Laura (left) and Sarah help me get gussied up for another non-counted birthday.
Someday I may grow up, but I hope it’s not any time soon.
Last week in China I had another one of those birthdays that I observe but don’t count—a practice I recommend.
Birthday people don’t get off easy on the truck. It all started with Karl who had the first celebration in Turkey. He was given a hot pink jangly, belly-dancing wrap to put around his waist. Since then every birthday girl or boy has had to buy an outfit item to contribute to the next birthday girl or boy. The party person then gets to wear it all on their special night.
Acting like Mary Poppins, but probably too childish to pull it off.
We’ve been going for more than three months now and the birthday wardrobe collection is huge. I wore the belly-dancing wrap, a green shawl, black slippers (although I carried them and never actually put them on), a couple of bracelets, a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses, a gold pillbox hat with filmy veil, a sparkly purple umbrella, a wooden cane, a goat-skin wine cask and my very own Chinese apron (purchased by Lu). Yay! I get to keep the apron.
So the birthday is out of the way. Poor John’s birthday was the day we joined the truck back in June and he swore me to secrecy. I was banned from mentioning it at all and he didn’t even know about the dress-up box.
Ian at an in-between stage—his beard is growing back.
A while ago in China, Ian fooled us all by having a barber shave off his beard. Almost immediately, more than a few of our fellow travellers passed by without recognising him. We wonder what his wife, Pat, will say when she sees him in person in Australia. He’s had that beard for 30 years. Luckily, both looks really do suit him.
Ian is another active trip blogger, check out his contributions at http://www.iansbigadventure.blogspot.com, which includes links to lots of his photos on PicasaWeb. Ian started planning this trip about a year ago, and is taking it without his wife. As he says, ‘it’s not Pat’s style’. Instead, she and one of their daughters will meet him in Australia, and they’ll take some time seeing the sights there—including a trip to stay with us in Canberra. Yay!
Ian and Pat live in a small village, Barby, which is where Pat works part-time for the village hall. In his earlier working life, Ian was an accountant. But for the last 10 years he has been busy installing business planning software for companies in the United Kingdom. Although he’s officially retired, he admits may do the odd bit of consulting in future.
Now that he’s seen so much of the world, he says he’s ready to take Pat around lots of England too, and maybe on a non-camping trip to South America—meaning hotels, decent mattresses, clean sheets and real pillows.
As for Ian’s multiple disguises, when he wears his light-coloured bucket sunhat, I think he looks very much like Jacques Tati in the oh-so-entertaining French film, Mon Oncle. Do see it if you haven’t before.
Clearing the landslide at night.
We had an unexpected delay about a week ago in China—actually we have had lots of unexpected delays, but this was a new kind of hiccup.
It was getting later and later at night and we still hadn’t found a decent—let alone big enough and flat enough—space to bush camp. We were cruising through the southern Himalayas, where camping spots aren’t at all easy to come by and where there are plenty of roadworks underway at every turn. For the most part, they are trying to straighten out some of the biggest curves on the highway.
There was a quite a bit of truck traffic on the road and suddenly we all came to a halt. Turns out there had been a landslide not far ahead and the road was completely blocked. Work to clear the mess had just begun. We had no idea how long we would have to wait, so we piled out to have a look and take pictures. I probably got closer than anyone, but I didn’t get too near. No need to interfere with operations.
In the meantime, Will and Lu went off to check out whether any of the nearby peripheral roadwork areas might be suitable for a camp. The verdict was that no area was big enough for a camp, and even if one had been, Will couldn’t have gotten the truck up there.
The first users of the new road—for camping rather than driving.
But within about 20 minutes, the road was clear enough for us to pass. A few impatient drivers shot ahead of us, and we were more than happy to let them do the ‘test’ drive through the shaky ground. There was certainly a collective sigh of relief when Gary announced that we were well past the landslide spot.
Of course, Will was still searching for a camp and as he rounded a large old curve, he noticed that the ‘new’ inner curve being constructed was almost complete, but not yet open to traffic. A quick inspection confirmed that there would be enough space for the truck, our camp kitchen and all the tents.
Will reversed up the new curve and parked across the road at a 45-degree angle to block off any oncoming traffic that turned too soon by mistake (the other end was still blocked off by roadwork equipment), and we all put up our tents behind the truck. Except for being on a slope, the space was pretty good and not nearly as rocky as the photo shows.
The last photo shows the hill where we camped. We were perched about halfway up the photo (see what looks like a ledge) and about one-third of the way across the photo from the left. Where the rock has fallen away on the far left is NOT where our landslide was. That was another one that happened long before we arrived that night.
An unexpected campground in the southern Himalayas.
A fish dish extraordinaire. Thank you Lijiang China.
Lijiang, in the Yunnan Province of China, is a true tourist town. Originally part of the old backpacker trail, it remains popular with travellers of all ages. In fact, it seems overrun with tourists.
To cater for these hordes of visitors, the old city (which looks old but was entirely rebuilt after a severe earthquake in 1996) is packed with hundreds of restaurants and shops selling an unbelievable array of food, souvenirs, jewellery, knick knacks, clothes, shoes, artworks, Chinese medicines and even dried yak meat.
We like to stroll through these tourist traps, but when it comes to actual shopping or eating, we try to get as far away as possible. A tourist trap might look glitzy and have a menu in English, but we find the out-of-the-way places more fun, good quality and usually better value for money.
The other day we traipsed up and down the shopping walkways searching for the China Post office, which we finally found. Oh joy! It cost a mere $32 to send home a 6-kilo box filled with the winter clothes and gear (such as merino sleeping bag liners) we brought on the trip. It’s all warm weather ahead so we decided to lighten our load (we have some time without the truck so the less we need to carry, the better).
So after the post office success, we did what the guidebooks say all tourists end up doing in the old town—we got lost. After we followed various lanes and turned this way and that, we had to switch to our inner automatic pilots to plot a path out. Poor John is quite good on navigation and like most men refuses to ask directions. That doesn’t really matter in China, where probably no one would understand the questions anyway.
When we surfaced on a main street, we were pretty sure we knew where we were, and directly opposite us was a hole-in-the-wall restaurant called ‘Delicious Hot and Sour Fish’. No, we can’t read Chinese, but the sign over the shop was also written in English.
Poor John perked up and said ‘Let’s eat here before we leave Lijiang.’ I was quick to agree. We hadn’t had real fish in quite a while (tinned tuna doesn’t count) because we’ve been landlocked in Central Asia and because too many of our travelling companions aren’t keen on fish, so it’s never purchased for meals.
So 24 hours later, we set out to re-find Delicious Hot and Sour Fish. We headed straight to the maze of shopping so we could get ourselves lost again. Hey, we could have gone on the main road—the way we knew—but the adventure seemed more important and certainly more challenging.
When we popped out on the main road again, Poor John argued that we were above the restaurant and I was certain that we were below it. I’m almost never right on these occasions, but I was 100 per cent sure that we had seen the woman selling eight kinds of rice AFTER we had seen the sign for Delicious Hot and Sour Fish. So up the hill we went and I was RIGHT. I’ll just savour that small and rare directional victory for a moment.
We stood outside for a few moments before the host beckoned us in. The restaurant had five low tables with eight stools each, all kindergarten height, and we chose one near the back wall. Two tables were already full of young men playing cards.
This is one of those perplexing times—you know what you want, but how do you get the message across? In the end, Poor John went out and pointed to the Chinese characters written above Delicious Hot and Sour Fish. Too easy. The host fished a live fish out of the tank and, more or less, asked if that size was okay. Yes, yes, we agreed. We motioned that the meal was for two, and that was that. Oh, except that the host came back once to confirm that we wanted chillies included in the makings. Yes please!
As we waited, it suddenly it occurred to us that the two tables of young men were ONLY playing cards. They had beer and tea, but no food. Oh dear, we thought, is this the local pub/gambling hall? Everyone seemed to know everyone and the whole place had a very small-town feel to it. Could we have stumbled into a non-restaurant? But before long a huge bowl of food arrived at one of the card-playing tables, and dinner became their priority.
In another few minutes, the two empty tables filled (and at least eight fish were selected from the tank). A massive amount of food was delivered to the other card-playing table too. Whew! This may be the local gambling hall, but it’s known and popular and the food is important too.
Within 20 minutes our meal came. A sort of fish stew-soup, with four whole fish in a divine tomato-based hot and sour broth. It was loaded with vegetables AND loaded with flavour. Oh wow, what a meal! One of the highlight meals of our entire trip—I must make a favourites list. We will remember this meal always and I will try to recreate at least some of it at home.
We attacked our single huge bowl of deliciousness with chopsticks and small porcelain spoons, and ate for a solid 30 minutes, breathing occasionally. I didn’t fully recognise a few of the ingredients. There may have been mini sharks’ eggs, and some squid that might not have been squid but then what was it? The baby spring onions were amazing. We slurped and slopped and did what the Chinese do—left our mess of bones and such on the plastic tablecloth.
After all this pleasure, we dreaded the coming of the bill. We hadn’t fixed a price first—it all happened so fast. But the place was full of locals, so we were fairly confident that any attempt to cheat us would be exposed. So Poor John motioned how much and the answer came 40 yuan—or less than $7 for the both of us. That covered the fish stew, rice and tea.
We were totally shocked in every way. A meal that beat the socks off most meals we’ve had in the last four months, and at a price about half of what we expected. Thanks Lijiang and Delicious Hot and Sour Fish for a memorable experience.
Don't be fooled by the beauty of these beds. Parts of the Himalayas lie beneath the covers.
The Himalayas are still growing—by about a centimetre a year. India and Australia are on the geographic plate that is slowly creeping north and crashing into these already majestic mountains, pushing them higher and higher. With all this grinding and crunching, some bits are bound to fall off.
Throughout the Himalayas, you see landslides of rocks being gathered for creative and widespread use. A lot will be crushed into gravel and ultimately used to make concrete, plenty will become housing material or fences to contain livestock and surround crops, still more will be used for other innovative and decorative purposes, and all the rest will go into mattresses.
I’m not joking. The mattress I have had in our quaint little hostel/hotel in Lijiang the last two nights has a small Himalayan ridge running down the middle—head to toe. It’s more comfortable to sleep either side of the hill, which isn’t that easy when you are perched on a slightly oversized single bed. But comfort really doesn’t factor in to the beds we’ve known in China and Tibet.
Every single mattress has been an oversized, rock-hard single number. Some have had flat surfaces but most seem to mirror the terrain and texture of their Himalayan heritage, with peaks and valleys and lumpy outcrops all over the place.
Still you can’t fault them for style. Every bed frame has been beautifully made—often carved. And the bedding has been exquisite, with crisp white sheets, fluffy coverlets, plump pillows and stylish Chinese cloths draped at the foot of each bed.
But for sheer sleeping comfort, it’s no wonder our tent, roll mats and sleeping bags have so much allure each night.
Classy name for what may well be a sex shop! Remember, China is where there is an o'clock (hourly) rate for hotel rooms.
We’ve been laughing ourselves silly over some of the store names that get displayed in English. Realistically, we shouldn’t poke fun. Good grief, I couldn’t write a shop sign in Chinese, but if I tried to do one at least I’d get someone to check my work.
We wonder how all these translate into Chinese? Certainly they can’t be as hilarious. Then again, maybe they are more explicit.
Some of our favourite signs have been for the Abundance Clothing Store, Homely Treasures, Trendy Very Hot Catch It Hair Salon, Famous Name Cigarettes Healthy, The Service Center of Traveller by Himself, the Mom Taste Naxi Flavour Museum (restaurants are often called museums—we saw a donkey museum too and assume that is the featured meat), the Lijiang Amorous Feelings Outlets and my all-time favourite—seen in the city of Shangri-La—the Couples Health Care Things Shop. We suspect the “Things’ may have some inner connections with the ‘Amorous Feelings’, but who knows.
Our restaurant tonight was a fine example of accurate signage and truth in advertising. In English, the sign said ‘Delicious Hot and Sour Fish’. To order, Poor John went outside and pointed to the Chinese version written above the English. We got delicious hot and sour fish, so delicious that I’m going to write a post about it too.
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Never saw anything for the traveller by herself.
A bush camp in Georgia with tents up and campfire cooking in progress.
It’s way overdue for me to introduce all of our travelling companions (as well as a bit more about ourselves). I’m working my way around the group, gathering tidbits of information and making sure I have a nice photo to show.
I am putting couples together in a single post, but that’s just to streamline entries. Every person is their own person, and not defined by being part of a couple. Couples are introduced in alphabetical order.
As much as a checklist for myself, here’s a complete list of our travelling companions and their nationalities.
Eamon, Irish
Gary and Lene, New Zealander and Norwegian
Glen and Keiran, both Australian
Ian, English
Karl and Vanessa, both South African
Johnny, English
Laura and Martin, both Irish
Lily, English
Lin and Norm, both English
Lu (Lucinda), new Zealander
Marina and Phil, both English
Megan, English
Rakhee, English
Sarah, English
Terry, Welsh
Toni, German
Will, English and South African
and of course Poor John and myself. We are both Australian, and I am also American.
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Gary and Lene stay warm and enjoy the view from outside their yurt at Lake Song-Köl in Kyrgyzstan.
To be honest, Gary and Lene aren’t African, but they are our buddies and we all travelled together in Africa for many months in 2009. We were thrilled to learn that they would be on the London to Sydney overland with us this year.
Some people work to eat or live. These two work to travel.
Earlier this year, Lene, who is Norwegian, quit her long-time job as a social worker, supporting severely troubled young people in Stavanger. Her goal now is to keep travelling for as long as possible. She has already visited more than 120 countries—and is still counting. A few days ago, she swung off our trip to see a few others parts of China, as well as Macau and Taiwan. She’s been to Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam before, so will meet up with Gary again in Thailand in October, so they can start their next planned travels in Bhutan, Burma and beyond.
Gary is a Kiwi (New Zealander). He leaves the truck next week to make his way to Thailand to meet Lene. He has a philosophy about work—it should pay well enough so he can keep travelling. His love affair with being on-the-road began in 1991, when he did his first overland trip in Africa. Ever since then, he’s tried to squeeze in at least one adventure trip per year. He was a real asset in Africa—throwing himself into whatever tasks were needed to make the trip run more smoothly.
Our trip goes for another 11 weeks and it won’t seem right without Gary and Lene. We wish them well and hope we are lucky enough to re-connect with them on some other overland expedition.
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Megan enjoys her graduation, a bush camp and a drunken watermelon all in one night in Georgia.
Before long, we’ll all be able to say we knew Megan before she was famous. In her early 20s, she has already written a play, Outside, that was performed this August at the Edinburgh Festival. It’s about an agoraphobic man and his relationship with his brother. The play has been very well reviewed, but Megan’s heard there was some bickering among the cast.
That hasn’t stopped her from entertaining all of us with a variety of other social activities. First off, she organised Truck Cluedo (remember I was the first one to die). Now she’s written a murder mystery in which most of us (those who said they wanted to participate) play a part. It will start as soon as Megan has a chance to print off the 119 pages of plot and characterisations she’s written. Gosh that girl is busy, creative and funny—I play a brash American who is travelling with her shrink, Dr Bill.
In July in Georgia, we celebrated Megan’s graduation with a degree in English Literature from the University of Bristol. The event was on her actual graduation day, and we made her a cap and gown of sorts, so she truly felt the part. That fitted well with her acting abilities. Plus, everyone enjoyed the vodka-infused watermelon that was served for dessert.
Megan has written two previous plays that have been successfully staged in England. She hopes to do more writing and further study after the overland trip. She is waiting to hear about placements at the universities in Bristol and London. You can keep tabs on Megan’s progress at http://www.ideastap.com/People/meganstodel.
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More than 20 of us were served from this tiny kitchen space.
I first met yurts when we were on the way to Lake Song-Köl. The hills of eastern Kyrgyzstan are littered with these spacious felt structures. They are often grouped in twos and threes, and given that we were travelling through in early autumn, I noticed a lot of life was still be lived outside the yurt.
I was tempted to assume that yurt living would be extremely hard. It’s true that life is in no way as easy as the life we know. They don”t have most of the conveniences we’re used to—no running water, no electricity (some have generators), no individual rooms, no indoor flushing toilets, no showers, no computers, no television and so many other things!
But the people who live in yurts seem to be doing just fine. They are warm and sheltered. The air is fresh and clean, the food is natural (even if it isn’t always to your taste) and the outdoors are a wonderful playground for the curious. And if you don’t like it where you are, you can pack up your yurt and move.
I especially enjoyed seeing the children of yurts. Their parents are almost constantly nearby. Their toys are saucepans and wooden spoons. Their playmates are dogs, horses, cattle and donkeys. I can’t recall hearing a yurt child cry, except to say feed me. And I never saw siblings fighting.
The slideshow shows a corner of the kitchen tent where we stayed, which wasn’t quite a yurt, and some of the children we encountered.
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Where to next? 