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Next part after boarding if time allows
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My second recommandation outside beaten path would be
Basilica Papale di Santa Maria Maggiore
Stunning and with an early entry, no queue or tourist herds , was stunning
This concludes my roman holidays
Basilica Papale di Santa Maria Maggiore
Stunning and with an early entry, no queue or tourist herds , was stunning
This concludes my roman holidays
Dona Ferentes
Abri贸 la caja, vio al gatito, y sonri贸
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Cambodia 1992-93
The Peoples Republic of Kampuchea changed its name to State of Cambodia in April 1989. Peace talks in Paris between the warring parties resulted in the Comprehensive Cambodian Peace Agreements, signed in October 1991. Then the United Nations Transitional Authority in Cambodia was established with the responsibility for administration in the country.
UNTAC was formed in Feb 1992, with the task enforce the peace, organise and hold elections and bring about a new constitution. The race was on to disarm the factions, install a functioning bureaucracy and run an election. Battalions of soldiers from a dozen countries arrived, as did thousands of civilian police, administrators and volunteers. My partner accepted a role involving the repatriation of refugees and their integration into Cambodian society, and she left for Phnom Penh early March. I stayed in Australia with the kids and, when we heard an International School had been established, we flew over late May.
We rented a house on 322 St, near both the school and UN offices. I bought a bicycle and, after getting kids off to class, went out and about. I could have applied for accreditation with the UN and headed out for scoops, including free travel on UN chopper (Russian Mi-8 workhorses) flights up country, but didn't. I went to SoC military briefings; the openness was a real change from earlier secrecy. A nascent Foreign Correspondents Club was reforming after a 17 year hiatus (mainly in a bar nearby); a lot of the journalists had come from Bangkok and the border, a few were referred to as 'tank chasers', in search of the sensational. I remember a young Nate Thayer asking a barman if he had any contacts with the KR: Thayer went on to get the scoop by tracking down Pol Pot in 1997. He also managed to interview Ieng Sary.
Initially all factions were part of the peace process. Working groups of UN and the four groups met; when technicalities came for discussion, things frayed. Asked whether English or French should be the working language, the KR replied "Why not Khmer?". Khieu Samphan, #4 in the KR hierarchy, was in town early on; at his first appearance, I witnessed the locals turn hostile as soon as he was identified and UN Military Police rescued him from a beating or worse.
Soon, any cooperation disappeared and hostilities restarted. The two smaller factions had thrown their lot in behind the SoC and only the Khmer Rouge fought on. The UNTAC operation was bedded down and, despite obvious disparities, it was deemed a political success. But what was seen as an international achievement was fraught on the ground. UNTAC was disarming local SoC militia but had no enforcement against KR forces. The security situation deteriorated and the feeling was palpable. There was a period when it looked like the process would fray; tensions rose and I witnessed government people taking large supplies of arms to their homes, such was the fear the UN would disarm them but not the KR. This tension was echoed in daily life; drunkenness and wild behaviour became common, especially in restaurants, beggars were aggressive, discharged soldiers, often amputees, formed gangs that shook down businesses, theft and assault became common. Our home was burgled twice, I was forced off the road when riding by bike by a local who deliberately targeted me, my partner had her UN vehicle taken in a brazen and violent carjack.
We had two trips away, during school holidays. The first was a trip to visit embassy friends in Vientiane, flying direct in a Air Lao wet-lease 737 that still had its Icelandic Air logo and complete with blonde stewards and pilots. My son and I then took a ferry across the Mekong to Nong Khai where Australian money was building the Lao-Thai Friendship Bridge. We took a bus to the railhead at Khon Kaen then travelled by train to Bangkok and on to a much-changed Hua Hin. It was hard to recognise the old town as tourist hotels lined the beach for kilometres and what was a sleepy fishing town was humming. We booked tickets on the sleeper train south, to Had Yai and the border, then to Kuala Lumpur. From there we went to Singapore and flew to Tioman Island for a 5-day holiday, staying in a losmen on the beach. A quick flight back to Singapore and back to Phnom Penh. The second trip was at the end of 1992, with the family flying via Bangkok to Penang and Kula Lumpur for a 2-week break.
Australia had a significant part in the peace-keeping operation with a battalion of troops, many stationed near the airport; I met an Aussie officer downtown and he invited me back for a look. And on Australia Day 1993, a big celebration was held in the grounds of the Government Guest House near Wat Phnom; probably 600 expats were in attendance, and PM Paul Keating put in an appearance. Catering was over the top, with crocodile steaks, lobster, barramundi plus the full range of Australian beers and wine.
The Phnom Penh International School seemed to gain new students on a daily basis but had many teething problems. Our children formed friendships with kids their own age but the curriculum appeared deficient. It transpired the staff were mainly Americans of a certain worldview and many were Southern Baptists. The final straw was when my son, who was struggling, said to us, "I used to be smart, but now I'm dumb." Combined with the insecurity, it wasn't a hard decision. We contacted our Canberra real estate agent, invoked the diplomatic clause to break the tenant lease, and within a fortnight I took the two kids back in Australia, to their old school, home and friends. My partner stayed in Phnom Penh and worked on through the May 1993 election and transition to formation of a legitimate and recognised Cambodian government in September that year. Her work with the repatriation program from the border was winding down and she joined us in November.
International travel
1. SYD - KL 23 May 92; KL - PNH 24 May 92
2. PNH - Vientiane 26 Jun 92; Laos - (river) Nong Khai - train to Bangkok 01 Jul; BKK- SIN 11 Jul 92; SIN - Tioman Is 15 Jul 92; Tioman Is - SIN 20 Jul 92; Sing - PNH 21 Jul 92
3. PNH - BKK 17 Dec 92; BKK - Penang 20 Dec 92; KL - BKK 31 Dec 92; BKK - PNH 03 Jan 93
4. PNH - KL 14 Apr 93; KL to SYD 15 Apr 93
The Peoples Republic of Kampuchea changed its name to State of Cambodia in April 1989. Peace talks in Paris between the warring parties resulted in the Comprehensive Cambodian Peace Agreements, signed in October 1991. Then the United Nations Transitional Authority in Cambodia was established with the responsibility for administration in the country.
UNTAC was formed in Feb 1992, with the task enforce the peace, organise and hold elections and bring about a new constitution. The race was on to disarm the factions, install a functioning bureaucracy and run an election. Battalions of soldiers from a dozen countries arrived, as did thousands of civilian police, administrators and volunteers. My partner accepted a role involving the repatriation of refugees and their integration into Cambodian society, and she left for Phnom Penh early March. I stayed in Australia with the kids and, when we heard an International School had been established, we flew over late May.
We rented a house on 322 St, near both the school and UN offices. I bought a bicycle and, after getting kids off to class, went out and about. I could have applied for accreditation with the UN and headed out for scoops, including free travel on UN chopper (Russian Mi-8 workhorses) flights up country, but didn't. I went to SoC military briefings; the openness was a real change from earlier secrecy. A nascent Foreign Correspondents Club was reforming after a 17 year hiatus (mainly in a bar nearby); a lot of the journalists had come from Bangkok and the border, a few were referred to as 'tank chasers', in search of the sensational. I remember a young Nate Thayer asking a barman if he had any contacts with the KR: Thayer went on to get the scoop by tracking down Pol Pot in 1997. He also managed to interview Ieng Sary.
Initially all factions were part of the peace process. Working groups of UN and the four groups met; when technicalities came for discussion, things frayed. Asked whether English or French should be the working language, the KR replied "Why not Khmer?". Khieu Samphan, #4 in the KR hierarchy, was in town early on; at his first appearance, I witnessed the locals turn hostile as soon as he was identified and UN Military Police rescued him from a beating or worse.
Soon, any cooperation disappeared and hostilities restarted. The two smaller factions had thrown their lot in behind the SoC and only the Khmer Rouge fought on. The UNTAC operation was bedded down and, despite obvious disparities, it was deemed a political success. But what was seen as an international achievement was fraught on the ground. UNTAC was disarming local SoC militia but had no enforcement against KR forces. The security situation deteriorated and the feeling was palpable. There was a period when it looked like the process would fray; tensions rose and I witnessed government people taking large supplies of arms to their homes, such was the fear the UN would disarm them but not the KR. This tension was echoed in daily life; drunkenness and wild behaviour became common, especially in restaurants, beggars were aggressive, discharged soldiers, often amputees, formed gangs that shook down businesses, theft and assault became common. Our home was burgled twice, I was forced off the road when riding by bike by a local who deliberately targeted me, my partner had her UN vehicle taken in a brazen and violent carjack.
We had two trips away, during school holidays. The first was a trip to visit embassy friends in Vientiane, flying direct in a Air Lao wet-lease 737 that still had its Icelandic Air logo and complete with blonde stewards and pilots. My son and I then took a ferry across the Mekong to Nong Khai where Australian money was building the Lao-Thai Friendship Bridge. We took a bus to the railhead at Khon Kaen then travelled by train to Bangkok and on to a much-changed Hua Hin. It was hard to recognise the old town as tourist hotels lined the beach for kilometres and what was a sleepy fishing town was humming. We booked tickets on the sleeper train south, to Had Yai and the border, then to Kuala Lumpur. From there we went to Singapore and flew to Tioman Island for a 5-day holiday, staying in a losmen on the beach. A quick flight back to Singapore and back to Phnom Penh. The second trip was at the end of 1992, with the family flying via Bangkok to Penang and Kula Lumpur for a 2-week break.
Australia had a significant part in the peace-keeping operation with a battalion of troops, many stationed near the airport; I met an Aussie officer downtown and he invited me back for a look. And on Australia Day 1993, a big celebration was held in the grounds of the Government Guest House near Wat Phnom; probably 600 expats were in attendance, and PM Paul Keating put in an appearance. Catering was over the top, with crocodile steaks, lobster, barramundi plus the full range of Australian beers and wine.
The Phnom Penh International School seemed to gain new students on a daily basis but had many teething problems. Our children formed friendships with kids their own age but the curriculum appeared deficient. It transpired the staff were mainly Americans of a certain worldview and many were Southern Baptists. The final straw was when my son, who was struggling, said to us, "I used to be smart, but now I'm dumb." Combined with the insecurity, it wasn't a hard decision. We contacted our Canberra real estate agent, invoked the diplomatic clause to break the tenant lease, and within a fortnight I took the two kids back in Australia, to their old school, home and friends. My partner stayed in Phnom Penh and worked on through the May 1993 election and transition to formation of a legitimate and recognised Cambodian government in September that year. Her work with the repatriation program from the border was winding down and she joined us in November.
International travel
1. SYD - KL 23 May 92; KL - PNH 24 May 92
2. PNH - Vientiane 26 Jun 92; Laos - (river) Nong Khai - train to Bangkok 01 Jul; BKK- SIN 11 Jul 92; SIN - Tioman Is 15 Jul 92; Tioman Is - SIN 20 Jul 92; Sing - PNH 21 Jul 92
3. PNH - BKK 17 Dec 92; BKK - Penang 20 Dec 92; KL - BKK 31 Dec 92; BKK - PNH 03 Jan 93
4. PNH - KL 14 Apr 93; KL to SYD 15 Apr 93
Last edited:
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Qatar:
Ready to board back to Australia.
Using Qatar Airlines for the first time
Avoid,!
7h delay on the Doha Europe leg, no info, treated to pathetic mini bottle of water and one plate.
Return leg, a meal worth the Qantas worst.
Never felt treated so badly as a passenger.
Doha stopover..hum avoid if you can.
Airport is fine and pleasant, the toen of Doha..
2 nice museums : islamic art and Qatar museum
Both worth visiting..but not worth the stopover.
Nothing else unless you like a fake old souk, a giant shopping centre and 35C with 80% humidity..in the good months
And this is a Qlder talking.
As much as we liked Italy even the touristy areas , Qatar: can not wait to take off
note: Italy in not exactly peak season but still very busy period.
Some shots anyway
Ready to board back to Australia.
Using Qatar Airlines for the first time
Avoid,!
7h delay on the Doha Europe leg, no info, treated to pathetic mini bottle of water and one plate.
Return leg, a meal worth the Qantas worst.
Never felt treated so badly as a passenger.
Doha stopover..hum avoid if you can.
Airport is fine and pleasant, the toen of Doha..
2 nice museums : islamic art and Qatar museum
Both worth visiting..but not worth the stopover.
Nothing else unless you like a fake old souk, a giant shopping centre and 35C with 80% humidity..in the good months
And this is a Qlder talking.
As much as we liked Italy even the touristy areas , Qatar: can not wait to take off
note: Italy in not exactly peak season but still very busy period.
Some shots anyway
- Joined
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I used 2 esims in this trip
Qatar:https://www.jetpacglobal.com/product-details/?tenant=USA&productregion=QAT
1USD for 1GB, 4 days
Worked smoothly
And in France Italy:
Nomad a config issue initially quickly sorted and worked well after.
With wifi at family places and hotels, i hardly used half of the allowances and only purchased data only.
But it is nice to get google map searches in RT, live data...
Qatar:https://www.jetpacglobal.com/product-details/?tenant=USA&productregion=QAT
1USD for 1GB, 4 days
Worked smoothly
And in France Italy:
Nomad a config issue initially quickly sorted and worked well after.
With wifi at family places and hotels, i hardly used half of the allowances and only purchased data only.
But it is nice to get google map searches in RT, live data...
Dona Ferentes
Abri贸 la caja, vio al gatito, y sonri贸
- Joined
- 11 January 2016
- Posts
- 15,587
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- 21,194
Nepal. January 1984 -
Coming from an Australian summer, Kathmandu was cold and gloomy even though the dry season was in full swing. My partner's work was with the UN agency and involved refugees, this time from Bhutan, a country which prides itself with Gross National Happiness nonsense but was a closed country and had expelled / ethnically cleansed a significant percentage of its population, being Nepali-speaking groups that generally inhabited the lower valleys of this Himalayan mountain kingdom. These people had been pushed out, through India and onto the plains of Nepal, the Terai, not because of any national identity but because they headed to the banks of a river held in Hindu mythology as a place of sanctuary. The agency head office was in Kathmandu but it became apparent that would would involve spending a significant amount of time in the distant south-east of the country at the Bhadrapur field office in Jhapa district.
There was schooling in Kathmandu and so this became our base. We bought a Subaru Legacy sedan from a departing diplomat, which was to prove totally reliable for the next two and a half years. After several weeks in downtown accommodation, we found a house in Chundevi, off Maharaj Ganj, near the office but a distance from the school, though this was a small issue as a school bus operated. Lincoln School was run by the US State Dept and everything the Phnom Penh experience wasn't. Class sizes were only 10-12, each with an American teacher and a Nepali, usually a Western-qualified local hire. The kids thrived. In addition, in the centre of Kathmandu near the tourist hotspot of Thamel, the Americans had a recreation centre called Phora Durbar, once a parade ground and now with facilities including a pool, two tennis courts, sports fields and a restaurant. This was a haven and the schoolbus would drop off half the school there most days after classes.
Tourism in Nepal is big business and activities easy to find. Nearly every weekend, a local company targeting expats ran hikes; these were a good way to meet up with like-minded residents. First taking a bus to a departure point in the valley, we would walk through villages and fields to a scenic lookout or place of interest, before meeting the bus at another point to return home. Sometimes these were overnight trips. And by scenic viewpoints, I mean these were spectacular locations, offering the Himalaya as backdrop and sweeping views across the entire valley. Dhulikhel, at the far eastern edge, was another great place to take visitors for views, and an easy 30 km drive. The three historic centres in the valley, Kathmandu, Patan and Bhaktapur, are unique representations of syncretic Hindu and Buddhist cultures and deserve multiple visits, as there is an incredible cycle of festivals taking place almost weekly.
A cousin arrived in time for our first trip to Bhadrapur at Easter. We flew to Chandragadi airport, conveniently only a few km from the office. Jhapa district is on a flat plain, Bhadrapur is only 60m above sea level, but the foothills of the Himalaya rise abruptly just to the north. The Terai used to be largely uninhabited, malarial, some 200km of forest between the Ganges and the mountains, but now largely cleared for agriculture. After a few days in this dusty provincial town, not more than a village, we headed to the Indian border only half an hour away, and then by taxi to Jalpaiguri and the start of the narrow gauge railway that climbs to Darjeeling. This Raj-era steam railway, known as the Toy Train, climbs through a series of switchbacks and loops to a height of 2250m before dropping a bit to the terminus at the edge of town. We found a hotel, the Elgin, a charming rambling English boarding house type establishment, and set off to explore. Built on a series of ridges, Darjeeling is a centre for tea growing and was a famous hill-station in British times; by the 1990s it had an air of genteel decay, and was dirty. Cloudy weather meant we only had glimpses of the Kanchenjunga range that is dominated by the third highest mountain in the world away to the northwest. The kids were bored and we discovered an officers' club, a relic from the old days but still operational. Yes, we could use the facility but must sign in. A family was welcome, of course, but no single women. Then we hit upon 'governess' for the cousin, and we were in.
My cousin and I ventured on, we took a route taxi to Sikkim. The road took us past Tiger Hill then a drop to the Teesta River, across the bridge, past the turnoff to Kalimpong and up the valley to the Rangpo checkpoint. Soon after, the ascent began, up a ridgeline, lots of switchbacks. Along the way, and always in the best locations, were lamaseries and monasteries, for Buddhism always sought out those glorious connections with the physical world. Gangtok, the capital, was not large and rather spread out; we found a clean Tibetan hotel. Next day, we headed north on a winding road high above the Teesta. We passed several monasteries, before dropping to the river and arriving at Mangan, perhaps halfway to the Tibetan border. The valley was steep, the locals said snowy peaks and glaciers were not far away but we didn't see much. Back at Gangtok, a general strike was called but luckily we found an Indian guy who offered a ride back down to the plains in his car. He dropped us near the border and we walked a few km then crossed to Nepal, met up with the family and flew back to Kathmandu.
The rivers of Nepal incise deeply and, with the volume of water that flows down them, have been identified as some of the best white water rafting in the world. The challenge is finding entry and exit points that have manageable rapids on the drop. The Trishuli River fits the bill and is close to Kathmandu; it offers a series of Stage Three rapids, elevated to more challenging during the monsoon from June to August. I signed up a one-day trip late May and it was exhilarating. A bus ride, four hours on the river and a return journey made for a full day.
We had one more visit to Jhapa, flying through turbulence most of the way there and back. The two-month summer school holidays had arrived; these coincided with monsoon season so in late June the 2 kids, now aged 11 and 9, and I decamped to Europe, flying Lufthansa to Frankfurt and on to Amsterdam. We had purchased Eurail passes which allowed for great mobility. We went through Rotterdam, Antwerp to Bruges before taking a long trip to Zurich, then through the Alps to Italy. A day or two in Florence and Rome then to Naples, making a trip to Pompei and ascending a mildly active Vesuvius. We then retraced, to Bologna, Verona and on to Venice, before heading to Innsbruck. From Austria, we hurried through Germany, with a short stay in Hamburg then on to Denmark and Billund, to visit Legoland. Another train to Frederikshavn then a ferry to Gothenburg and on to Oslo, where we met up with friends. They were heading to their summer house, on a fjord near Tonsberg so we continued there and spend some pleasant days waterskiing, hunting for wild strawberries in the forest and just relaxing. Returning to Oslo, we stayed in their city apartment before catching a train to Stockholm to connect with a ferry to Helsinki, where friends from our first time in Phnom Penh had returned. Gracious hosts, and their kids had not forgotten their English. We took the train to Turku, another ferry across the Baltic and train from Stockholm to Malmo and the short boat trip to Copenhagen. One last sprint, across a hot north European plain, and we arrived at Frankfurt airport, only to be told the weekly flight to Kathmandu was overbooked, we weren't confirmed and the likelihood of three seats in 7 days time possible but not assured. We went into the city, found somewhere to stay and wondered what to do. Next day, a travel agent had three tix to Bangkok, $250 each, but we'd better hurry; we raced back and just made it on the Philippines Air flight and took off into the night. Next morning, I looked through a curtain and saw we were in Business; the economy section was a cattle truck. Two days in Bangkok and on to an overcast, muggy and warm Kathmandu; we'd done the right thing going away as most classmates had dispersed to their home countries for the break.
Coming from an Australian summer, Kathmandu was cold and gloomy even though the dry season was in full swing. My partner's work was with the UN agency and involved refugees, this time from Bhutan, a country which prides itself with Gross National Happiness nonsense but was a closed country and had expelled / ethnically cleansed a significant percentage of its population, being Nepali-speaking groups that generally inhabited the lower valleys of this Himalayan mountain kingdom. These people had been pushed out, through India and onto the plains of Nepal, the Terai, not because of any national identity but because they headed to the banks of a river held in Hindu mythology as a place of sanctuary. The agency head office was in Kathmandu but it became apparent that would would involve spending a significant amount of time in the distant south-east of the country at the Bhadrapur field office in Jhapa district.
There was schooling in Kathmandu and so this became our base. We bought a Subaru Legacy sedan from a departing diplomat, which was to prove totally reliable for the next two and a half years. After several weeks in downtown accommodation, we found a house in Chundevi, off Maharaj Ganj, near the office but a distance from the school, though this was a small issue as a school bus operated. Lincoln School was run by the US State Dept and everything the Phnom Penh experience wasn't. Class sizes were only 10-12, each with an American teacher and a Nepali, usually a Western-qualified local hire. The kids thrived. In addition, in the centre of Kathmandu near the tourist hotspot of Thamel, the Americans had a recreation centre called Phora Durbar, once a parade ground and now with facilities including a pool, two tennis courts, sports fields and a restaurant. This was a haven and the schoolbus would drop off half the school there most days after classes.
Tourism in Nepal is big business and activities easy to find. Nearly every weekend, a local company targeting expats ran hikes; these were a good way to meet up with like-minded residents. First taking a bus to a departure point in the valley, we would walk through villages and fields to a scenic lookout or place of interest, before meeting the bus at another point to return home. Sometimes these were overnight trips. And by scenic viewpoints, I mean these were spectacular locations, offering the Himalaya as backdrop and sweeping views across the entire valley. Dhulikhel, at the far eastern edge, was another great place to take visitors for views, and an easy 30 km drive. The three historic centres in the valley, Kathmandu, Patan and Bhaktapur, are unique representations of syncretic Hindu and Buddhist cultures and deserve multiple visits, as there is an incredible cycle of festivals taking place almost weekly.
A cousin arrived in time for our first trip to Bhadrapur at Easter. We flew to Chandragadi airport, conveniently only a few km from the office. Jhapa district is on a flat plain, Bhadrapur is only 60m above sea level, but the foothills of the Himalaya rise abruptly just to the north. The Terai used to be largely uninhabited, malarial, some 200km of forest between the Ganges and the mountains, but now largely cleared for agriculture. After a few days in this dusty provincial town, not more than a village, we headed to the Indian border only half an hour away, and then by taxi to Jalpaiguri and the start of the narrow gauge railway that climbs to Darjeeling. This Raj-era steam railway, known as the Toy Train, climbs through a series of switchbacks and loops to a height of 2250m before dropping a bit to the terminus at the edge of town. We found a hotel, the Elgin, a charming rambling English boarding house type establishment, and set off to explore. Built on a series of ridges, Darjeeling is a centre for tea growing and was a famous hill-station in British times; by the 1990s it had an air of genteel decay, and was dirty. Cloudy weather meant we only had glimpses of the Kanchenjunga range that is dominated by the third highest mountain in the world away to the northwest. The kids were bored and we discovered an officers' club, a relic from the old days but still operational. Yes, we could use the facility but must sign in. A family was welcome, of course, but no single women. Then we hit upon 'governess' for the cousin, and we were in.
My cousin and I ventured on, we took a route taxi to Sikkim. The road took us past Tiger Hill then a drop to the Teesta River, across the bridge, past the turnoff to Kalimpong and up the valley to the Rangpo checkpoint. Soon after, the ascent began, up a ridgeline, lots of switchbacks. Along the way, and always in the best locations, were lamaseries and monasteries, for Buddhism always sought out those glorious connections with the physical world. Gangtok, the capital, was not large and rather spread out; we found a clean Tibetan hotel. Next day, we headed north on a winding road high above the Teesta. We passed several monasteries, before dropping to the river and arriving at Mangan, perhaps halfway to the Tibetan border. The valley was steep, the locals said snowy peaks and glaciers were not far away but we didn't see much. Back at Gangtok, a general strike was called but luckily we found an Indian guy who offered a ride back down to the plains in his car. He dropped us near the border and we walked a few km then crossed to Nepal, met up with the family and flew back to Kathmandu.
The rivers of Nepal incise deeply and, with the volume of water that flows down them, have been identified as some of the best white water rafting in the world. The challenge is finding entry and exit points that have manageable rapids on the drop. The Trishuli River fits the bill and is close to Kathmandu; it offers a series of Stage Three rapids, elevated to more challenging during the monsoon from June to August. I signed up a one-day trip late May and it was exhilarating. A bus ride, four hours on the river and a return journey made for a full day.
We had one more visit to Jhapa, flying through turbulence most of the way there and back. The two-month summer school holidays had arrived; these coincided with monsoon season so in late June the 2 kids, now aged 11 and 9, and I decamped to Europe, flying Lufthansa to Frankfurt and on to Amsterdam. We had purchased Eurail passes which allowed for great mobility. We went through Rotterdam, Antwerp to Bruges before taking a long trip to Zurich, then through the Alps to Italy. A day or two in Florence and Rome then to Naples, making a trip to Pompei and ascending a mildly active Vesuvius. We then retraced, to Bologna, Verona and on to Venice, before heading to Innsbruck. From Austria, we hurried through Germany, with a short stay in Hamburg then on to Denmark and Billund, to visit Legoland. Another train to Frederikshavn then a ferry to Gothenburg and on to Oslo, where we met up with friends. They were heading to their summer house, on a fjord near Tonsberg so we continued there and spend some pleasant days waterskiing, hunting for wild strawberries in the forest and just relaxing. Returning to Oslo, we stayed in their city apartment before catching a train to Stockholm to connect with a ferry to Helsinki, where friends from our first time in Phnom Penh had returned. Gracious hosts, and their kids had not forgotten their English. We took the train to Turku, another ferry across the Baltic and train from Stockholm to Malmo and the short boat trip to Copenhagen. One last sprint, across a hot north European plain, and we arrived at Frankfurt airport, only to be told the weekly flight to Kathmandu was overbooked, we weren't confirmed and the likelihood of three seats in 7 days time possible but not assured. We went into the city, found somewhere to stay and wondered what to do. Next day, a travel agent had three tix to Bangkok, $250 each, but we'd better hurry; we raced back and just made it on the Philippines Air flight and took off into the night. Next morning, I looked through a curtain and saw we were in Business; the economy section was a cattle truck. Two days in Bangkok and on to an overcast, muggy and warm Kathmandu; we'd done the right thing going away as most classmates had dispersed to their home countries for the break.
Dona Ferentes
Abri贸 la caja, vio al gatito, y sonri贸
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should be 1994
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I was landing in Australia, backpack on to start a new life then.what an amazing journey you have had by then DF, I was just starting mine...
Dona Ferentes
Abri贸 la caja, vio al gatito, y sonri贸
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Nepal 1995-96
Whenever we could, the family reconnected; we did trips to Jhapa and there were frequent visits to head office by mum. Nepal's airline safety record has not been good, due to poor maintenance practices, having some of the world's most dangerous runway approaches and frequent lack of visibility around the monsoon time. Domestic services at the time mainly used Twin Otters, ATR-42s or Avro 748s for busy routes with 20 to 42 pax, and Pilatus PC-6 to drop into high altitude runways with short approaches, and with less than 10 pax. To visit Jhapa from Kathmandu was either a one-hour flight or a 15-hour drive so we chose the former. The local airport at Chandragadi was convenient but not particularly well serviced, whereas Biratnagar, about 60km west had daily flights from several airlines. Our visits were always a welcome break, and we would take side trips in the staff 4WD on weekends.
On one visit, we went north of Jhapa, to Ilam, a mountain town famous for its tea plantations. It was said Ilam tea was better than Darjeeling tea as the bushes were younger by several decades. This trip was fraught as the road seemed to rise straight up off the plain to the Siwalik hills, the southern expression of the Mahabharat range. We could have kept going for this road pushes further to the Himalaya but, after Ilam at 2500m, we entered mist. Another time, we received an invite to the Dharan Army Base, which was a British Army recruitment centre for Gurkha soldiers. A few Brits still worked there and they had imaginatively built a swimming pool, funded as an irrigation and fire-fighting project; sadly, the base was in the process of being handed to the Nepali Army and no longer accessible in 1996. We had several trips there and made the drive into the hills to Dhankuta, an important bazaar and administrative centre for the surrounding hills. Immediately south and close to the Indian border, Biratnagar was the regional town quickly becoming the most important centre on the Terai. From its airport, on one exceptional blue-sky day, I caught sight of Mt Everest, a white triangle above the green fore-range. It was at Forbesganj, just a few kilometres across the border in Bihar state and 46m above sea level, that the British Trig survey took one of the base points to determine the height of Peak XV, as Everest was then labeled.
At Christmas time, I returned to Australia for family matters during the short school break, then went to Jhapa to bring the kids back for the restart of school. At Easter 1995, the two kids and I did the Kali Gandeki River rafting trip. This was a big adventure, a drive to Pokhara then on to Maldhunga, soon after where the river emerges from the deepest gorge in the world, between Dhaulagiri and Annapurna. Our group of 5 rafts, each with 4 passengers and 2 crew, set off the next morning on a three-day trip over 60 km of river with multiple class 3 and 4 rapids. We camped on beaches both nights and passed through stunning scenery, past isolated villages and through jungle. The last few miles were decidedly more tranquil as the river neared the Terai; the water temperature lost its chill as well. At Mirmi, journey's end and up to the road for the trip back to Pokhara. The local staff all said the Sun Khosi River was up a notch from this but I never got to try it.
I took a three-day trek in the Mahabharat Range, well off the tourist routes. After a half-day drive east from Kathmandu, a group of ten trekkers with our local guide and porters walked through villages, up and down but mainly up, through rhododendron forests and away from settlements. We slept out both nights, then early on the third day made a final push to a hill-top. We emerged with the most glorious view of the main Himalaya range, the full panorama of Everest, Makala, Mera, Cho Oyo and dozens of other peaks. Our hilltop was maybe forty km away from the mountains, the curve of the earth could be discerned looking from W to E. The other remarkable thing was the enormous collection of trishuli, the sacred tridents of Hindu mystics and pilgrims who have made the trek from the Gangetic plain. There were no prayer flags or stupas, these were usually found where Buddhists had a spiritual connection. As the day warmed up, the clear morning air quickly gave way to cloud that hid the distant ranges. We left the summit, and descended on formed path of irregularly placed stone steps, down, down, jarringly down some 1500m in elevation. So this was the shortcut; I think our route and a slow ascent made the 'reveal' more interesting. Our transport to Kathmandu was waiting when we arrived at the road.
Another home visit came along, to miss the wet season. We flew via Hong Kong and, with seats on the left side, we were rewarded with views all along the Himalaya. The landing between the apartment buildings at the old Kai Tak airport was hairy, and we transited to Australia. During a visit to Canberra, I firmed up contract work with AusAID on my return to Nepal. After visiting family, the kids and I tarried a while, eventually flying out of Cairns. Back in Kathmandu, I did a baseline survey, visiting most recipients of Australian aid money. This took me to medical, technical and educational projects across the Kathmandu valley and around Pokhara, plus to Tansen, with my driver sliding rather than driving halfway to the Terai as the wet season was just ending. A request to visit two projects in Bhutan was met with refusal, despite our ambassador being involved.
Back in Kathmandu, I went on a walk during Dasain; at various temples associated with this Nepali Hindu festival, the puja ritual was performed, usually involving the blood of slaughtered goats. At one place near Dhulikel, the place was awash in overflowing blood, a complete gore-fest. Some of the town squares are said to be worse, and the number of animals killed estimated at 50,000 in Kathmandu valley alone. Every temple we passed had been smeared with animal blood.
The politics of Nepal were quite fractured; strikes occurred at regular intervals, at which time it was best to not be out and about. The police response if the mob looked like getting out of control usually was a lathi charge, indiscriminate and violent. As well, the Terai had grievances with Kathmandu and would block supplies being trucked in. And if India wanted to exert pressure, they could close the border. Once, driving to Biratnagar, we encountered a road blockage where the mob was rioting. We spun a U-turn and headed back to Badhrapur. Others vehicles had been torched and trucked stripped of contents. An additional challenge was when tacks or nails were strewn on the road; usually there would be a puncture repair wallah just a few metres on. Good business, but hardly an economic efficiency.
Before the cold winter set in, the school organised treks for the students. My daughter set off on her 4 day low-altitude ramble through the lower hills and the senior school went to Langtang. I volunteered to accompany them in a group of 20 teenagers and 6 adults, plus porters and cooks. We drove over the back road to Bidur then followed the upper Trishuli to Dhunche. The trail went up a valley, away from habitation and into forest. We overnighted at a rudimentary lodge and continued up, frequently crossing a fast-flowing stream. Eventually, we broke out into open ground which flattened out; all around were moraines, scree slopes tumbled from a steep cliffs, glacier covered peaks could be seen further behind. We continued on above the village and stopped near the gompa in a wide clear area; here at 3800m, we set up camp. The next day was a rest day, and I decided to climb a ridge on one side of the valley. It was boulder-strewn but not too arduous. I climbed on until I arrived at the snow-line, and was rewarded with Langtang at 7200m ahead of me and a series of lesser peaks, mere 6000+ metre ones, across the valley and stretching to Tibet. I had no climbing gear so I turned back; I must have climbed too fast as a headache swept over me. I hurried down and grounded myself in the darkness of my tent. The pain did abate and I slept it off. We returned down the valley the same way, another 2 day walk, and returned to Kathmandu to collect my daughter from a friend's place. She enjoyed her trek with one complaint; the porters bought a goat on day one, it followed them and they played with it every day, then on the final meal, the cooks served their new pet for dinner. She went vegetarian for about five years.
We went to Jhapa over the Christmas break. We crossed the Indian border and went to Siliguri, then took a car up the 'back road' to Darjeeling, staying at the Windemere Hotel. There were elderly English women as permanent guests; these were among many that 'stayed over' after Indian Independence in 1947. I'd mentioned how great Sikkim was, and we went to Gangtok, spent a day there then headed down to Bagdogra airport, just down the road from Naxalburi where the Naxalite insurgency started in 1967. We had bought tickets to Guwahati, the capital of Assam on the Brahmaputra River and about an hour away by air. Guwahati was a bustling centre with little of interest; we noted the presence of large numbers of impoverished Bangladeshi immigrants. The nature parks upcountry had been closed due to insurgency, and the tribes of Nagaland were on the warpath again. Meghalaya was open, after years of turbulent politics, and we took a Morris Major taxi, winding our way through rolling hills, on a two hour ride to Shillong. The dominant Khasi ethnic group is matrilineal and Christian, churches dominate the skyline and English is the official language though Khasi is the language of the bazaar. Hindi is not well received. At 1500m, Shillong has a more temperate climate than the hot plains; it was a popular hill station for tea planters from Assam and was the administrative centre or NE India during the Raj. We stayed at the Pinewood Hotel, a magnificent 19th Century retreat, 12 foot ceilings, thatch roof, maids quarters and nearby golf course. We travelled to Cherrapunji, and nearby Sohra, near the Bangladesh border and reputedly the wettest place in the world as it receives more than 11m, or 450", of rain a year. We were there in the dry season but a short trip to the edge of the plateau revealed an ideal setup; the SE monsoon would sweep across the Sylhet valley some 1000m below and then be lifted up the scarp, funnelling into a semi-circular ring of cliffs and then bucket down on the higher ground. The green plains of Bangladesh stretched out below. We traveled back to Shillong and down to Guwahati then went to the railway station, managing to score a 4-berth sleeper on the North East Express which departed that evening and went all the way to New Delhi. I think having 2 young children in attendance helped get those tickets. Our journey was to New Jalpaiguri, at Siliguri, and took eight hours. Our only miscalculation was how cold it was, in Second Class, traveling at night. From the station, it was 20km by taxi to Kakarbhitta on the Nepal Border and a dozen more km to Bhadrapur.
I had one more trek in March 1996; a five-day slog paralleling the main range, arranged by the Kathmandu guide and off the popular tourist trails. Even though it was peak season, we didn't see any other trek groups. We headed east on the Jiri road but not as far as the town of Jiri, which has served as the starting point for most Everest expeditions heading for Lukla; most mountaineers now choose to fly to Lukla and thus avoid a week's trekking. Our group of 8 plus porters turned north at Kahbre towards Gaurishanker, climbing to about 3500m then turning West. We dropped down and crossed the upper reaches of the Tama Koshi River on a suspension bridge then climbed on local paths, through terraces at lower levels and into subsistence potato growing areas when Tamang tribespeople lived precarious lives. At times, rounding a corner, we saw the white snow-capped mountains of the main range; the vistas looking down the valleys were as impressive, as we were usually between 3200m and 4000m, ranging higher when crossing ridges to the next valley. We would find a flat space, usually around a temple or school, to prepare an evening meal, pitch tents and sleep. On the last day, we could see a road far below and we dropped down, from above the treeline, through Buddhist then Hindu villages and crossed the Koshi River; we emerged about 10km south of Kodari and the Chinese border. A truck came along and took us to Dolalghat, we crossed the Sunkhosi and took a bus the 70km to Dhulikhel and in to Kathmandu.
The contract was coming to an end; we moved out of our Kathmandu house, sold off the furniture and house-sat the last six weeks in a place closer to school. I eventually found a buyer for the car, receiving the same as we paid for it on arrival. The monsoon arrived, another northern-hemisphere school year ended, work at Jhapa was done and the family flew out to Australia.
Flights, cross border travel
1. SYD - BKK 08 Jan 94; BKK - Kathmandu 12 Jan 94
2. Bhadrapur - Darjeeling 15 Mar 94; Darjeeling - Sikkim 19 Mar 94; Sikkim - Bhadrapur 23 Mar 94
3. KTM - Frankfurt 29 Jun 94; around Europe; Frankfurt - BKK 04 Aug 94; BKK - KTM 06 Aug 94
4. KTM - BKK - SYD 10 Dec 94; Melb - KTM 06 Jan 95
5. KTM - HK - Melb 25 Jun 95; Cairns - KTM 05 Aug 95
6. KTM - Bhadrapur; to Darjeeling 19 Dec 95; to Sikkim 21 Dec; fly Siliguri - Guwahati 24 Dec; Shillong, Guwahati, train to Siliguri; cross to Bhadrapur 31 Dec 95
7. KTM - SYD 19 Jun 1996
Whenever we could, the family reconnected; we did trips to Jhapa and there were frequent visits to head office by mum. Nepal's airline safety record has not been good, due to poor maintenance practices, having some of the world's most dangerous runway approaches and frequent lack of visibility around the monsoon time. Domestic services at the time mainly used Twin Otters, ATR-42s or Avro 748s for busy routes with 20 to 42 pax, and Pilatus PC-6 to drop into high altitude runways with short approaches, and with less than 10 pax. To visit Jhapa from Kathmandu was either a one-hour flight or a 15-hour drive so we chose the former. The local airport at Chandragadi was convenient but not particularly well serviced, whereas Biratnagar, about 60km west had daily flights from several airlines. Our visits were always a welcome break, and we would take side trips in the staff 4WD on weekends.
On one visit, we went north of Jhapa, to Ilam, a mountain town famous for its tea plantations. It was said Ilam tea was better than Darjeeling tea as the bushes were younger by several decades. This trip was fraught as the road seemed to rise straight up off the plain to the Siwalik hills, the southern expression of the Mahabharat range. We could have kept going for this road pushes further to the Himalaya but, after Ilam at 2500m, we entered mist. Another time, we received an invite to the Dharan Army Base, which was a British Army recruitment centre for Gurkha soldiers. A few Brits still worked there and they had imaginatively built a swimming pool, funded as an irrigation and fire-fighting project; sadly, the base was in the process of being handed to the Nepali Army and no longer accessible in 1996. We had several trips there and made the drive into the hills to Dhankuta, an important bazaar and administrative centre for the surrounding hills. Immediately south and close to the Indian border, Biratnagar was the regional town quickly becoming the most important centre on the Terai. From its airport, on one exceptional blue-sky day, I caught sight of Mt Everest, a white triangle above the green fore-range. It was at Forbesganj, just a few kilometres across the border in Bihar state and 46m above sea level, that the British Trig survey took one of the base points to determine the height of Peak XV, as Everest was then labeled.
At Christmas time, I returned to Australia for family matters during the short school break, then went to Jhapa to bring the kids back for the restart of school. At Easter 1995, the two kids and I did the Kali Gandeki River rafting trip. This was a big adventure, a drive to Pokhara then on to Maldhunga, soon after where the river emerges from the deepest gorge in the world, between Dhaulagiri and Annapurna. Our group of 5 rafts, each with 4 passengers and 2 crew, set off the next morning on a three-day trip over 60 km of river with multiple class 3 and 4 rapids. We camped on beaches both nights and passed through stunning scenery, past isolated villages and through jungle. The last few miles were decidedly more tranquil as the river neared the Terai; the water temperature lost its chill as well. At Mirmi, journey's end and up to the road for the trip back to Pokhara. The local staff all said the Sun Khosi River was up a notch from this but I never got to try it.
I took a three-day trek in the Mahabharat Range, well off the tourist routes. After a half-day drive east from Kathmandu, a group of ten trekkers with our local guide and porters walked through villages, up and down but mainly up, through rhododendron forests and away from settlements. We slept out both nights, then early on the third day made a final push to a hill-top. We emerged with the most glorious view of the main Himalaya range, the full panorama of Everest, Makala, Mera, Cho Oyo and dozens of other peaks. Our hilltop was maybe forty km away from the mountains, the curve of the earth could be discerned looking from W to E. The other remarkable thing was the enormous collection of trishuli, the sacred tridents of Hindu mystics and pilgrims who have made the trek from the Gangetic plain. There were no prayer flags or stupas, these were usually found where Buddhists had a spiritual connection. As the day warmed up, the clear morning air quickly gave way to cloud that hid the distant ranges. We left the summit, and descended on formed path of irregularly placed stone steps, down, down, jarringly down some 1500m in elevation. So this was the shortcut; I think our route and a slow ascent made the 'reveal' more interesting. Our transport to Kathmandu was waiting when we arrived at the road.
Another home visit came along, to miss the wet season. We flew via Hong Kong and, with seats on the left side, we were rewarded with views all along the Himalaya. The landing between the apartment buildings at the old Kai Tak airport was hairy, and we transited to Australia. During a visit to Canberra, I firmed up contract work with AusAID on my return to Nepal. After visiting family, the kids and I tarried a while, eventually flying out of Cairns. Back in Kathmandu, I did a baseline survey, visiting most recipients of Australian aid money. This took me to medical, technical and educational projects across the Kathmandu valley and around Pokhara, plus to Tansen, with my driver sliding rather than driving halfway to the Terai as the wet season was just ending. A request to visit two projects in Bhutan was met with refusal, despite our ambassador being involved.
Back in Kathmandu, I went on a walk during Dasain; at various temples associated with this Nepali Hindu festival, the puja ritual was performed, usually involving the blood of slaughtered goats. At one place near Dhulikel, the place was awash in overflowing blood, a complete gore-fest. Some of the town squares are said to be worse, and the number of animals killed estimated at 50,000 in Kathmandu valley alone. Every temple we passed had been smeared with animal blood.
The politics of Nepal were quite fractured; strikes occurred at regular intervals, at which time it was best to not be out and about. The police response if the mob looked like getting out of control usually was a lathi charge, indiscriminate and violent. As well, the Terai had grievances with Kathmandu and would block supplies being trucked in. And if India wanted to exert pressure, they could close the border. Once, driving to Biratnagar, we encountered a road blockage where the mob was rioting. We spun a U-turn and headed back to Badhrapur. Others vehicles had been torched and trucked stripped of contents. An additional challenge was when tacks or nails were strewn on the road; usually there would be a puncture repair wallah just a few metres on. Good business, but hardly an economic efficiency.
Before the cold winter set in, the school organised treks for the students. My daughter set off on her 4 day low-altitude ramble through the lower hills and the senior school went to Langtang. I volunteered to accompany them in a group of 20 teenagers and 6 adults, plus porters and cooks. We drove over the back road to Bidur then followed the upper Trishuli to Dhunche. The trail went up a valley, away from habitation and into forest. We overnighted at a rudimentary lodge and continued up, frequently crossing a fast-flowing stream. Eventually, we broke out into open ground which flattened out; all around were moraines, scree slopes tumbled from a steep cliffs, glacier covered peaks could be seen further behind. We continued on above the village and stopped near the gompa in a wide clear area; here at 3800m, we set up camp. The next day was a rest day, and I decided to climb a ridge on one side of the valley. It was boulder-strewn but not too arduous. I climbed on until I arrived at the snow-line, and was rewarded with Langtang at 7200m ahead of me and a series of lesser peaks, mere 6000+ metre ones, across the valley and stretching to Tibet. I had no climbing gear so I turned back; I must have climbed too fast as a headache swept over me. I hurried down and grounded myself in the darkness of my tent. The pain did abate and I slept it off. We returned down the valley the same way, another 2 day walk, and returned to Kathmandu to collect my daughter from a friend's place. She enjoyed her trek with one complaint; the porters bought a goat on day one, it followed them and they played with it every day, then on the final meal, the cooks served their new pet for dinner. She went vegetarian for about five years.
We went to Jhapa over the Christmas break. We crossed the Indian border and went to Siliguri, then took a car up the 'back road' to Darjeeling, staying at the Windemere Hotel. There were elderly English women as permanent guests; these were among many that 'stayed over' after Indian Independence in 1947. I'd mentioned how great Sikkim was, and we went to Gangtok, spent a day there then headed down to Bagdogra airport, just down the road from Naxalburi where the Naxalite insurgency started in 1967. We had bought tickets to Guwahati, the capital of Assam on the Brahmaputra River and about an hour away by air. Guwahati was a bustling centre with little of interest; we noted the presence of large numbers of impoverished Bangladeshi immigrants. The nature parks upcountry had been closed due to insurgency, and the tribes of Nagaland were on the warpath again. Meghalaya was open, after years of turbulent politics, and we took a Morris Major taxi, winding our way through rolling hills, on a two hour ride to Shillong. The dominant Khasi ethnic group is matrilineal and Christian, churches dominate the skyline and English is the official language though Khasi is the language of the bazaar. Hindi is not well received. At 1500m, Shillong has a more temperate climate than the hot plains; it was a popular hill station for tea planters from Assam and was the administrative centre or NE India during the Raj. We stayed at the Pinewood Hotel, a magnificent 19th Century retreat, 12 foot ceilings, thatch roof, maids quarters and nearby golf course. We travelled to Cherrapunji, and nearby Sohra, near the Bangladesh border and reputedly the wettest place in the world as it receives more than 11m, or 450", of rain a year. We were there in the dry season but a short trip to the edge of the plateau revealed an ideal setup; the SE monsoon would sweep across the Sylhet valley some 1000m below and then be lifted up the scarp, funnelling into a semi-circular ring of cliffs and then bucket down on the higher ground. The green plains of Bangladesh stretched out below. We traveled back to Shillong and down to Guwahati then went to the railway station, managing to score a 4-berth sleeper on the North East Express which departed that evening and went all the way to New Delhi. I think having 2 young children in attendance helped get those tickets. Our journey was to New Jalpaiguri, at Siliguri, and took eight hours. Our only miscalculation was how cold it was, in Second Class, traveling at night. From the station, it was 20km by taxi to Kakarbhitta on the Nepal Border and a dozen more km to Bhadrapur.
I had one more trek in March 1996; a five-day slog paralleling the main range, arranged by the Kathmandu guide and off the popular tourist trails. Even though it was peak season, we didn't see any other trek groups. We headed east on the Jiri road but not as far as the town of Jiri, which has served as the starting point for most Everest expeditions heading for Lukla; most mountaineers now choose to fly to Lukla and thus avoid a week's trekking. Our group of 8 plus porters turned north at Kahbre towards Gaurishanker, climbing to about 3500m then turning West. We dropped down and crossed the upper reaches of the Tama Koshi River on a suspension bridge then climbed on local paths, through terraces at lower levels and into subsistence potato growing areas when Tamang tribespeople lived precarious lives. At times, rounding a corner, we saw the white snow-capped mountains of the main range; the vistas looking down the valleys were as impressive, as we were usually between 3200m and 4000m, ranging higher when crossing ridges to the next valley. We would find a flat space, usually around a temple or school, to prepare an evening meal, pitch tents and sleep. On the last day, we could see a road far below and we dropped down, from above the treeline, through Buddhist then Hindu villages and crossed the Koshi River; we emerged about 10km south of Kodari and the Chinese border. A truck came along and took us to Dolalghat, we crossed the Sunkhosi and took a bus the 70km to Dhulikhel and in to Kathmandu.
The contract was coming to an end; we moved out of our Kathmandu house, sold off the furniture and house-sat the last six weeks in a place closer to school. I eventually found a buyer for the car, receiving the same as we paid for it on arrival. The monsoon arrived, another northern-hemisphere school year ended, work at Jhapa was done and the family flew out to Australia.
Flights, cross border travel
1. SYD - BKK 08 Jan 94; BKK - Kathmandu 12 Jan 94
2. Bhadrapur - Darjeeling 15 Mar 94; Darjeeling - Sikkim 19 Mar 94; Sikkim - Bhadrapur 23 Mar 94
3. KTM - Frankfurt 29 Jun 94; around Europe; Frankfurt - BKK 04 Aug 94; BKK - KTM 06 Aug 94
4. KTM - BKK - SYD 10 Dec 94; Melb - KTM 06 Jan 95
5. KTM - HK - Melb 25 Jun 95; Cairns - KTM 05 Aug 95
6. KTM - Bhadrapur; to Darjeeling 19 Dec 95; to Sikkim 21 Dec; fly Siliguri - Guwahati 24 Dec; Shillong, Guwahati, train to Siliguri; cross to Bhadrapur 31 Dec 95
7. KTM - SYD 19 Jun 1996
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@Dona Ferentes , as a keen travel book reader B Bryson, B Chatwin , etc , I enjoyed your notes
Dona Ferentes
Abri贸 la caja, vio al gatito, y sonri贸
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"On a toujours besoin de trois choses pour 茅crire: une table, une chaise et un pays. J'ai les trois."
- Kamel Daoud
Dona Ferentes
Abri贸 la caja, vio al gatito, y sonri贸
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Geneva 1996 to 2000.
Even with a month in Australia in between, going from Nepal, included in the ten lowest GDP countries in the world, to Switzerland with arguably the highest, was a huge shock for the first few days. I used to bargain (half-heartedly) for a few Rupees, and then we did CHF180 on four pizzas. We took a hotel in Servette - Mont Blanc was visible from the balcony - and set about finding somewhere for long-term rental, and that was to prove challenging. Long-term leases ran for 10 years and, even with a high expat population, there was a reluctance for leases to be anything less than three. Houses were generally over CHF4000 a month and apartments usually above 3000. Houses were on the outskirts of town so we had to get the lay of the land; the agency HQ was on one side of the lake and the only practical school on the other. The two children enrolled at the International School, Ecolint, which had 1600 students and two language streams. We bought a car, details found on the UN noticeboard, and checked out apartments also on offer. Eventually, we went through a private company, an immobilier, as the process was rather convoluted. It took a month before we could move into a two-level, 3br apartment in Carouge, on the tramline, not that central but in a quiet part of town. The noticeboard was also the source for much of our furniture. We stayed in this apartment for nearly three years then, when given notice, moved to Champel which was closer to the lake and school.
Seeing this is the travel thread, what happened next? Geneva has a small footprint, good European cheek-and-jowl living, the lake creates chokepoints for traffic and the new developments around the periphery seemed poorly thought out; the border was very close and the French communities on each side, Ferney-Voltaire and Annemasse, are closely integrated with city's economy. I bought a bicycle, which was good fun around the city. Driving around the city was easy but my biggest challenge was throwing off caution on the autoroutes and catch up to those Renault R10s zipping by; it seemed 140km was the norm and it took a while to ramp up to that speed after my Pavlovian conditioning in Australia. An early test was a drive to Paris to meet friends soon after arriving; I even drove on the Champs-Elys茅鲁es and around the Arc de Triomphe.
The next culture shock was experienced by my daughter; sometime in November she looked out of the school window and, in an excited voice, exclaimed "It's snowing". All her classmates laughed. But this set the tone and we went skiing, most weekends. Or, at least, the kids picked it up quickly but I struggled. Geneva, where the Rhone flowed from Lac Leman, is in a valley between two mountain ranges, both in French territory; Sal猫ve to the south and the Jura mountains (yes, there was a Parc Jurassien) to the north. The closest slopes were on the Jura, a 20 minute drive, past CERN to Meyrin, then a gondola lift that went straight up to the crest. Alternatively, a drive through Gex went to the base of the gentle beginner slopes. Needless to say, we started to look afield for more challenges. The good Swiss ski slopes are famous, but expensive and a few hours away. With Chamonix and Mont Blanc only an hour south, we soon decided on Les Gets or Morzine, which offered dozens of long runs, minimal queueing at lifts and about half the price compared to over the border. Later on, a classmate of my son offered access to the family chalet at Avoriaz. The other attraction of hitting the slopes was to escape the valley fog; 1掳C at a ski resort in brilliant sunshine is far more preferable to 1掳C in grey gloom.
With quite a few visitors passing through, plenty of locations offered up an easy drive on weekends. Annecy in Haute-Savoie was spectacular, the sliver of a lake surrounded by impressive mountains. We went to Leukerbad spa, deep in the Alps in the German-speaking part of Valais on a cold winter's day; the thermal baths seemed overrun by Russians. Our cousin visited again and we made a trip across the rosti graben to Gstaad and on to Berne. And of course, to Zermatt to see the Matterhorn, to Chamonix tucked under Mont Blanc, to Burgundy for a wander through wine country. One little gem on Lake Geneva was Yvoire with its medieval village beautifully preserved; Evian, just up the road, lost its charm when we spotted the huge intake pipes from the lake leading to the 'mineral water' bottling plant. In the summer holidays, we rented an apartment near St Tropez. One week was enough. We had driven there avoiding the autoroute, through Gap and Digne and the Alpes-Maritimes. On our return, we went through Cannes, Nice, Monaco and turned north at Ventimiglia, through to Cuneo and Turin, up the Val d'Aosta to the Mont Blanc tunnel and home. My daughter and I went to Ireland for a break, doing the Galway then Ring of Derry route. Michael Jackson was playing in Dublin on our second last day so we went to the stadium but it was sold out. We could hear enough over the walls, anyway.
My son came to Geneva as an enthusiastic swimmer, and took up training with Geneve Natation which had the benefits of a 50m indoor pool and with staff including the national coach. As he matured, his times came down and he advanced to be the Under-17 then Under-18 Swiss champion. In the summers, Europe offered a smorgasbord of competitions and nearly every second weekend he went away with the team,; sometimes I drove him and fellow team mates, taking them to Bastogne in Belgium, Lyon, Milan, Livorno, Neuch芒tel, Basel, Lausanne and probably a half dozen other Swiss towns.
Apart from one trip to Australia, for Christmas 1997, we stayed in Europe and took advantage of the long summer breaks. This is the best time in Europe, not only for kind weather but also when plenty of activities occur. Around Geneva, most communes and towns took turns to hold their fete, featuring regional food specialties and with plenty of music. There appeared to be quite a circuit of performers touring, American bluegrass, Irish folk, South American ritmo bands; the strong Swiss franc ensured quality acts. Geneva put on free concerts in their lakeside parks and Nyon had a yearly rock festival, plus Montreux was not too far away. I went to them all.
One memorable Italian trip, we went to Italy via the Simplon Pass to Lake Maggiore, across the Po Valley and through to the Med, Genoa and Portofino, then to Pisa and push up to Tuscany, Siena and San Gimignano and fun places in between. We returned via Lake Como, Bellagio (the place where the wind splits in two) and across the border to Lugano, then to the Gotthard, the pass not the tunnel, and back following the upper Rhone through Valais. We tried to have a mix of slow country roads and autostrada, which was generally okay away from the towns though on the tangentiale north of Milan was terrifying, with two solid lanes of trucks doing 100kph and the third with aggressive drivers coming up behind and flashing their lights, forcing me to merge into the truck lanes; these cars would then speed away. Additionally, I went to Italy via the St Bernard Pass (not the tunnel) on the off chance of seeing some music in Turin and lucked out with tickets. I liked Turin, it had a slower pace if not the history.
Summer holidays in 1998 and we went to Turkey, with time in Istanbul staying downtown. Third time to the marvel that is Hagia Sophia and I'll never tire of it, nor the Bosporus, though the covered bazaars don't do much for me. We then flew to Antalya on the Med and stayed at a resort, a great introduction to how Eurotrash take their holidays, bingo called in 4 languages: Turkish, Russian, German and English. It wasn't too intrusive and we made day trips in a rent-a-car, to Side with its temple of Apollo (mentioned by apostle Paul in the Bible), to Aspendos with its aqueduct and colosseum, and to the Greco-Roman ruins of Seleukia.
The Kosovo crisis rippled through Europe in 1999 with Nato involvement, a large-scale refugee crisis and population displacement. The fighting was tapering off, my partner had been in country for a few weeks so we decided to visit early August. The 2 kids and I took a flight to Samos, then a Greek ferry overnight to Thessaloniki, found a taxi willing to go to the border and walked across to (North) Macedonia. We took another taxi to Skopje where we had a contact, a work colleague. Next morning she got us on the UN bus to Pristina and a completely normal war-zone. Scattered through the town were the ruins of Serbian military, security and administrative buildings, taken out by Nato precision bombing in the weeks prior, APCs patrolled the streets. The next morning we went around with aid workers delivering food packages to fortified apartments, to terrified elderly Serbs who dared not venture out. We went for a drive later on, to Prizren and 'deep' Kosovo, nearly totally Muslim; the architecture had Ottoman mosques a-plenty but with some Orthodox monasteries in the mix. The locals were hostile, even though we represented liberation from their oppressors. The town and surrounding villages were to provide a large number of ISIS foot soldiers in the decade to come. We approached Gjakova but were directed away; tensions between Roma and Albanians were ongoing, so we returned to Pristina.
On our second last day, we went to Pec, up against the mountains and the site of a 13th century Orthodox monastery; again, the situation was tense and we were denied entry. Distances are not great in this part of the world and we headed north to Mitrovica, another flashpoint but where ethnic Serbs made a stand and occupied the town north of the river and beyond. We were on the Kosovar side and walked to the bridge and could see rubble, burnt cars, scrap, piled up to make a barricade on the other side. Guys with rifles and RPGs faced off. It was quiet but they said night-time was a different story.
There was a UN flight to Rome each day and our three names were added to a manifest for the 24-seater, so we went to the airfield and hung about, but were bumped by others with more clout. So we returned to the city, took the bus to Skopje and managed to get seats on a flight to Zagreb that afternoon. Croatia seemed so normal, but we didn't stay around, taking an express train through Slovenia to Trieste. Then, a quick visit to Venice and another train up the Po Valley and across the Alps to home.
We had already booked a short holiday in Morocco and my partner made it back from Kosovo with a day to spare before we all flew to Marrakesh for a week, in the town and around the pool but not venturing too far. Late November, and we went to Prague for a weekend; a short trip, short on daylight but mulled wine in the squares to ward off the winter chill. Then as we entered the year 2000, it was decision time, based around education. If we stayed, my son would have to do a full year 13 before a European university, whereas a return to Australia would mean being ready after only Year 12 HSC. Besides, he had qualified for the Olympic trials the coming June though blokes like Thorpe would crush any dreams. We stayed until Easter, completing nearly a full year of school, then left for Canberra to enrol ready for term two. My daughter jumped a (second half-) year to enter year 10; this was double-edged as she had maintained friendships with classmates from previous sojourns in Australia, and they were in year 9.
International flights/ travel
1. Melb - GVA 25 Jul 96
2. GVA - Dublin 19 Jul 97; Dublin - GVA 27 Jul 97
3. GVA - SYD 14 Dec 97; SYD - GVA 09 Jan 98
4. GVA - Istanbul 15 Aug 98; Antalya - GVA 25 Aug 98
5. GVA - Samos 17 Aug 99; ferry to Thessaloniki; taxi to Skopje 19 Aug 99; UN bus to Kosovo 20 Aug; bus to Skopje, fly to Zagreb 27 Aug 99; train through Slovenia, Italy to Geneva 29 Aug 99
6. GVA - Marrakesh 10 Sep 99; Marrakesh - GVA 17 Sep 99
7. GVA - Prague 20 Nov 99; Prague - GVA 23 Nov 99
8. GVA - BKK 02 Apr 2000; BKK - SYD 06 Apr 2000
Even with a month in Australia in between, going from Nepal, included in the ten lowest GDP countries in the world, to Switzerland with arguably the highest, was a huge shock for the first few days. I used to bargain (half-heartedly) for a few Rupees, and then we did CHF180 on four pizzas. We took a hotel in Servette - Mont Blanc was visible from the balcony - and set about finding somewhere for long-term rental, and that was to prove challenging. Long-term leases ran for 10 years and, even with a high expat population, there was a reluctance for leases to be anything less than three. Houses were generally over CHF4000 a month and apartments usually above 3000. Houses were on the outskirts of town so we had to get the lay of the land; the agency HQ was on one side of the lake and the only practical school on the other. The two children enrolled at the International School, Ecolint, which had 1600 students and two language streams. We bought a car, details found on the UN noticeboard, and checked out apartments also on offer. Eventually, we went through a private company, an immobilier, as the process was rather convoluted. It took a month before we could move into a two-level, 3br apartment in Carouge, on the tramline, not that central but in a quiet part of town. The noticeboard was also the source for much of our furniture. We stayed in this apartment for nearly three years then, when given notice, moved to Champel which was closer to the lake and school.
Seeing this is the travel thread, what happened next? Geneva has a small footprint, good European cheek-and-jowl living, the lake creates chokepoints for traffic and the new developments around the periphery seemed poorly thought out; the border was very close and the French communities on each side, Ferney-Voltaire and Annemasse, are closely integrated with city's economy. I bought a bicycle, which was good fun around the city. Driving around the city was easy but my biggest challenge was throwing off caution on the autoroutes and catch up to those Renault R10s zipping by; it seemed 140km was the norm and it took a while to ramp up to that speed after my Pavlovian conditioning in Australia. An early test was a drive to Paris to meet friends soon after arriving; I even drove on the Champs-Elys茅鲁es and around the Arc de Triomphe.
The next culture shock was experienced by my daughter; sometime in November she looked out of the school window and, in an excited voice, exclaimed "It's snowing". All her classmates laughed. But this set the tone and we went skiing, most weekends. Or, at least, the kids picked it up quickly but I struggled. Geneva, where the Rhone flowed from Lac Leman, is in a valley between two mountain ranges, both in French territory; Sal猫ve to the south and the Jura mountains (yes, there was a Parc Jurassien) to the north. The closest slopes were on the Jura, a 20 minute drive, past CERN to Meyrin, then a gondola lift that went straight up to the crest. Alternatively, a drive through Gex went to the base of the gentle beginner slopes. Needless to say, we started to look afield for more challenges. The good Swiss ski slopes are famous, but expensive and a few hours away. With Chamonix and Mont Blanc only an hour south, we soon decided on Les Gets or Morzine, which offered dozens of long runs, minimal queueing at lifts and about half the price compared to over the border. Later on, a classmate of my son offered access to the family chalet at Avoriaz. The other attraction of hitting the slopes was to escape the valley fog; 1掳C at a ski resort in brilliant sunshine is far more preferable to 1掳C in grey gloom.
With quite a few visitors passing through, plenty of locations offered up an easy drive on weekends. Annecy in Haute-Savoie was spectacular, the sliver of a lake surrounded by impressive mountains. We went to Leukerbad spa, deep in the Alps in the German-speaking part of Valais on a cold winter's day; the thermal baths seemed overrun by Russians. Our cousin visited again and we made a trip across the rosti graben to Gstaad and on to Berne. And of course, to Zermatt to see the Matterhorn, to Chamonix tucked under Mont Blanc, to Burgundy for a wander through wine country. One little gem on Lake Geneva was Yvoire with its medieval village beautifully preserved; Evian, just up the road, lost its charm when we spotted the huge intake pipes from the lake leading to the 'mineral water' bottling plant. In the summer holidays, we rented an apartment near St Tropez. One week was enough. We had driven there avoiding the autoroute, through Gap and Digne and the Alpes-Maritimes. On our return, we went through Cannes, Nice, Monaco and turned north at Ventimiglia, through to Cuneo and Turin, up the Val d'Aosta to the Mont Blanc tunnel and home. My daughter and I went to Ireland for a break, doing the Galway then Ring of Derry route. Michael Jackson was playing in Dublin on our second last day so we went to the stadium but it was sold out. We could hear enough over the walls, anyway.
My son came to Geneva as an enthusiastic swimmer, and took up training with Geneve Natation which had the benefits of a 50m indoor pool and with staff including the national coach. As he matured, his times came down and he advanced to be the Under-17 then Under-18 Swiss champion. In the summers, Europe offered a smorgasbord of competitions and nearly every second weekend he went away with the team,; sometimes I drove him and fellow team mates, taking them to Bastogne in Belgium, Lyon, Milan, Livorno, Neuch芒tel, Basel, Lausanne and probably a half dozen other Swiss towns.
Apart from one trip to Australia, for Christmas 1997, we stayed in Europe and took advantage of the long summer breaks. This is the best time in Europe, not only for kind weather but also when plenty of activities occur. Around Geneva, most communes and towns took turns to hold their fete, featuring regional food specialties and with plenty of music. There appeared to be quite a circuit of performers touring, American bluegrass, Irish folk, South American ritmo bands; the strong Swiss franc ensured quality acts. Geneva put on free concerts in their lakeside parks and Nyon had a yearly rock festival, plus Montreux was not too far away. I went to them all.
One memorable Italian trip, we went to Italy via the Simplon Pass to Lake Maggiore, across the Po Valley and through to the Med, Genoa and Portofino, then to Pisa and push up to Tuscany, Siena and San Gimignano and fun places in between. We returned via Lake Como, Bellagio (the place where the wind splits in two) and across the border to Lugano, then to the Gotthard, the pass not the tunnel, and back following the upper Rhone through Valais. We tried to have a mix of slow country roads and autostrada, which was generally okay away from the towns though on the tangentiale north of Milan was terrifying, with two solid lanes of trucks doing 100kph and the third with aggressive drivers coming up behind and flashing their lights, forcing me to merge into the truck lanes; these cars would then speed away. Additionally, I went to Italy via the St Bernard Pass (not the tunnel) on the off chance of seeing some music in Turin and lucked out with tickets. I liked Turin, it had a slower pace if not the history.
Summer holidays in 1998 and we went to Turkey, with time in Istanbul staying downtown. Third time to the marvel that is Hagia Sophia and I'll never tire of it, nor the Bosporus, though the covered bazaars don't do much for me. We then flew to Antalya on the Med and stayed at a resort, a great introduction to how Eurotrash take their holidays, bingo called in 4 languages: Turkish, Russian, German and English. It wasn't too intrusive and we made day trips in a rent-a-car, to Side with its temple of Apollo (mentioned by apostle Paul in the Bible), to Aspendos with its aqueduct and colosseum, and to the Greco-Roman ruins of Seleukia.
The Kosovo crisis rippled through Europe in 1999 with Nato involvement, a large-scale refugee crisis and population displacement. The fighting was tapering off, my partner had been in country for a few weeks so we decided to visit early August. The 2 kids and I took a flight to Samos, then a Greek ferry overnight to Thessaloniki, found a taxi willing to go to the border and walked across to (North) Macedonia. We took another taxi to Skopje where we had a contact, a work colleague. Next morning she got us on the UN bus to Pristina and a completely normal war-zone. Scattered through the town were the ruins of Serbian military, security and administrative buildings, taken out by Nato precision bombing in the weeks prior, APCs patrolled the streets. The next morning we went around with aid workers delivering food packages to fortified apartments, to terrified elderly Serbs who dared not venture out. We went for a drive later on, to Prizren and 'deep' Kosovo, nearly totally Muslim; the architecture had Ottoman mosques a-plenty but with some Orthodox monasteries in the mix. The locals were hostile, even though we represented liberation from their oppressors. The town and surrounding villages were to provide a large number of ISIS foot soldiers in the decade to come. We approached Gjakova but were directed away; tensions between Roma and Albanians were ongoing, so we returned to Pristina.
On our second last day, we went to Pec, up against the mountains and the site of a 13th century Orthodox monastery; again, the situation was tense and we were denied entry. Distances are not great in this part of the world and we headed north to Mitrovica, another flashpoint but where ethnic Serbs made a stand and occupied the town north of the river and beyond. We were on the Kosovar side and walked to the bridge and could see rubble, burnt cars, scrap, piled up to make a barricade on the other side. Guys with rifles and RPGs faced off. It was quiet but they said night-time was a different story.
There was a UN flight to Rome each day and our three names were added to a manifest for the 24-seater, so we went to the airfield and hung about, but were bumped by others with more clout. So we returned to the city, took the bus to Skopje and managed to get seats on a flight to Zagreb that afternoon. Croatia seemed so normal, but we didn't stay around, taking an express train through Slovenia to Trieste. Then, a quick visit to Venice and another train up the Po Valley and across the Alps to home.
We had already booked a short holiday in Morocco and my partner made it back from Kosovo with a day to spare before we all flew to Marrakesh for a week, in the town and around the pool but not venturing too far. Late November, and we went to Prague for a weekend; a short trip, short on daylight but mulled wine in the squares to ward off the winter chill. Then as we entered the year 2000, it was decision time, based around education. If we stayed, my son would have to do a full year 13 before a European university, whereas a return to Australia would mean being ready after only Year 12 HSC. Besides, he had qualified for the Olympic trials the coming June though blokes like Thorpe would crush any dreams. We stayed until Easter, completing nearly a full year of school, then left for Canberra to enrol ready for term two. My daughter jumped a (second half-) year to enter year 10; this was double-edged as she had maintained friendships with classmates from previous sojourns in Australia, and they were in year 9.
International flights/ travel
1. Melb - GVA 25 Jul 96
2. GVA - Dublin 19 Jul 97; Dublin - GVA 27 Jul 97
3. GVA - SYD 14 Dec 97; SYD - GVA 09 Jan 98
4. GVA - Istanbul 15 Aug 98; Antalya - GVA 25 Aug 98
5. GVA - Samos 17 Aug 99; ferry to Thessaloniki; taxi to Skopje 19 Aug 99; UN bus to Kosovo 20 Aug; bus to Skopje, fly to Zagreb 27 Aug 99; train through Slovenia, Italy to Geneva 29 Aug 99
6. GVA - Marrakesh 10 Sep 99; Marrakesh - GVA 17 Sep 99
7. GVA - Prague 20 Nov 99; Prague - GVA 23 Nov 99
8. GVA - BKK 02 Apr 2000; BKK - SYD 06 Apr 2000
IFocus
You are arguing with a Galah
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Riveting read Dona, Geezus what did you do in your spare time 
Dona Ferentes
Abri贸 la caja, vio al gatito, y sonri贸
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Burmese days
The new posting wasn't long in coming, another UN agency and in Asia. This time, Myanmar, a country in the spotlight for all the wrong reasons. The military was in control, earlier election results were not honoured and the ethnic or tribal tensions played out as a series of low-level civil wars away from the river valleys. During school holidays, the kids and I flew in for a visit. I remembered the gleaming gilded spire of the Shwedagon Pagoda from my 1977 visit; it is hard to miss from the air and around town. Not much else in Yangon seems to have changed, though there were more tuk-tuks, the Strand Hotel was no longer a dump, internet existed but was patchy. We were staying in a house in Golden Valley; it was a colonial pile with mahogany floors and thick walls, but mold everywhere, dodgy electrics and intermittent water. Yangon was not geared to tourism to any extent, the locals just got on with their lives. For a bit of light relief, the Australian Embassy had a club in the centre in town, and expats could be found there most days which provided a diversion for the two kids.
We took a trip to the west coast for a few days in the middle of our time; Ngapali Beach on the Bay of Bengal was accessible by car, a 12 hour drive on bad roads and not recommended in the wet season, so we flew to Thandwe and from there, the coastal resort strip was only 10 minutes away. If the country was trying to attract tourists, and I seem to remember it being "Visit Myanmar Year", then this tropical gem could only be described as 'under-developed'. Backing on to palm-fringed white sand beaches, we had spartan rooms in one of the few half-finished guest houses, no other visitors, payment in USD, a few basic restaurants a kilometre away; it was wonderful (fresh seafood, plus we'd brought enough books).
Our next visit was over the Xmas break for a full month; several school friends came along for the trip. It was the dry season and so much more comfortable moving around town and easier to sleep at night. Keeping a group of teenagers busy was a challenge; the club offered swimming, tennis and other sports and the best break was linking up with a local guy, a guitarist with a penchant for Hendrix. We discovered nightlife, as he was playing in cafes and clubs around town. We took one trip up-country, as they say, flying to Heho, a small town close to the Shan state capital of Taunggyi, and travelled 35 km south to Inle Lake. Transport on this shallow lake is by small boats; the fishermen have a distinctive rowing style, standing at the stern on one leg and the other wrapped around the oar. The lake is covered in grasses and finding a way ahead can be difficult. In some parts, locals grow crops on floating beds of lake weeds anchored by bamboo poles. We visited a local monastery, built on stilts above the water; here the monks are famous for their pet cats. At 880m high and surrounded by mountain ranges, the lake has a serene beauty.
We returned to Heho and flew to Bagan, or Pagan, on the Irrawaddy, where thousands of pagodas and temples spread across the plain. A world-famous archeological site, some 2500 out of ten thousand structures remain; they were built on the 11th to 13th Century and extend over forty square kilometres. Mainly Theravada Buddhist, there are also syncretic Mahayana and Hindu elements. Mongol invasions to the north triggered an abandonment of the intense monument building activity. Earthquakes and the elements have subsequently reduced much to rubble; unsympathetic restoration attempts and encroachment in the name of development have also caused significant damage. However, the overall effect of seeing the whole complex both from the air and on the ground is stunning. We stayed a few days; it was hot and dusty visiting as many of the monuments as we could. Sunrise and sunset were the best times to soak up the atmosphere.
I came for a third visit in May; this time making a visit to the north. We flew to Mandalay and on to Myitkyina, capital of Kachin state and 1500km from the capital. It was a sleepy town on the right bank of the mighty Irrawaddy (Ayeyarwaddy) with a sizeable Nepali population, settlers from the British days when their antecedents served as Gurkhas. On a spare day, I found a driver and we followed the river upstream, to the confluence of the Maikha and Malikha (or N'mai and Mali rivers) and said to be the start of the Irrawaddy, then further for another 50km. The valley became pinched, a few villages clustered around cleared terraces but, eventually, the road cut away from the river and started to rise. We turned back, my driver said it wasn't possible to get to Puta-O, a town at the base of the eastern ranges of the Himalaya and close to both the Indian and Chinese borders. Whether this was because of insecurity or landslides wasn't made clear.
I made a daytrip 90km up the road from Yangon to Bago, formerly Pegu; it claims the tallest stupa in the country, and at 125m high it towered above the town. Nearby was an immense reclining Buddha. Other than that, it was a provincial centre of little charm and less activity other than as a market town.
One last event before I returned to Australia was a social gathering at a diplomat's residence on University Road. People were on their best behaviour and much scurrying around occurred; it was whispered 'The Lady' was taking visitors in the back room. The sequestered lady, of course, was Aung San Suu Kyi and she was under house arrest at the time. There was a conspiratorial air not to allow word of her presence to get out; of course, there must have been some connivance with the military to allow any such contact.
1. SYD - RGN 30 Jun 2000 ; RGN - SYD 16 Jul 2000
2. SYD - RGN 13 Dec 2000; RGN - SYD 12 Jan 2001
3. SYD - RGN 19 May 2001; RGN - SYD 04 Jun 2001
The new posting wasn't long in coming, another UN agency and in Asia. This time, Myanmar, a country in the spotlight for all the wrong reasons. The military was in control, earlier election results were not honoured and the ethnic or tribal tensions played out as a series of low-level civil wars away from the river valleys. During school holidays, the kids and I flew in for a visit. I remembered the gleaming gilded spire of the Shwedagon Pagoda from my 1977 visit; it is hard to miss from the air and around town. Not much else in Yangon seems to have changed, though there were more tuk-tuks, the Strand Hotel was no longer a dump, internet existed but was patchy. We were staying in a house in Golden Valley; it was a colonial pile with mahogany floors and thick walls, but mold everywhere, dodgy electrics and intermittent water. Yangon was not geared to tourism to any extent, the locals just got on with their lives. For a bit of light relief, the Australian Embassy had a club in the centre in town, and expats could be found there most days which provided a diversion for the two kids.
We took a trip to the west coast for a few days in the middle of our time; Ngapali Beach on the Bay of Bengal was accessible by car, a 12 hour drive on bad roads and not recommended in the wet season, so we flew to Thandwe and from there, the coastal resort strip was only 10 minutes away. If the country was trying to attract tourists, and I seem to remember it being "Visit Myanmar Year", then this tropical gem could only be described as 'under-developed'. Backing on to palm-fringed white sand beaches, we had spartan rooms in one of the few half-finished guest houses, no other visitors, payment in USD, a few basic restaurants a kilometre away; it was wonderful (fresh seafood, plus we'd brought enough books).
Our next visit was over the Xmas break for a full month; several school friends came along for the trip. It was the dry season and so much more comfortable moving around town and easier to sleep at night. Keeping a group of teenagers busy was a challenge; the club offered swimming, tennis and other sports and the best break was linking up with a local guy, a guitarist with a penchant for Hendrix. We discovered nightlife, as he was playing in cafes and clubs around town. We took one trip up-country, as they say, flying to Heho, a small town close to the Shan state capital of Taunggyi, and travelled 35 km south to Inle Lake. Transport on this shallow lake is by small boats; the fishermen have a distinctive rowing style, standing at the stern on one leg and the other wrapped around the oar. The lake is covered in grasses and finding a way ahead can be difficult. In some parts, locals grow crops on floating beds of lake weeds anchored by bamboo poles. We visited a local monastery, built on stilts above the water; here the monks are famous for their pet cats. At 880m high and surrounded by mountain ranges, the lake has a serene beauty.
We returned to Heho and flew to Bagan, or Pagan, on the Irrawaddy, where thousands of pagodas and temples spread across the plain. A world-famous archeological site, some 2500 out of ten thousand structures remain; they were built on the 11th to 13th Century and extend over forty square kilometres. Mainly Theravada Buddhist, there are also syncretic Mahayana and Hindu elements. Mongol invasions to the north triggered an abandonment of the intense monument building activity. Earthquakes and the elements have subsequently reduced much to rubble; unsympathetic restoration attempts and encroachment in the name of development have also caused significant damage. However, the overall effect of seeing the whole complex both from the air and on the ground is stunning. We stayed a few days; it was hot and dusty visiting as many of the monuments as we could. Sunrise and sunset were the best times to soak up the atmosphere.
I came for a third visit in May; this time making a visit to the north. We flew to Mandalay and on to Myitkyina, capital of Kachin state and 1500km from the capital. It was a sleepy town on the right bank of the mighty Irrawaddy (Ayeyarwaddy) with a sizeable Nepali population, settlers from the British days when their antecedents served as Gurkhas. On a spare day, I found a driver and we followed the river upstream, to the confluence of the Maikha and Malikha (or N'mai and Mali rivers) and said to be the start of the Irrawaddy, then further for another 50km. The valley became pinched, a few villages clustered around cleared terraces but, eventually, the road cut away from the river and started to rise. We turned back, my driver said it wasn't possible to get to Puta-O, a town at the base of the eastern ranges of the Himalaya and close to both the Indian and Chinese borders. Whether this was because of insecurity or landslides wasn't made clear.
I made a daytrip 90km up the road from Yangon to Bago, formerly Pegu; it claims the tallest stupa in the country, and at 125m high it towered above the town. Nearby was an immense reclining Buddha. Other than that, it was a provincial centre of little charm and less activity other than as a market town.
One last event before I returned to Australia was a social gathering at a diplomat's residence on University Road. People were on their best behaviour and much scurrying around occurred; it was whispered 'The Lady' was taking visitors in the back room. The sequestered lady, of course, was Aung San Suu Kyi and she was under house arrest at the time. There was a conspiratorial air not to allow word of her presence to get out; of course, there must have been some connivance with the military to allow any such contact.
1. SYD - RGN 30 Jun 2000 ; RGN - SYD 16 Jul 2000
2. SYD - RGN 13 Dec 2000; RGN - SYD 12 Jan 2001
3. SYD - RGN 19 May 2001; RGN - SYD 04 Jun 2001
Dona Ferentes
Abri贸 la caja, vio al gatito, y sonri贸
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travel means no longer around
.
why, non-smoking, please, and windows seat if possible.
.
why, non-smoking, please, and windows seat if possible.
.
Last edited:
Dona Ferentes
Abri贸 la caja, vio al gatito, y sonri贸
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countries with new names
.
.
.
"Intourist".... customer focused, and then some ..
.
.
.
"Intourist".... customer focused, and then some ..
Last edited:
Dona Ferentes
Abri贸 la caja, vio al gatito, y sonri贸
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gave up territory for peace.
.
1978 map
.
1978 map
Dona Ferentes
Abri贸 la caja, vio al gatito, y sonri贸
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and, double change
.
Sete quedas., (postcard). a few days after I was here, 1980, the bridge collapsed and people died.
Soon after, the Itiap煤 dam was built on the Paran谩, flooding these magnificent falls by 1984
.
Sete quedas., (postcard). a few days after I was here, 1980, the bridge collapsed and people died.
Soon after, the Itiap煤 dam was built on the Paran谩, flooding these magnificent falls by 1984
Dona Ferentes
Abri贸 la caja, vio al gatito, y sonri贸
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well, that's it for the Restless Years. Enough of me talking about me, now someone else can ...Riveting read Dona, Geezus what did you do in your spare time
In Geneva, I did Securities Institute courses, by correspondence (before internet). Financial Markets and Financial Planning. Back in Oz and it took a while but, when over 50 years old, I got a job with a suburban accountant who was into SMSFs. Dream job; Meaning and Purpose .
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Well Oct 17th 2024, the wife and I caught a cruise from Singapore, up to Japan and across the Pacific to L.A.
We flew out to Vegas then four days later picked up a car and drove through Hoover dam, then onto Williams on old route 66 and the Grand Canyon.
Then onto Monument Valley, Bryce Canyon and Zion national park, then back to Vegas, 9 days and 2,000km later dropped the car off.
Flew back to LA today and when I told the taxi driver where we were booked in, he started breaking into his native tonque about how we shouldn't stay there, we could be mugged or worse.
I told him, mate we have stayed in some pretty average places and it will be fine.
He dropped us off and gave us his personal phone number and said no matter what time, you call I will come and pick you up.
Well we went for a walk and it really is a seedy area, but hey no worse than rough areas in Aus, the room is clean and recently refurbished, the asian Indians look like they are trying to make a go of it.
Good price, great room, just a rough area.
Anyway day after tomorrow, onto the next leg of the trip, a cruise around South America.
We flew out to Vegas then four days later picked up a car and drove through Hoover dam, then onto Williams on old route 66 and the Grand Canyon.
Then onto Monument Valley, Bryce Canyon and Zion national park, then back to Vegas, 9 days and 2,000km later dropped the car off.
Flew back to LA today and when I told the taxi driver where we were booked in, he started breaking into his native tonque about how we shouldn't stay there, we could be mugged or worse.
I told him, mate we have stayed in some pretty average places and it will be fine.
He dropped us off and gave us his personal phone number and said no matter what time, you call I will come and pick you up.
Well we went for a walk and it really is a seedy area, but hey no worse than rough areas in Aus, the room is clean and recently refurbished, the asian Indians look like they are trying to make a go of it.
Good price, great room, just a rough area.
Anyway day after tomorrow, onto the next leg of the trip, a cruise around South America.
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