“He follows us for long time now”, M whispered nervously, eyes flickering over the crowd around us. “Very bad man. You know CNG?” Not personally so far, thankfully, but I’d heard a bit about them. The Uzbek branch of the KGB, which had apparently survived more or less intact after the collapse of the Soviet Union. While they don’t inspire quite the same level of fear as back in their Soviet heyday, these are still not guys you want to exchange pleasantries with if you can avoid it. Keeping her head down, and barely looking at me at all, M outlined [View Full Entry]

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Kymys. Fermented mare's milk. I'd been looking forward to trying it ever since I decided to come to Central Asia, but I guess I'd always had in mind just a small sip, rather than the overflowing bowl Aitbek had just thrust into my hands. I gazed into it uncertainly for a moment, fairly dubious about the tiny pieces of straw and strands of hair bobbing at the surface. But Aitbek just nodded encouragingly, before tipping his own bowl back and slurping it all down in several throaty gulps. Smacking his lips appreciatively, he motioned for me to do the same. And [View Full Entry]

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The previous night's queasy cocktail of menace & vodka turned uneasily in my stomach when I woke, but I felt myself very quickly invigorated by the thought of what lay ahead... Three days up in the Tian Shan, (Mandarin for 'Celestial Mountains'), a mountain range which LP claims "comprises perhaps the finest trekking territory in Central Asia". I'd decided to explore it for myself rather than hiring a guide; both for financial reasons and also because I knew it would be more of an adventure on my own. Which it certainly was - probably the highlight of the trip so far! [View Full Entry]

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The old man with the wooden leg grinned across the low table at me, a mouthful of gold teeth gleaming in the candle-light. Raising his shot glass high, he waited for the rest of the table to fall silent, then looked me right in the eye and barked something in Kyrgyz, eliciting growls of assent from the men around me. I didn't recognise the word, but his sentiment was clear enough; it didn't matter how many drunken louts were waiting for me in the cold outside - fanning the flames of their violent anger with more & more alcohol - I [View Full Entry]

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Like moths to a flame, Prague's countless tourists swarm around the Old City streets, flitting in and out of the endless & identically-kitsch tourist shops, alighting nowhere for long. For most cities, however enchanting, this would be enough to wear the charm thin - very quickly... =/ But Prague is an untouchably magical place - a deep-dreaming city of cobbled lanes, Gothic spires and refreshingly-diverse architecture. And one of the most magical places of all is Staromestske nam, (Old Town square), at dusk. The twin Gothic spires of Tyn Church hang - a pair of sharp-winged bats - over [View Full Entry]

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My Year in Asia had always seemed to stretch endlessly out before me, all the way to the distant curve of the horizon and into the vagueness beyond. So it was with a sense of real disbelief - as well as sadness - that I realised I only had three weeks left after returning from Burma! And these three, already inadequate, weeks passed by ridiculously quickly - a loud, fast-forward blur of parties & dinners, cramming for final exams, nights out on the town with good mates, and all the inevitably bittersweet 'Lasts' that come with leaving a place... The Last [View Full Entry]

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Pulling up his longyi, Naung Naung proudly shows us the tattoo of a rabbit on his right thigh, surrounded by a faded swirl of Pali inscriptions. "This one makes me jump higher", he explains, his face deadly serious, before pulling open his tattered shirt to reveal a tiger on his chest. "And this one gives me courage!" This goes on for a few minutes, as he shows us a succession of significant tattoos - each located on a specific part of the body - and tells us the blessing each one bestows. I'd read a little about this custom before, (sometimes [View Full Entry]

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Lying on my back, on the floor of the small hut, the only sounds I'm aware of are the creaking of bamboo and the grating whine of mosquitos swarming closer. Two old ladies - in whose home we are about to enjoy our first Burmese massage - shuffle quietly around us in long, faded longyis, carefully arranging a selection of herbal oils on the floor beside us. Noticing me slap at a mosquito which has settled on my arm, one of them smiles knowingly, kindly eyes shining in the candle-light, and holds up a reassuring hand. Wait, wait, I've got just [View Full Entry]

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Leaning over to check how fast we're going - 150 km/h - I notice for the first time that the taxi driver has fallen asleep at the wheel. Behind us, the road stretches out straight and long, and I wander how long it's been since he nodded off. We nudge him gently, with a cautious hand hovering over the steering wheel in case he wakes with a start. Instead, he wakes slowly, almost lazily, and then grins sheepishly as he winds the windows down and turns the radio up. This proves insufficient stimulation, so he speeds up even more - 175 [View Full Entry]

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Clambering down from the rickety base-camp bunk-bed, I turn off the 2am alarm and wonder vaguely what was going through my mind when I packed for this trip. Already shivering in the frigid early morning air, I blearily consider my woefully inadequate clothing options. Let me sum it up for you like this: I'm about to climb to the summit of the highest mountain in South East Asia and I don't even have dry underwear to put on. A t-shirt still wet from yesterday's climb, a pair of light running shoes, a thin jumper, rain-jacket, quick-dry travel trousers, a beanie, gloves [View Full Entry]

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