fellini

Now that we are back in Cambodia, memories are reactivated of our last visit to that country, which was just over 2 years ago. That was in my pre-blogging days. So here is one, as the TV chefs say, that I prepared earlier.... We were on our way from Kratie to Sen Monorom. The first part of this journey was no problem, just a regular bus journey to the little town of Snuol, from where, we had been told, we could easily catch a minibus to Sen Monorom. But it was in Snuol that things started to go slightly pear-shaped. Snuol. The very name of the place should have told us something. Instant mental associations are invoked with words like snide, snigger, sneaky, and snot. And indeed it turned out to be a bit of a ... read more

This was my first visit to mainland China. On the basis of what I had read about the great changes going on in the country, I was curious to see whether I was just in time to see any of the "Old China" before it disappeared under the steamroller of modernisation, industrialisation, westernisation, commercialisation, whatever-isation. Perhaps in a relatively small provincial capital like Kunming, in an outlying and still ethnically diverse province like Yunnan, there would still be something old or traditional to see? Maybe wide elegant tree-lined boulevards crowded with vendors' handcarts and pyjama-clad cyclists? Yeah, right, in your dreams! My first impressions were disappointing. Tall skyscrapers, streets jammed with cars, big shopping malls, pop music blasting out of the countless clothes shops, blinking neon signs, giant billboards advertising familiar international brands. McDo... read more

We were in Jammu and wanted to get away from the heat, up to the old British hill station of Dalhousie. According to the Lonely Planet there was one bus a day; our hotel manager told us that it left at 8.00 a.m.. Just to be on the safe side we got to the bus station at 6.30 a.m., and were confronted by a hellish scene of total chaos. Hundreds of people milling about in all directions, ankle deep in rubbish, struggling with all kinds of oversized and bizarre luggage. Vendors, touts, hustlers, and beggars, all plying their various trades. Here and there a large pile of rags, which turned out, on closer inspection, to be a person asleep on the floor, surrounded by their worldly possessions. Dozens of buses of all kinds, colours, and states ... read more

It was in the town of Kota that a worrying rash appeared on my legs and arms. At first I told myself that it was merely mosquito bites, but after a while the itchy purple blotches became far too numerous for that to be a plausible explanation. Maybe an allergic reaction to a bite then. But out of the hypochondriac recesses of my mind emerged an alternative theory. What about all the beggars I had seen on the street with all manner of exotic skin diseases? Beggars who would occasionally clutch at my hand as I passed by. Maybe a good idea to get a professional opinion, then, just to be on the safe side... The hotel receptionist did not seem very concerned, when I asked whether they had a doctor on call. He glanced briefly ... read more

We stopped at Chittorgarh for two nights, just to see the magnificent old hilltop fort. It is only a small town, and there is not much else to do there, and not many restaurants to choose from. As usual we opted for a Lonely Planet recommendation. This was a basement restaurant, with harsh fluorescent-strip lighting, formica table tops, a colour scheme dominated by dark brown, and a dog-eared plastic menu card in bizarre English. The buzzing flies outnumbered the human customers by about 50 to 1. We have seen quite a few restaurants like this in India. Most of the dishes consisted of a spicy dark brown sludge, with small amorphous black lumps that always seem to call for further investigation to ensure that they were not fragments of flies or cockroaches. Nevertheless the food turned ... read more