhartha Gautama achieved self-actualisation (enlightenment) something I was particularly interested in. I hoped that during my travels in India I might have an encounter with a guru who was also self-actualised (as many claim to be) and also take part in group meditation which is said to magnify the effects by creating what some call a Buddha-field. As we toured through India, there was one guru whose name kept popping up. Sai Baba. This is partly due to his popularity, but we’d had a couple of chance encounters, one with our friend Manoj who told us that Sai Baba was his guru and that of the restaurant owner we’d met in Gokana. It seemed that something was driving us in his direction.

We left Bangalore in a taxi early in the morning to make the 3 hour drive to Puttaparthy. Our plan was to visit the ashram, having lunch at one of the ashram’s canteens and then queue up for the afternoon darshan that would be held at four o’clock when we’d hopefully see Sai Baba and if we were really lucky be invited to an audience with him where we could ask questions. We’d then leave early in the evening making the journey back to Bangalore’s new international airport to catch our flight.

Having read the website for Sai Baba’s organisation we were well informed about ashram rules. Dress was important, with visitors asked to wear all white clothes that were otherwise reserved. Men and women were encouraged not to fraternise, especially at lunch where the canteens would serve men and women separately. Photos and any other recordings were strictly forbidden inside the ashram. My natural instinct is to question the validity of any such restrictions and rules but I prepared to respect them during my visit and ask such questions later.

It was just over 134Km to Puttaparthy, but thanks to one of the new highways that are being built all through India the journey wasn’t too long. We made a brief stop along the way for breakfast at roadside motel whose restaurant was soon full of westerners also making the journey to see Sai Baba. There seemed to be quite a mixture of people, from different countries and all age ranges. After making short work of a masala dosa and a coffee we were back on the road. It was only another hour until we were close to our destination and along the way images of Sai Baba began to increase in both frequency and size. By the time we made it to the town itself, it was clear there was a permanent state of Sai Baba mania in Puttaparthy. His image was everywhere, from advertisements to road safety instructions. Making our way along the main high street our driver pointed out all the buildings that were built as a result of Sai Baba’s foundation, a university, a sporting institute and a world class hospital, all free of charge. As we drove past the ashram itself, the opposite side was busy with hundreds of people walking up and down the street along the shops selling Sai Baba merchandise. Our driver pulled up just past the entrance and instructed us to call him later when we were ready to be picked up.

On entering we were quickly separated into queues for men and women so that body searches could be conducted. With a typically Indian use of man power four people patted each “quadrant” of each person who entered the ashram. Once inside the main gate Maren and I were reunited and we started to explore the ashram. Much like the ashram in Bangalore there was a main area where morning and afternoon darshans were held, along with accommodation for all the devotees who choose to stay in the ashram. The size of the ashram though was much greater and a number of other buildings, including a library, lecture hall, shops, a post office and canteens catering for western, north Indian and south Indian tastes were also all part of the ashram’s campus. We walked around, looking for somewhere to sit down and relax with a drink but continuing the similarities with the ashram in Bangalore it was a very functional kind of place and was largely devoid of any natural areas to sit, relax or even interact with other visitors. I briefly entered the library to see what kind of literature was being promoted. After being directed to the English section, I unsurprisingly found hundreds of books about just one subject, Sai Baba and his teachings. I stopped to skim through a book or two before leaving again. After finding little in the ashram to interest us we decided to pop out to have drink, but struggled to find a cafe or restaurant. It seemed that there was little demand for such places with most visitors taking advantage of the canteens inside the ashram and so we returned to the ashram for lunch. We headed over to the western canteen, deciding it would be our best bet for some fluent conversation. Maren would have lunch with the women and I’d be eating with the men. Once inside I quickly made my way to the food serving area, with a selection of soup, vegetables, salads and drinks being served by devotees dressed in all white who were no doubt doing their “seva” (selfless service) whilst staying at the ashram. Once I got my food I looked for a table to join hoping that I’d end up talking to someone. However I couldn’t really see somewhere I would fit in and instead positioned myself between several people, not wishing to intrude nor look to isolate myself. However, with nobody acknowledging my greeting on sitting down and a rather odd atmosphere I found myself eating alone and studying all the people around me. It was a mixed bunch, though most seemed older than myself with the majority seemingly middle-aged. Along with those who seemed to be North American and European there were people from all areas of the world. I noted several people from two big delegations from Indonesia and Japan who we had seen earlier wandering around the ashram. I didn’t get much of a feeling off anyone and there certainly didn’t seem to be much joy in the room. A couple of people stood out in particular. One guy was dressed in a black t-shirt and black jeans (completely going against the suggested attire of white) with a long black tattoo on one arm and a wave of jet black hair. He looked like he could have walked on to the set of Grease as a T-Bird gang member. Most notably though his eyes looked so wild that I felt he could go explode with insanity at any moment. Also, as I sat and ate my dinner, a man who was probably somewhere in his sixties sat down at a table opposite. He looked very pale and as he began to eat his food he laboured with every mouth full and I guessed that he was probably terminally ill. His face told a thousand words, with deep frown lines etched on his face I found it hard to imagine him smiling. I suspected that he was also probably fairly wealthy as he seemed to be wearing an expensive watch. I speculated on the reasons as to why he might be here. With little to do except eat my food it wasn’t long I was outside again. Maren was waiting and had fared no better talking to people and like me had done her share of people watching with similar conclusions. I regretted not going to one of the Indian canteens, as I’m sure someone would have at least started a conversation with the usual “Which country?” or “What is your name?”

Having eaten we now set about finding out exactly where both of us would have to queue for the afternoon’s darshan. The darshan started at four, but we’d been told by our taxi driver to queue early if we hoped to get a good position to see Sai Baba and I was well prepared for a patient wait. As the book “Holy Cow” joked, one miracle that Sai Baba is able to perform is getting everyone to queue in a very orderly fashion, without pushing or shoving and in silence. I was initially well positioned, but having stupidly forgotten to take my flip flops off ended up at the back of the queue again when I was just about to enter the hall. It wasn’t a complete disaster though and before long I was in the hall and sitting down in a fairly good position to see everything that would be going on. I wasn’t very prepared for the wait however. Unlike many of the devotees, I didn’t have a prayer cushion and it wasn’t long before I was feeling uncomfortable sitting on the hard stone floor. It was nearly an hour and a half by the time the darshan started, with the chanting of mantras. This normally involves the continual repetition of one particular mantra however this chanting seemed to involve many different mantras that were impossible to pick up. Even those who seemed to have some sort of chanting book struggled to keep up. Having resigned myself to not being able to join in I instead tried to soak up the atmosphere. As I sat and listened I was unmoved. There was little in the way of excitement or fervour that I expected and most of the audience were half heartedly chanting, if at all. After nearly an hour of chanting, by which time Sai Baba would have normally made an appearance, the chanting was replaced by songs which crowd responded to more enthusiastically, but I still felt little connection to what was going on. As I continued to wait for Sai Baba to appear I began to consider what I was actually doing here. I was essentially going to church, albeit in India. Visiting Sai Baba wasn’t a million miles away from going to see the pope in the Vatican (something I’d never consider doing) and I felt no connection to the ashram or the people I was gathered with. I hoped that when Sai Baba appeared there would be some sort of transformation, however time was running out. The prayer songs had now been going for almost an hour and still Sai Baba had not appeared. It is said that he is not in good health these days and I strongly doubted that he was going to make an appearance. As much as I wanted to hold out my patience was wearing thin and we couldn’t leave much later without risking making our flight. Figuring that Sai Baba would have been and gone well before now I hadn’t even made a plan with Maren about how late we’d stay and since she was on the other side of the hall with the women we had no way of discussing things. It was now just after six and there was still no sign so with a heavy heart I got up and left. Once outside I soon found Maren. It seemed that she’d come to the same conclusion a few moments earlier and we made our way through the crowds still hanging around the hall so we could leave. I was very disappointed, four hours of waiting around for nothing! I wanted to leave as quickly as possible, not only the ashram but India itself. As we speeded towards the airport in our taxi we both felt like it was a sad end to the first part of our Indian adventure. On reflection though I was reminded of the words of our friend Manoj who said “You don’t choose your guru, your guru chooses you.” Well Sai Baba certainly didn’t choose me. However whilst I didn’t connect with him, the ashram or any of the people visiting, his general message and multi-faith approach is good. Also my impression from the people that ran the ashram, who were warm and friendly, was also positive. I was also reminded by the conclusion of book called “Yoga school dropout” by Lucy Edge who failed in her quest to find a guru during her travels around India and decided that she didn’t need one. Well I certainly won’t be trying hard to for the reminder of my travels so a guru really will have to choose me now.