Slowly Globetrekking

Taksim square this morning

Tue, 11 Jun 2013 10:43:35 +0200

Taksim square this morning

Sri Lanka was not a uniform experience, the far north, Jaffna,...

Sun, 09 Jun 2013 19:40:55 +0200

Sri Lanka was not a uniform experience, the far north, Jaffna, was easily among the best experiences of my entire trip, particularly when I managed to drop in on a Hindu celebration. It’s a shame then, that the rest of the country, didn’t measure up.

While a boon to the population, the economic progress, has robbed the country of a lot of charm, it feels about as exotic, as an industrial complex in France (though far friendlier). Most people are in Western clothing, the restaurants are bland concrete boxes, and the houses are just as inspiring. Driving through the country, the nature can be very beautiful, particularly the hill country. But without private transport, you won’t really enjoy it.

And that was something that always seemed clear, that with twice my budget, or triple, Sri Lanka might have made for a much better destination. Many places, parks, and experiences were out of bounds, the cost was usually too high. In fact, I only saw one national park, and in hindsight considering the cost, that was a bad call.

You see, the problem is twofold. One is a complete lack of infrastructure; if you want to see a national park, you need your own transportation, or to rent a car with a driver, and they never come cheap. On top of that (and this is where I erred) the entrance cost is never less than 30 USD, aka. my daily budget. The total cost, driver and all, is never less than 60 USD; often more, as the national parks are usually remote.

Sri Lanka isn’t a backpacker destination at any rate, so it’s not as if it was unexpected. The entrance to Anuradhapura, Polonnaruwa, and Sigiriya (called the Cultural Triangle), are all 30 USD, a price that has drastically increased in recent years, as the government has learned to squeeze the tourists.

So what made Jaffna so much better? It’s woefully underdeveloped. Following 36 years of civil war, and a government that doesn’t give a fuck, things are at a standstill. Walking through Jaffna City, is a less in the effectiveness of artillery. Up here, people wear more traditional clothes, the houses (particularly outside Jaffna) are far more traditional, all food is based on coconutmilk, and the people are far less influenced by the West (and tourists, of which I saw none).

If you aren’t me (and there’s a very good chance that of that) you might enjoy something cheap on offer everywhere, that does seem to content a lot of foreigners. Beaches. I hate beaches, but they’re everywhere, they’re beautiful and sandy, and the water is clear and warm. In fact, most of the coastline, is sand.

So in short, if you’ve got the cash and/or love beaches, Sri Lanka might be your place. If you’re a backpacker, with little affinity for wasting your life away with sand in your ass (and everywhere else), go somewhere else, or visit Jaffna and whatever else screams out to you from the guidebook (sadly, I was in Sri Lanka in offseason for blue whale watching).

Sri Lanka was not a uniform experience, the far north, Jaffna,...

Sun, 09 Jun 2013 17:16:47 +0200

Kim Jong-il's Sushi Chef Kenji Fujimoto: Newsmakers: GQ

Fri, 07 Jun 2013 14:56:26 +0200

Kim Jong-il's Sushi Chef Kenji Fujimoto: Newsmakers: GQ:

A side of North Korea that I could never see.

I got on a bus for an eight hour busride today, from the Kurdish capital of Diyarbakir, to the...

Fri, 07 Jun 2013 14:19:55 +0200

I got on a bus for an eight hour busride today, from the Kurdish capital of Diyarbakir, to the almost-in-Iran Van; lazily lounging on the shore of Lake Van (some people can get very creative with naming). Except for when there’s an earthquake, then it’s not very lazy.

The real story today, is not Diyarbakir or Van, but the bus I rode. For the final hour and a half, we followed the shore of lake Van from Tatvan to Van; the sun setting on the enormous lake, tall mountains on the far side visible in deep red, blue and purple colours, as the setting sun set fire to the lake itself.

While this spectacular view went off to my left, my right was occupied with the mountainous terrain of southeastern Anatolia; clad in golden light, exposed cliff in the midst of grass and brush-covered pastures, sheep running about, bleating.

Prior to Sri Lanka, I spent a month in Bangladesh. Despite ...

Tue, 04 Jun 2013 11:47:20 +0200

Prior to Sri Lanka, I spent a month in Bangladesh. Despite these two countries being vastly different despite historical ties, they were both British domains. As much as that implies in culture, civil law, and the leftover railway systems stuck in the mid 20th century; my favourite unmistakable similarity is tea. I’m a very recent teadrinker; it started two years ago in Bhutan, where at least one cup is served with each meal, and you had better drink it, especially when drinking with an abbott. As a result, I came to love it through sheer force; I’m sure that if I hadn’t, I would have forced it down anyway, no one can be as polite and adorable as a Bhutanese.

None the less, I had a special interest in tea picking, it just so happens to be very photogenic. Not only could I learn more of where my tea comes from, I had the opportunity to get soaked trousers at the same time (tea picking is done in the wet months, when the tea leaves are wet in the morning). Getting up early with a trusty banged up bicycle in tow, I set about going from tea estate to tea estate. Theoretically easy, actually strenuous and perilous.

Gasping for air going along what felt like a vertical road, swerving between trucks and busses like an olympic skier, the excitement of seeing tea pickers was nearly tangible, it hung in the air like the sweat and insects clinging to my face, as I forced my bicycle up yet another mountain (hill). The estates are simply enormous, and the teapicking will at any time, only take place in a small segment. One estate had me bicycling in sand for 50 minutes, to no avail, not a singler picker was to be found, just beautiful rolling hills.

It’;s a very hit and miss affair; not only finding the the pickers, but also taking photos. First the overseer (male) needs persuasion, after which the pickers (female, due to their delicate and deft hands, supposedly) are often even pickier. Some ask for payment, some are plain tired of foreigners, and the final (and wonderful) attitude is one of posing, giggling, and encouraging each other. It’s where I got the best photos, it’s where I felt the most connection, and it’s where Bangladesh came alive for the first time. You know, sightseeing is fine, and some places do offer spectacular sights, testaments to the endurance of humans, and ingeniousness in construction and architecture. But it’s when I get to connect with locals, living a more traditional way of life, that I feel I’m really seeing and experiencing a country. I have seen plenty of places, filled with locals aspiring to the West, wearing cheap clothes manufactured in China, eating at Fried Chicken knockoffs, and doing naught but watch television. When you visit a country, try and get out in the countryside, communicate or at least meet with farmers, or people who otherwise live in a position on a lower rung, these people often have a more traditional way of life.

The factories in Bangladesh were all off limits, I’m guessing that it’s due to abysmal working conditions; but fret not, Sri Lanka had no problem letting me in. As a fan of tea, mechanics, and getting behind the scenes, the factory was a playground of learning, observing, and trying hard not to touch everything (because fingers sadly never magically regrow). In short, wet tea leaves come in in huge bags, is dried in several stages, crushed, and then chopped into ever small pieces, while stems and stalks are sorted out. In the end, all of it is baked, and then packaged by size and quality, the better product solely for export.

It’s delicious, tea fresh from the factory.

I’m in Urfa, an ancient city founded at the latest around 400...

Mon, 03 Jun 2013 11:00:13 +0200

I’m in Urfa, an ancient city founded at the latest around 400 BC, but more likely somewhere between that and all the way back in 9000 BC. It’s the birthplace of both Abraham and Job (of Biblical fame), it’s been conquered more time than Denmark has been beating in war, the first most notably by the Sumerians, Babylonians, Assyrians, Persians, by Alexander the Great, the Romans, the Byzantine, the Crusaders, and ultimately, the Ottomans (though plenty more); the latter mostly by the Swedish, Germans and British. Safe to say, it’s steeped in history.

Backtracking a bit, I’d like to talk about 2011. In 2011, I spent a long weekend on Malta with my mother (go to Malta, it’s amazing, it’s the charm of the mediterranean, with the language and roadcivility of the British), and as I’m quite the history buff, we went to see megalithic temples of Malta. At the time, believed to be the oldest free standing structure in the world, as well as one of the oldest recognized religious places. They’re fantastic structures, showcasing the early development from hunter-gatherers to agricultural societies.

Or so archeologists believed. The earliest structures from Malta date to around 5000 BC; an age Turkey wiped the floor with in 2011, when the unearthing of Göbekli Tepe got underway, something that didn’t happen until 1995, but which is now in full swing. Göbekli Tepe is believed to be one of the most important archeological sites ever. Why? Carbon dating shows that the deepest layers are from around 9100 BC, a full four thousand years before Malta, and six thousands years before Stonehenge. There are other sites from roughly the same age, but they aren’t nearly as complex, large, or old.

It’s not known who built it, but whoever they were, they erected freestanding temples, with 10 ton rocks, beautifully carved and moved about one km, before metallurgy, agriculture, husbandy, pottery, writing or the wheel. The discovery has pushed back the earliest suggestions for rock carving (again, before metallurgy), priest casts, architecture, as well as significantly raised the standard for the complexity of hunter-gatherer socities. To say that it’s humbling to stand and look at such a leap in human culture, is an understatement of magnitudes. Though we walked out of Africa, and painted caves as long ago as 40.000 years, this is the beginning of what would become mesopotamia, and all successive civilizations. Do you know the phrase “If I have seen farther, it is by standing on the shoulders of giants”? This is what they mean.

But that’s not all that Urfa had on offer. On my way back to Urfa, I came across farmers picking cucumbers. I ran out the car, approached them out of breath, was offered a seat, ate one of the offered cucumbers, and laughed at our linguistic problems, just like I do with farmers around the world. As much as I loved Istanbul, this is what I missed; connecting with people living a traditional way of life. I’m not suggesting that we can’t all be prosperous, but as a foreigner coming to see Turkey, this is far more charming.

Back in Urfa, the taxi dropped me off in Gölbasi, a park area built at the foot of the city fort (sadly closed for renovations), recreating the settings of the area where God intervened and saved Abrahams life when King Nimrod tried to have him killed for destroying Pagan gods. It’s a beautiful park, with large ponds and connecting channels, filled with fat and content carps (Nimrod had arranged for Abraham to be burned, but God turned the fire into water, and the coals into fish). On the site is also a gorgeous mosque, a site of pilgrimage, not only for where Abraham was saved by God, but also because it’s built on the cave where Abraham was born (he’s kind of important).

On the way back to my hotel, I walked through the bazars, ate the most delicious kebab I’ve ever had, came across a square of men playing Dominos, dice, cards, and other games. I got invited to tea by a local merchant who imported from abroad, and spoke English as a result. I’m a curiosity again, I didn’t see any foreigners all day. The big difference here, is that some of the children that laugh and run in circles around me, speak basic English, and ask me all sorts of questions.

Absolutely stunning photos from the Rajshahi division, mainly...

Sun, 02 Jun 2013 11:00:06 +0200

Absolutely stunning photos from the Rajshahi division, mainly from the chors, sandy islands that the poorest of Bangladeshis live on, and farm. I had an absolutely wonderful time here, in a country of welcoming people, this was the most open place. http://photography.twaize.net/Asia/Bangladesh/Rajshahi-Division/

Photos from Sylhet division, filled with gorgeous tea...

Sat, 01 Jun 2013 11:00:11 +0200

Photos from Sylhet division, filled with gorgeous tea plantations, beautiful nature, and while not shown here, gorgeous food: http://photography.twaize.net/Asia/Bangladesh/Sylhet-Division/

A few of my favourite photos from Dhaka, as well as Dhaka...

Fri, 31 May 2013 16:00:12 +0200

A few of my favourite photos from Dhaka, as well as Dhaka division. See the full album here: http://photography.twaize.net/Asia/Bangladesh/Dhaka-Division/

Forgot to add this album, though these photos and more were...

Thu, 30 May 2013 18:50:59 +0200

Forgot to add this album, though these photos and more were previously uploaded, together with my description of bee hunting in Bangladesh: http://photography.twaize.net/Asia/Bangladesh/Sundarbans-National-Park/

If you want to read it, the original article is here: http://twaize.net/post/47951114836/an-introduction-the-proud-honeycomb-hunters

I recently wrote at length about banned photography; how certain...

Thu, 23 May 2013 11:33:00 +0200

I recently wrote at length about banned photography; how certain places, often religious sites here in Asia, ban photography outright, but also how that lends more of a mystique to certain places; today I crossed that line, by leaps and bounds.

I’m in Sri Lanka, more specifically on Nainativu, one of the Jaffna islands in the far north, one of the Tamil strongholds (in fact, yesterday I visited the childhood village of Vellupillai Prabhakaran), where the dominant religion is Hinduism.

It’s not a long way from Jaffna city, which isn’t exactly the centre of civilization (anymore). An hours worth of busdriving takes you from low lying city, dotted with clutches of palm trees, temples, churches, and ruins; (the civil war was fierce here), and out across causeways to white sandy islands, covered in palm trees, inhabited by countless cows, and dotted with outrageously multicoloured temples.

Out here, where government oversight seems too troublesome to bother with, where people just look after themselves, I found myself at noon in Kurikadduwan (I get to sleep in every day), staring at a jetty, a small wooden boat and a group of Tamils, in lifejackets, looking seasick before they had even climbed into the boat, rocking along on turquoise water under a clear blue sky as well as a scorching hot sun.

Reaching my destination after a short, but deafening half hour ride, I disembarked on a long, clean, and beautiful stone jetty, worthy of any rich mediterranean city.

Nainativu is notable (saying “famous” would be outrageous out here), for having a Buddhist and a Hindu point of pilgrimage both, this far to the north in Sri Lanka.

Unusually for me, I skipped an ice cream, and headed towards a cacophony (usually means the local Hindu temple is performing poya, offerings to a god, usually happens several times per day, to the sound of deafening bells in multitudes); what I found instead, was so much more.

Sri Lankan hindu temples are outrageously colorful, often adorned with figures from tales and legends, both friendly and scary. In front of the temple, dedicated to the naga goddes Meenakshi, a consort of Shiva, is a massive gopuram, sort of like a wedge with steps, pointy end up, also covered with figures, painted in bright colours and visible from far away.

Inside, the temple was crammed full of people, all in the midst of praying; while holy men were busy uncovering a large idol (which I assume was of Meenakshi), with wooden poles underneath for four bearers. Then, just as I had entered the temple and looked around, a priest used a conch as a horn, and blew a long, deep, and sombre note.

Drums started banging, wooden torches on fire were waved around, flowers petals were thrown in the air covering the idol; and then this whole ceremony turned into a procession, walking around the temple (they’re usually large and rectangular, with the main altar in the centre), praying loudly, beating the drums harder and harder.

Making full circle, through the throng of worshippers, women in saris, men topless, the idol was packed away, and powder was handed out to worshippers, standing in surprisingly orderly lines, to make bindis.

After the ceremony was over, everybody were handed banana leaves, after which priests came around, ladling a thick goopy rice concoction. At which point, the celebration turned into a feast; hundreds of merry people, on a small strip of of sandy island, at the far edge of the country, trying to hear each other over children playing, roaring laughter, and teenagers trying to be somewhere between coy, and the party centre of the island.

Early in the morning, on my way to World’s End, deep in the hill...

Fri, 17 May 2013 19:55:20 +0200

Early in the morning, on my way to World’s End, deep in the hill country of Sri Lanka, near Haputale.

On the top of Little Adam’s Peak, Ella Rock in the...

Sun, 12 May 2013 09:41:37 +0200

On the top of Little Adam’s Peak, Ella Rock in the background, deep in the Hill Country of Sri Lanka.

I’ve been watching a lot of news lately, and it makes me...

Thu, 09 May 2013 13:25:14 +0200

I’ve been watching a lot of news lately, and it makes me sadder than it usually does. My beloved Bangladesh is in trouble; once the shock of the factory collapse had subsided, the hartals and streetfighting resumed, this time with more fervor than before.

I fell in love with a lush and green country, and it tears me, to watch it fight itself. I fell in love with busrides through fields, farmers working under the sun, children playing by the roadsides and markets around the busstops in villages.

I found people so friendly, it got on my nerves, and damaged my calm (at no fault of theirs, only mine). Everywhere I went, I was greeted with smiles, handshakes, curiosity, and laughing children. It gets a bit much, 24/7, but I cannot fault their enthusiasm for foreigners, this is a country where you’re undoubtedly welcome.

One experience that will forever be with me, was the honeycomb hunting trip in the Sundarbans. Never before had I had such an experience; and I don’t expect to see its like anytime soon, it’s the sort of experience that’s rapidly disappearing from planet Earth.

But Bangladesh is still very untouched, except for my Sundarbans trip (and a visit to the Danish embassy), I never met a single foreigner. Though it’s low season, and a time of political strife, I think it’s remarkable; it was a very interesting experience, a very immersive one, even if a bit lonely.

So far on this trip, I’ve visited: China, North Korea, Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos, Thailand, Myanmar, Nepal, India, Bangladesh, Singapore, and Sri Lanka. And from this list, for anyone looking for an original time and a selfmade adventure, nothing beats Bangladesh.

I spent a day in the sun, getting burned as red as a boiled...

Wed, 01 May 2013 17:15:18 +0200

I spent a day in the sun, getting burned as red as a boiled lobster, certainly my neck looks more appetizing if you’re into shellfish.

I went out trekking around Bandarban, a city in the hills, as mountainous as Bangladesh gets, visiting villages of primarily the Marma tribe. This region was immediately familiar, as there were buddhisy monks around, the stupas were in the same design as the ones in Myanmar, and in fact, many people liked like they were Myanma, including the sandy facepaint.

When I got really roasted, it was because I didn’t get back to Bandarban fast enough, but instead, decided to walk off in another direction, hitting upon the Sangu river, and walking downstream in the river (nice and cool).

I came to Natore to see the nearby town of Puthia, strewn with...

Sun, 28 Apr 2013 13:54:24 +0200

I came to Natore to see the nearby town of Puthia, strewn with old temples, mosques and ruins. Alas, a hartal was on, so busses didn’t run, and rickshaws were in hiding, in fact, the whole place felt closed (which to be fair, is what strikes are about).

Undeterred, I asked the receptionist if he knew anyone with a motorcycle who’d drive me, for a fee of course. While I went to sort out traintickets for the following day (because Bangla trains are awesome, and always run), he found someone, and I was introduced to Babu.

Babu was a healthy looking gentleman, portly I guess, with a red motorcycle… Mounting his steed, we raced to Puthia, stopping only for passing thunderstorms, and buying sweets for children (and me).

In Puthia, the first obligation, was to stop for tea and biscuits, and being introduced to everyone from the area (when accompanied by a local, the attention is the same, but they all try conversing instead of staring). The people to greet me, included my guide for the day, an older gentleman, who walked me around the corner, and started the tour with the Shiva temple; all the statues sadly defaced by Pakistani troops in 1971, a running theme.

For the rest of the midday and afternoon, Babu would drive us around, taking in the sights, ruins, temples and mosques. At one of the mosques, waiting till prayertime was over, I signed their guestbook, as the first foreigner since the middle of February. I visited Puthia on April 24, one of the highlights of Bangladesh, in all the guidebooks I’ve read.

After a wonderful and tiring day, we stopped for very late lunch and some friendly talk, which sadly took a nasty turn. Unfortunately, the guide asked for my choice of religion (or lack thereof), and got so upset, he refused payment.

After late lunch, which Babu paid for, like everything else during the day (any attempt by me, was met by loud protests), he took me on a private tour of Puthia, taking me to meet his father and uncle-in-law (a lot more tea), respectively the town’s most prominent businessman, and the region’s leader for the biggest political party; followed by a visit to his friends.

At the end of the day, I was dropped by my hotel in Natore, after a free day in Babus company; ready for an evening of reading and eating candy (no Babu).

After having toured the major destinations in Uttar Pradesh, we...

Mon, 22 Apr 2013 10:51:39 +0200

After having toured the major destinations in Uttar Pradesh, we flew to Amritsar, to sample the delicious food, see the Golden Temple, as well as the border ceremony with Pakistan. As usual, more photos here: http://photography.twaize.net/Asia/India/Punjab/

I’ve already shown what I was up to before my mother and...

Sun, 21 Apr 2013 14:20:44 +0200

I’ve already shown what I was up to before my mother and sister joined me. Apart from Holi, this is what we got up to together. http://photography.twaize.net/Asia/India/Uttar-Pradesh/

I got shipwrecked today, nothing less should describe it. A...

Sat, 20 Apr 2013 20:22:58 +0200

I got shipwrecked today, nothing less should describe it. A local boatsman, abandoning me to my cruel fate, dropped me off on a char, a silt island, and quickly departed. To my great misfortune, I soon discovered that the island was uninhabited (the poorest of poor Bangladeshi farmers often make their home on chars), that I was low on water, and that trees don’t grow in silt, so no shade. After wandering the island, generally in the direction of the larger and inhabited char, I caught the attention of a fisherman, who come ashore, and saved me from my horrendous fate.

In earnest, I could have swum ashore, leaving my camera behind, and picking it up later. But it was an entertaining though, being stuck somewhere that no-one comes, even if no danger was present.

I did have an amazing day in total. I arrived early in Sariankandi, and quickly gathered a following, quite unlike anywhere else in Bangladesh, visitors must be very rare. Attracted by the loud music, I was invited into the local school, and given the seat of honour at their yearly celebration with singing, and girls in pretty dresses.

Excusing myself, I went to the ghat (sort of like a pier), and hired a boatsman to take me across, who instead took me to the opposite bank. No matter, I engaged a second boatsman, who dropped me off on a deserted island. Having wandered around it for nigh upon an hour, I got picked up by a fisherman, and taken to the main char.

There I spent an hour and half walking around, visiting the small villages (5 or so families each), doing my best to communicate with the locals, who were either very wary of me, or incredibly excited to have foreign visitors. It was a fantastic place, and it’ll be with me for a long time, in an already very authentic country, this place felt even more authentic. These people live of what they grow in the silt, build their houses from what grows on the island, and cook in clayovens built into the ground.

If you’re going to Bangladesh, so far the “musts” are Sundarbands, Srimangal and the chars by Bogra. I hope I’ll be adding more places in the next few days, I don’t have much time left in Bangladesh, but I’m very determined to come back.