Gettin' Leh-ed

We started the trip in Goa, which we felt would be a great party place for the Hindu festival of Diwali, without realizing that there aren't so many Hindus in Diwali, its more Christians and grimey-looking Europeans. So Goa was pretty sleepy, it had a nice beach but I was a bit sick of beaches by this point and the weather wasn't really cooperating. Nothing much happened in Goa.

So we took a sleeper bus to Bombay. We had the choice between a semi-sleeper which had reclining seats or a sleeper which had actual beds, so we foolishly went with the sleeper. Ryley and I, gentlemen not small in stature, especially by this point, shared a twin sized bed. There was basically no way we weren't spooning. We couldn't see the road because it was dark but it felt like the highway to Bombay was a logging road.

The bus stopped at 6am for what I thought was a pee break. We had stopped on a bridge, which seemed like a weird place for a pee break but I peed in the small stream that was probably the next village's drinking water without much regret. The driver suddenly motioned us to the back of the bus and I assumed that this was due to some safety concern (this is always the wrong assumption in India). I get to the back of the bus to find the driver seemingly leaning on the bus. Weird, I thought, until I realized that he wanted me to "lean" on the bus too, and that instead of leaning, we were actually going to push-start this giant fucking bus. I didn't know you could do this. But we did.

Bombay was pretty cool, lots of good food and an impressive array of stenches. Honestly nothing smells like India smells. Sometimes delicious and sometimes eye-wateringly horrendous. We saw where Gandhi lived, checked out some markets, admired the colonial exploits of our British ancestors, and got hassled by countless vendors and Hindu "holy men". One of them "blessed" me (for a very low price that he insisted was the same as what an Indian would pay), and confidently predicted that I would marry an English girl inexplicably named "Shishtel". Bollywood is also huge in Bombay obviously and we got recruited to be extras in a Bollywood movie, but went to the "beach" the night before filming and sampled some local delicacies and then came down with a local case of food poisoning. So our Bollywood stardom was postponed indefinitely.

Driving in India is nuts. The roads in most third-world countries are presumptively dangerous places to be involved with, but India is another level. We got in a cab to the airport, and I tried to find the seatbelt until the driver assured me that "I no need". Great. As he was honking the horn like our brakes were cut, I wanted to ask him why those silly white lines were painted on the road at regular intervals, as all the cars just seemed to weave and bump into each other like sperm driving through a uterus. Same went for those annoying red lights on posts we kept passing. There was even a four-way stop on a 6-lane highway for some reason. But we made it.

To find that our flight was delayed. Which wasn't so bad and we still made our connecting flight from Delhi to Leh in Kashmir. We got on the plane in Delhi and I promptly fell asleep. I woke up 2 hours later, still on the tarmac. What the fuck?! We were there for 3 hours until they admitted that the plane didn't actually work. So we all had to get off, go get new tickets, and re-board another plane at a different gate. And then we sat down. And waited. For about an hour, until the Indians started to get riled up and they admitted to us that they couldn't find the pilot. How hard is it Air India? Before you make passengers board your 1970's-era cramped tube of an airplane, you need to have two things at the very least: 1) A plane that is able to fly and 2) Someone who knows how to fly the plane. The flight was pretty cool when it happened though, flying over parts of the himalayas into Leh.

It was cold in Kashmir and most things were closed for the winter. At least a couple of locals asked us why the hell we came to Kashmir in November. But it was still very pretty and sunny the whole time and we didn't have to talk with too many tourists. It was around -10 degrees at night and we were without insulation or heating so we slept fully-clothed with about 6 blankets and 2 hot-water bottles. Showering required a bucket of hot water brought up by our stout, friendly landlady. Showering became a low priority.

After hanging out Leh for a day, we headed off to Pagong Lake, one of the biggest lakes in Asia. The travel guy we got advice from told us that it was a 5-hour* bus trip and we could stay at this village* called Pangmik. We got on the "semi-deluxe"* public bus in the morning and quickly found that that "semi" means "in no way" in Kashmiri. There really is no point in complaining about bus trips in Asia but nonetheless: The bus was fucking freezing, which was not helped by all of the locals puking out of open windows due to the "road" we were on. At one point Ryley peed out the back door of the bus and told me that it took him 5 minutes to find his penis, which made me laugh until we made a pit stop and I couldn't find mine. Regardless of the discomfort, it was an amazing drive for the scenery and seemed pretty safe since we were surrounded by soldiers in automatic weapons heading off to the border.

* Lies.

We got to Pangmik which consisted of what looked like two families and a collection of huts and outhouses. The lake was really nice but since it took until 3:30pm to get there, we had about an hour of sunlight. The sun in Kashmir get blocked by mountains really early and then it's too cold to live so it's basically bedtime.
We got some stone-skipping in though, which was incredibly successful up there for some reason, but left me panting, reminding me of the altitude and my current fitness level (I didn't need to be reminded of the latter). Our homestay family was quite nice but it wasn't too much of a social visit. The bus ride back to Leh was better. The next day we went off to the Nubra Valley, going over the highest motorable pass in the world, no big deal. Huge valley with giant mountains and statues of Buddha and sand dunes and closed restaurants and army trucks. It was good times and there was no public bus so the ride in our private jeep was a little more comfortable.

There were very few Westerners up in Kashmir but we met this couple from Texas in a restaurant before we left for Delhi. I was fairly surprised that people in Texas knew what a Kashmir was, but we found out that they were filmmakers, which made a little bit more sense. Then we found out that they were filmmakers doing a film on Christianity in the region and everything made a whole lot more sense. They told us that their Christian friend up there was getting bullied by the local buddhists, which isn't so nice, until we found out that their friend was trying to "evangelize" the locals, which left us siding more with the bully buddhists. They also complained a lot about how they couldn't find good Western food in Kashmir. Really? In this small town of non-westerners in the very North of India, you couldn't get great western food? How surprising. How are the mutton dumplings and chapati in Texas anyways?

Then we went back to Delhi for a few days, Ryley went to see the Taj Mahal and I saw some stuff in Delhi I didn't see last time I was there. Lots of gross-looking shitbag travelers with shaved heads save for one strand of dirty dread-locked hair out the back, dressed in all black. And I mean a lot of them. We were going to meet up with my friend's family for dinner so decided to get cleaned up a bit at the barber. Simple shave and a haircut turned into a weird golden facial which sounds worse than it is but probably costs about the same. There was an Israeli guy just finishing up when we arrived and he tipped the barber 4 rupees. That is 10 cents. The barber was not amused. Ryley informed him that 4 rupees was around 10 cents, and he tried to inform Ryley that 10 cents was a lot of money to this guy, despite that guy's protestations to the contrary. Anyways, after we left everyone in the barbershop vigorously agreed that "Israel is very very bad country".

One thing we really discovered about India is how good their food is. Another more important thing we discovered is how they cannot fucking form a line to save themselves. There would be a line of 20 at the airport for check-in, and some guy would just wander up to the front and say something and stick his passport out. This happened frequently. What are you thinking? What is he saying to the check-in girl? "Oh hi, I think its my turn next. My name is Sanjay." Oh Sanjay! It's Sanjay Saturday! Of course you don't have to wait in that long and blatant line behind you. Come right over. Holy shit it was shameless.

So now we are leaving Singapore for the Philippines and then Thailand for a good old fashioned Asian christmas.

Welcome to East Timor, bring your wallet.

We flew from Singapore to Bali to Kupang in West Timor where we took a 13 hour bus ride into East Timor. As 13 hour bus rides go, it wasn't bad. First thing you notice about East Timor is that ET is fucking hot. Second thing you notice is that there is almost as many UN personnel as there are locals. Aussie peacekeepers, Portuguese National Military police, international police troops, and tons of NGO do-gooders ride around the streets of Dili in UN vehicles. Independence has not been a "smooth" transition for ET. Third thing is that everything here costs the same as in Canada. I go to poor countries because I'm a thrifty Scot, and ET tricked us.

We checked into the only "backpackers hostel" in ET and were told that we would be paying $14 for a "dorm room", and given keys for the room that suspiciously had "Staff Room" written on them. It was not a staff room we soon realized, but a windowless closet in which a bunkbed had been placed. Imagine sleeping in that room.

The staff was really nice but they didn't have a great system for late-night entries. They locked the gates at 10:30pm every night (standard procedure in ET), and so we asked how we would get in if we came back after. "Oh just hop the fence," was the reply. We looked at the fence. It was 9 feet high and topped with razor-wire. "You mean the fence that is specifically designed to prevent people from "hopping" it?" we asked. "No," he explained, "there is a section in the middle where its just barbed wire. Kinda trampled down." And so there was. Lucky we are so athletically gifted it wasn't a problem for us. Honestly though, the richest man (or woman, but definitely man) in ET has got to be a barbed wire wholesaler.

ET has some great diving and we booked some trips for the following week. We then ran into Nina. Nina was a ex-marine from Angola who was blinged out and told us that she had trained some of the Aussie troops in ET how to shoot weapons, that everyone knew her in ET, and that she had a gun in her purse. We trusted her completely. She promised to get us into a party at the Portuguese military compound the next night.

That night, we met a furious Nina at the bar who was threatening some local chick at the next table for vague reasons. She had to get talked down by some Aussie guy she knew (this guy later informed us we should lose Nina immediately, and that she would try to steal from us). But she did get us into the compound party, and then left us alone, so it worked out pretty well.

The party was kinda surreal, we walked past armoured personnel carriers and military satellites to find a dance floor with a DJ and bar and everything. There were Caporeira fighter/dancers, fire dancers, guys with guns, diplomats, and lots of douchey, beefy portuguese soldiers with v-neck shirts. We did not fit in with flip-flops and beards. We are beefy in a different way. But we got pretty drunk there and it was fun noticing the skeptical disdainful looks we kept getting.

The next day we rented a 4WD to go up into the mountains. After a night at a "guesthouse", we tried to find ET's highest mountain. In no way did we get lost and give up half-way. The summit we "climbed" was undoubtedly the highest mountain in ET. It was pretty foggy anyways so shut up. Up here (or anywhere outside of Dili) the locals are basically subsistence farmers and we were gawked at pretty good. Very friendly people though. On the way back, we saw some local guy walking and offered him a lift to the

nearest town. We got there, and then he suggested we take him all the way to Dili. We shrugged and agreed, and he sat in the back seat and learned all about Wu-Tang and The Red Hot Chili Peppers. He rewarded us by puking all over the side of our truck near the end of our journey. He refused to get out and puke, we don't think he trusted us not to drive off. So he just passively dribbled vomit down the side of our truck. It was gross.

The week was spent diving around Dili which we unfortunately had to do with a group of middle-aged Aussie guys. From this experience, I learned that Darwin must be like Fort McMurray but without all the culture, and that our Aussie divemaster seemed to think that our local driver spoke Spanish. We were also exposed to multitudes of small, naked East Timorese boys who made us uncomfortable by swimming at the dive sites and thrusting their penises at us. Some decided to climb on Ryley when he exited the water which was quite amusing for Bouche. In general the diving was pretty sweet with great coral and visibility.

Our exit out of ET was not graceful. 10 days into the trip, I lost my camera. I have no idea how. I took a picture, got into a cab, got out of the cab, walked 10 feet, realized I didn't have it, and ran back to the cab. Completely gone. So it takes between 5-25 seconds for a camera to get scooped on the streets of Dili. Then we found out that we needed an Indonesian visa for a land border crossing, and that we didn't have time to get one, so we had to buy a plane ticket to Bali. 10 days in one of the poorest countries in the world cost me over $2000.

We got to Bali and tried to find a place for the night. Fan rooms were 1500, A/C rooms were 2000. This was our negotiation at Hotel Rita:

Ryley: Can we see a fan room?
Indo Lady: All fan rooms gone. But A/C room with only fan OK, 1500.
Bouche: OK, let's see.
(Go into the room, turn on the fan, it barely rotates)
IL: OK, so you take?
B: How about better price on A/C room?
IL: 2000.
R: That is the original price.
IL: Aieee! OK, wait. (She goes talks to her boss). OK, A/C room 1700.
B: That's better, I'm sure -
IL: But no A/C.
R: What?
IL: Room 5 is A/C room, but for 1700, no use A/C.
B: Not really an A/C room then is it?
IL: Yes room 5 is A/C room.
B: The defining feature of an A/C room is the -
R: Forget it, let's just go.
IL: OK, OK (Runs talks to boss). OK. You can have A/C room for 1700 with A/C.
B: Well, OK then.
IL: But has to be room 3.
R: Alright, let's go to room 3.
(We go to room 3, looks the same as room 5).
IL: OK 1700 but you pay now and no complaints.
R: What?
IL: If you complain about room, no get money back.
B: (Looking around suspiciously) Why would we complain about this room? What happens to people in this room?
IL: (Shrugs)
R: If I were to complain about this room, what would I complain about?
IL: Aieee! Nothing, A/C goes "tick tick", little dripping.
B: Alright, doesn't sound too bad.

Later that night when I tried to have a shower, I discovered that there was no running water.

So then I went off to the Komodo Islands for some diving. I met up with a nerdy US investment banker and a tragically boring British woman who ended every sentence with an insane upwards inflection, like she was about to sneeze. We found a 4 day liveaboard on a boat owned by Frou-Frou, a German with shoulder length blond hair and pink-tinted sunglasses. It was a sick boat, and the diving was incredible. Sea turtles, sharks, rays, other huge ass fish on basically every dive.

The company was a little lacking though. For example, Frou-Frou was talking about when he lived in Africa, and the British woman mentioned she would like to go there. Frou-Frou said he never wanted to go back. When asked why not, he replied, "I don't like niggers." He then added, in a sing-sing voice, "Niggers, niggers, niggers". I agreed that he should not go back to Africa. He did have a cute baby on board, who was very entertaining. Especially when he got a mustache from drinking a mango lassi and Frou-Frou exclaimed, "Look, we can make baby Hitler!" and shortened the mustache. Then he was able to make the baby give a Nazi-like salute. Oh how we laughed, uncomfortably. Great dive trip overall though.

Dear East Timor - Advice for a Fledgling Country:

1. Do not try to kill your children.

This one seems obvious but maybe no one has told you. I know kids can be annoying, seemingly useless, and expensive to feed, but they are important for ensuring

that there is an East Timor after you die. Seatbelts are obviously a few years off, but we can start by not transporting your children to school on the roofs of large trucks. Yes, they can probably "hold on", but I doubt they can do this after colliding with another, large truck. I really wish I hadn't lost my camera so I could show a pic of this scene.

Also, this is a recipe for disaster:

What happens is that the children play in the garbage water, and then the water gets backed up (because of all the garbage), and when the rains come, it bursts open, washing all of the children (good thing) into the ocean (bad thing). Especially since most children can't swim and have, as one dive instructor told us, "heavy bones". This leads me to my next piece of advice.

2. Learn to swim.

You are an island nation. You are literally surrounded by danger at all times if you don't do this.

3. Choose your Western friends wisely.

Having the Portuguese and the Aussies as your major influences is not a good start. This can only lead you to becoming douchey convicts with shaved chests, v-necks and retarded accents.

4. Get off the US currency and adjust your prices.

Curry chicken and rice, with a mango lassi should not cost me $10 USD. Especially when the chicken consists mostly of parts I have never seen before on a chicken. In fact, very few things should cost $10USD in your country. Your immigration office is a portable.

And cigarettes should not cost one-tenth of said chicken curry. This pricing scheme will ensure a delightfully skinny population, but will also cause rampant lung cancer. And I doubt anyone is "beating" lung cancer in your country for awhile.

5. Get your priorities straight.

The two cleanest, most expensive buildings in your country should not be churches.

They should be hospitals (I did not see a hospital the whole time by the way). Also, you should not be known for having the second largest Jesus statue in the world until you have at least one factory.

6. You cannot have ferries leave "early".

We tried to go to this island off the coast on this once-a-week ferry. Our ticket said 9am. We got there at 845am, surprised to see the ferry already sailing towards the island. The ferry "official" shrugged at our incredulous shouting and exasperated watch pointing and told us that, "ferry sometimes leave early. leave when full." It wasn't full however, because we weren't on it. So the next goddamned week, we got there even earlier. People on the dock recognized us and urged us to start running. We did. We jumped on board as it was taking off. They had to open some special sealed door for us to get inside the ferry. Everyone was amused by our stupidity. I looked at my watch. It was 8:32am.

Aside from all the cynicism, East Timor is a really beautiful place with really friendly people. The UN is leaving in 2012 and no one knows what is going to happen, so try to go before then if you want to see it.

Two Canadian migrants land in Sri Lanka.

I’ve been in Singapore for a couple months now but don’t have too much to say about it. It’s hot, clean, a bit bland, and populated by obedient nerds. School is fairly easy, and they say that English is their official language but I don’t believe them. They are quite nice here, and the food is great, but there’s not too much to say about it. It’s in South East Asia, but isn’t real SE Asia, because squatting young women aren’t cooing “massage?” at you when you walk down the street.

We felt like experiencing some authentic SE Asian culture and so of course went to Kuta beach in Bali. There was some culture here, but it was mostly crawling on the skin of disgusting Aussies with rat-tails so we stuck to surfing and drinking. I surf like a wounded seal would surf.

I quickly realized that there is being in shape, and there is being in Bali beach shape, and that I am in neither. Bali was packed with gorgeous people meaning I didn’t exactly fit in, looking like a pasty white/tomato red member of the Taliban. We went to a bar that had $5 all-you-can-drink Heineken draft for 3 hours, and then 30 min of free vodka red bulls. Needless to say this resulted in us being dragged off dance stages by bouncers. Bali was fun but we weren’t there for long.

Then we went over to Sri Lanka, which blends the stench of death of India with the garbage strewn beaches of Cambodia. It has some nice scenery, very friendly locals, great food and plenty of automatic weapons. The small bookshop we went to had two security guards.

Starting off in Negombo, we took the train down to Galle, which has a nice colonial fort on the water but only needed a day or two. We made our way along the south coast for some surfing (Ryley) and “surfing” (me).

We soon noticed that there were pictures of babies in every tuk-tuk we rode in. Weird pictures. So we asked a local about it and he said that Sri Lankans really liked babies. It’s not a little bit creepy. Look at this gem:


That ain't right. After some beach time in the South we went on a safari at Yala Nature Reserve where we saw buffaloes, wild boar, elephants and glimpses of two leopards. Our guide also pointed out some “jungle fowl” which looked suspiciously like chickens. There were also some jungle stray dogs and I got a lot of jungle mosquito bites. Animal junk is funny.

We were also with some horrible Israeli girls who bitched and complained the whole time. Here is how any conversation with an Israeli traveler goes:

Anyone: [Anything]

Israeli: [Complaint, insult, or something a dickhead would say].

After the safari we went over to Arugam Bay on the East coast for some more surfing and Israelis. Nice surf town with lots of good food and beach. Then we went up into the mountains which was nice because it was actually cool and had great views. We saw some tea plantations and stayed in an old colonial hotel that had a fireplace in the room. We also bought awesome hats and spoke like how we thought British colonialists spoke.

With our matching hats and impressive beards, 4 Sri Lankans asked us if we were twins, leaving me a little affronted and Ryley secretly flattered. We got drunk one night with this German man who kept insisting that Cuba was 3,000km wide, and then almost got into a brawl with a van full of Sri Lanka broadcasting employees, who kept yelling at us that Sri Lanka was “their country!!!”. I don’t even know where to start on that one. The rainy season started when we were up in the mountains though so the last few days of the trip were a little slow.

For the last night, we were in Colombo and stayed at a 145 year-old hotel that cost a bunch of money and had room service and a high tea buffet and HBO and butlers in bowties demanding that they carry our bags. We did not see the city at all. We justify this because Colombo is not a very nice city and shut the hell up we don’t have to explain ourselves to you.

I now feel that I can assess some strengths and weaknesses of Sri Lankans:

Strength - Preparing food.
Most meals we had were great, with many dishes of curries and vegetables and fresh fish or whatever. Also had a really good dish called khottu and BBQ fish on the coast.



Weakness - Getting that food from the kitchen to your face.
Some of the most laughably awful service I have seen. And I worked at Swiss Chalet. One place in Tissa was incredible. If you asked for a spoon, there was no chance you were getting it. But if you said you didn’t want one, your chances improved significantly.

We were the only people in the place and after receiving our newspaper napkins, and glasses that we specifically said we did not want, we ordered breakfast. Right after this we heard some chuckling from the kitchen that we took as a bad sign. 20 minutes in, we caught the attention of the manager. We told him that our taxi was coming at 10:15am. He looked confused. I said that we were warning him, because we did order the cut-up pieces of fruit, and we were worried about missing our taxi. He glanced at the clock on the wall and ran off to the kitchen in a panic. The time was 9:40am. The fruit made it just in time.

Strength: Pricing.
They don’t try to gouge you here. Their first price is generally just a tiny bit over what is reasonable. This may be a weakness actually, as they have not heard of my famous inability to haggle. I almost concluded deals by walking by them and whispering, “I would have paid anything for that."

Weakness: Anything else to do with money or currency.
Try to pay for something that is $7.80 with a bill that is worth $10. Fat chance foreign weirdo. No one has change. For anything. I don’t know what happens to it.

Changing currency is also an experience. We went into a bank, past the guard with the tsarist-era shotgun, and tried to change $300 to rupees, with 3 one-hundred dollar bills. We were diverted to a fat guy, who I assumed must have been a specialist in English, currency exchange, or simple arithmetic. Nope, none of the above. He counted the 3 bills we gave him 3 times, each time taking 2 minutes, and thus 2 minutes too long. Meanwhile he was taking notes on his calculations. Next, after consulting with the woman next to him, who was inputting figures on a computer I swear was fake, he started filling out a form, writing half of my name on it before giving up and thrusting it at me.

Next, he visited the man in a nearby office, and after arguing with him for about 10 minutes, they both came back to me and the office guy asked if I was sure that I had given him $300. I thought carefully about it and confirmed, the $300 being in his hand. We then filled out forms in triplicate, which were held by another employee. We took the forms from the form-holder across the bank to another teller, who informed me that I was missing, incredibly, despite my three forms, the one form that he needed to complete my transaction. More counting and confusion, then I got the money. 40 minutes and 6 employees. In an empty bank.

Strengths: Killing terrorists.
They recently ended their internal conflict with the Tamil Tigers by wiping them out after 30 years of fighting. One Sri Lankan told me it was a world record (ending terrorism). So that’s good.

Weakness: Killing bugs.
Jesus I got eaten alive. Bed bugs, mosquitoes, flies, smaller flies who wanted to land in my eyeballs all day, I was itchier than a stray dog in Thailand. I would have applied Deet with a hose if it was available and dealt with the cancer later.


Yeah so that was September basically. I recommend Sri Lanka, and soon, because now that the war is over and the tsunami damage is being dealt with, there will be a bunch of tourism there soon and it will become more like Thailand. Without the sex tourism, because Sri Lankans aren't the prettiest bunch of people. Especially if you have a foot fetish.

Here is something that is guaranteed to make you smile:




Just an ordinary bus, with a….

Man, I'm Not a Fan of Ramazan in Iran

I did not time my trip to Iran very well apparently. During Ramazan, it is illegal to smoke, eat or drink anything from sunrise to sunset, making for some very lethargic and quick-tempered days. There are a few places that serve food 'under the table' so I managed to eat a couple blackmarket pizzas from time to time, but I usually had to buy food and eat it in a disgusting squat toilet like the filthy infidel that I am. Ramazan was a good oppurtunity though to confuse locals by asking them if they had decorated their Ramazan tree yet or what they were asking Mohammed for Ramazan this year.
Iran isn't the most exciting place in the world but it is pretty interesting. The people are amazing, by far the friendliest, most hospitable people I have met. I actually had to flee towns in the middle of the night because they kept insisting that I stay with them and eat their food. It was a little awkward sometimes when they wanted me to sponsor their immigration to Canada though. One guy in particular was a huge ex-boxer who acted out Condoleeza Rice and Ariel Sharon making out while he jabbered at me in Farsi about the Zionist occupiers. I usually just agreed to sponser them and gave them some of your email addresses and phone numbers. It should be funny to see how that turns out.
After hanging out in a city near the Turkish border called Tabriz for a couple days, I went to Tehran. Tehran is huge and filthy. It does have some really good Death to America/Israel propaganda all over the city though. I hung out with some Aussie idiot for a day who kept referring to EVERYTHING as fantastic. Like, his fantastic egg and dry bread breakfast, his fantastic time exchanging money that morning, and his fantastic new white shirt. I refrained from giving him a fantastic punch to the nose and left Tehran for Esfahan.
Esfahan is a really nice city with huge mosques and bridges and parks and squares blah blah blah. I was here for Qod's day, which is the Iranian holiday in support of the Palestinians. They had a huge anti-US/anti-Israel demonstration in the main square, with a banner over the main gate suggesting that Israel be wiped off the map. I quickly swallowed the rest of my bagel, took off my yarmulke and joined in the 'Down with USA! Down with Israel!' chants. The square was packed with angry Iranians but I managed to get to where they were burning Bush, Rice and generic Israeli dolls and we all had a good time smashing the effigies with sticks. I got a few stares. A few people came up and talked to me, asking about where I was from, what I thought of Bush, my religion etc. They really like tourists and are big fans of Christianity but became less enamoured with me when I told them my own personal theory of God not existing. I found this ended a lot of conversations. I wish it ended the following conversation I had with some guy in a park in Shiraz:


(Guy sees me, comes over, sits down next to me)
Iranian guy: Hello!
Bouche: Hello
IG: Where are you from?
B: Canada.
IG: Ah! Very good. Welcome to Iran.
B: Thank you.
IG: Do you have boyfriend in Canada?
B: You mean a girlfriend?
IG: Ah, girlfriend. I have 4 girlfriends.
B: Wow, not bad.
IG: And 10 boyfriends.
B: Pardon?
IG: Boyfriend for suck, girlfriend for fuck (Uses gestures for my benefit).
B: Oh, pretty good system I guess. It even rhymes.
IG: Yes. You boyfriend?
B: (I pretend not to understand) So, you are from Shiraz?
IG: Yes but can't go to my home because parents are home, park is better.
B: Better for what?
IG: (Makes vague gesture at his pants)
B: What? I don't know wh-- Oh. I see you have an erection. Awesome. Nice erection.
IG: (Shrugs, looks at me like something has to be done about it)
B: Ok. Did I mention I don't believe in God?
IG: I don't care about God.
B: Dammit. Ok, well I should get going. (Start to get up)
IG: It's big and beautiful.
B: Is it? Well, good for you. (I quickly walk away).

I avoided parks for the rest of my time in Iran. So after a couple weeks of mosques, deserts, kebabs, and conversations in broken English about the existence of a higher power, I made my way back to Istanbul. If I compared my trip to a sexual encounter, China would be an awkward makeout, Russia, Ukraine and Bosnia would be some intense foreplay, and Iran would be an orgasm. The short time after Iran, which consisted of a 30-hour bus ride, 2 flights and a night in a London airport Burger King, would be sleepy and flaccid. And now I'm home.

Bouche


P.S. Somebody give me a job please.

No More Beer

Ah, Istanbul, where East meets West, secularism struggles with tradition, men battle with deodorant, and carpet salesmen harrass me everytime I walk down the street. Do I look like I can afford a giant, fucking carpet? I haven't shaved in a month and my laundry is done in grimy hostel sinks. Do you think a carpet is really high on my priority list? Maybe they have some exotic fish or farm equipment I can take a look at as well. Idiots. Aside from that Istanbul is a wicked city and takes a week to really explore. I met an old hippy from Oregon (who worked in the porn industry for 30 years and had great stories) and an Aussie girl at my hostel and hung out with them for awhile. It was good times.
I went shopping with the Aussie girl one day and was looking for some cheap pants because it's getting colder and I have nothing but shorts. We found a store and this is how ıt went:

Aussie girl: You should get these ones.
Bouche: Yeah they look cheap. I suck at haggling though.
AG: Let me do it, I love shopping.
B: Sweet, thanks. (To the shop lady) How much are these pants?
Turkish lady: $54
B: (Chuckles and motions for my friend to take over)
AG: C'mon now, that's ridiculous.
TL: These are good pants! Ok,Ok. Maybe $52.
AG: $51!
TL: OK!
B: What?!
AG:(Gives me a wink and pats me on the back) See?
TL: (To her friend) Allah akbar, durka durka durka. (I dont speak Turkish but I know she was laughing and calling me a douchebag)
B:(Gritting my teeth, I hand over the money) Here you are.
TL: (Trying not to laugh) Thank you.
(We walk out)
B: You didn't buy anything?
AG: Nah, that place was waaaay too expensive.


So don't let people barter for you. After a few days, I hopped on a bus for the Aegean coast. Buses in Turkey are surprisingly good. They give you drinks and stuff and they usually have tons of leg room. One thing I've discovered though, is that farting on a bus while listening to an ipod is trouble. This is because you have no idea how loud the fart was and dont know if people heard it. I always seem to forget this and so after I fart, I get this terrified expression on my face. Everyone of course then knows who farted as Im the only one looking guiltier than a priest at a Cub Scouts meeting. I was not popular with my fellow passengers.
I stopped at a few places down the coast including Gallipoli (the site of a famous WWI battle), Ephesus (ancient city ruins) and Pamukkale (a weird white mountain thing formed by calcium deposits). Gallipoli was beautiful, and interesting not so much for the WWI battle between Aussie/Kiwi troops and Turks that took place there, as for the tearful, embarrassing reactions that Aussies get when they visit. This battle took place 92 years ago. Not one Aussie I was with had any relatives that fought in it. I'm sure it was tragic when it happened, but you don't see me blinking back tears whenever someone mentions the Louis Riel rebellion.
Anyways, after all that I went on a 'Blue' cruise in the mediterranean for 4 days. That was really relaxing (not that I'm in need of relaxation) and I had a pretty cool group of people with me. We basically just swam and read and ate for 4 days. Trying to be cool one day, I swam under the boat and managed to cut my foot on some barnacles. It is now swollen and I think it's infected. And I am still not cool. I was with a bunch of girls and a couple guys from Singapore so I always had plenty of food, which was sweet. One of the Singapore guys (Singaporeans?) didn't speak English and couldn't swim. He spent the cruise bobbing up and down in the water with a lifejacket on, staring off into the distance with a goofy smile on his face. I liked him. Our captain was this short, hairy, round Turkish man with one of the best mustaches I have ever seen. He spent his days napping and poking people in the ribs and giggling. He was the closest I have come to falling in love with another man.
After the cruise I felt I needed to relax some more so I went to Olympos and lay on the beach for 2 days, having a few beers and doing Sudoku. I stayed in an actual treehouse in this hippy commune thing for cheap. The downside was there was this ugly duck who seemed to think he owned my treehouse and hissed at me everytime I tried to go inside. 'Listen duck,' I said to the duck, 'Fuck off or I'll kick you.' The next morning, the duck cock-a-doodle-doed outside my door, starting a good 3 hours before dawn and lasting until 2 hours past it (Thinking back, it was more likely a rooster than a duck. Im not very good with birds). I tried but failed to kick the duckrooster.
The next stop was Cappadocchia, which is an area of central Turkey with crazy caves and rock formations that İ can't really describe so İ won't try. And now I'm in Eastern Turkey, which is very different from the rest of Turkey. İ'm only here for a few hours though because after 6 weeks of planning and over $200 in visa fees, İ'm heading to Iran. It's good timing to be going to a country where they don't have beer because with the beer gut İ have developed, İ'm beginning to look like İ'm in my second trimester.

Bouche



P.S. If I meet one more girl from Melbourne who is working in London, has worked in London, or is heading to London to find work, I'm coming home. The last 9 people I have met have been from Melbourne.

Croats and Bosnians and Serbs! Oh My!

Budapest was good times. The hostel I was at was pretty dead but the city itself was really cool. Tons of history and goulash. I went to a bathhouse as well which was really relaxing but kind of unsettling as there are water jets on the bottom of the pools facing upwards, and Hungarians young and old like to squat over them. And they do this without shame. I tried not to make eye contact with these perverts. After a few days, I headed to Croatia.
My train to Croatia was sweet. It was just me and this old, Croatian grandmother in the compartment and as night fell, we realized that we might be able to lie down on the empty seats and actually sleep. She closed the curtains and locked the door so that the people getting on the train wouldn't come in, securing our luxurious situation. We cackled gloriously as big, awkward, backpacker-shaped shadows walked back and forth in front of our compartment, desperate to find seats as we took up 3 apiece. 'Ha!', I said to her, 'They can sleep in the fucking toilet.' And she seemed to agree. Then, like an hour later, two French guys barged in, sweaty and exasperated, ruining everything. They asked us something about how we could take up so many seats when people were obviously looking for them but I was so shocked with rage and astonishment that Frenchmen had succeeded in invading something, I couldn't respond. I was so mad, given a dull knife and a plane ticket I would have sacked Paris in revenge. The rest of the night was not comfortable.
Croatia was really beautiful but also really expensive. There aren't many hostels so you usually have to find private accomodation, which gets expensive if you are by yourself. Enter Emma, the English girl I teamed up with to split the cost, who was as dumb as a goldfish. She got through 20 pages of her book in 3 days spent on the beach reading. She was good to party with and I usually managed to lose her in the daytime though, so she didn't bother me too much. When we did get to talking, however, it was unbearable. One of our conversations:

Emma: God, I was soooo drunk last night, you dont even know.
Bouche: Yes, I do. You tried to pole dance three times and fell on your head each time. Everyone knew how drunk you were.
E: Oh yeah. I'm usually really good. (We walk past a fish shop) Hey! That's a herring isn't it?
B: That enormous fish right there?
E: Yeah.
B: No. That is not a herring.
E: Oh. Fish are gross. I can't believe how drunk I was last night.
B: Yes.
E: I mean, I was soooo drunk. I feel kinda sick. I might throw up on you, watch out (She laughs).
B: If you throw up on me, I will smash you in the face with a rock.
E: Ha ha, yeah right. Wow, the stars are out!
(I casually pick up a rock)
E: That one is the North Star.
B: That's south.
E: So?
B: Um, the North Star is in the north.
E: Wot? How'd you know that?
B: How did I know that the North Star is in the north?
E: Yeah.
B: (Sighs) I dont know, university.
E: I mean, I can't honestly believe how drunk I was last night!
B: Oh god. OK, let's go over--
E: I was so, so, so, so, so drunk!
(I smash her in the face with a rock)

On our last day, she insisted on walking around in the heat to find a place to eat an English breakfast, despite it being 3pm. We finally found a place where they had $10 omelettes and the waiter seemed taken aback we actually wanted them. I spent the rest of the day trying to take $10 out of her purse to pay myself back. Despite her, Croatia was great. I really have to learn that I don't suntan though.
Bosnia was much cheaper and, although there weren't beaches, a lot more fun. There are still a lot destroyed buildings from the war and the tension between Muslims and Serbs is really high, but the people and the food are great. Sarajevo especially. I stayed in an awesome hostel with a great group of people and 3 days flew by with the help of cheap, 2 litre bottles of beer.
A very funny thing happened in Sarajevo. I won't get into the details, but it involves me, sleepwalking, and a poor Finnish Art student in the other room who was tragically sleeping in what was the urinal in my dream. I can't imagine a worse thing to wake up to. I didn't believe her and her friends when they told me, and I'm still a little suspicious that it was all an elaborate scheme to cover up her pissing herself, but I did wake up in their room, standing in just my boxers, so I suppose they were telling the truth. We all had a good laugh about it the next day, including the Finnish girl surprisingly. Pervert.
Then I went to Serbia. Belgrade is an alright city, not much to do in the day, but it's supposed to have a really good nightlife. Unfortunately, my hostel companions consisted of a dangerously hungover Danish girl, a British guy I refused to spend time with, and a South African who managed to keep my streak alive of hating every South African I've met. But it was the middle of the week anyways and I needed a break after Sarajevo. Now I'm in Istanbul and surrounded by mosques and kebabs.

Bouche

You Say Ukraine Weak?!

Ukraine is great. It's a lot like Russia but easier to get into and you don't have to avoid the police as much as an Eastern European man avoids showers. Ukraine hasn't been ruined yet by cheap flights like other Eastern European countries now plagued with hoards of Brits and Germans, so everything is really cheap and there aren't really any tourists there.They also really liked me for some reason. I think it's my beard, they seem to respect masculinity over there. The old woman selling me a train ticket actually blew me a kiss. My bus ride into Ukraine wasn't so smooth however, as the bus driver forgot his passport in Warsaw and we had to wait at the border in the bus, amidst the most potent B.O. stench I have encountered, for 5 hours while the driver's buddy came from Warsaw to deliver the passport. My Ukrainian companions were not pleased.
My first meal in Ukraine was also pretty interesting. I went to this outdoor patio-type place where Ukrainians seemed to be buying chicken wraps. So I went up and said, 'Chicken wrap please', this of course not being understood at all, but the lady started food-making motions anyways so I didn't care. Until she presented me with a whole fucking chicken on a plate. So I took my chicken and beer and tried to get cutlery, making a cutting motion with my hands. I was offered bread. I tried to explain how bread wasn't the greatest cutting utensil but was shooed away angrily. I have to say though, after the intial shock of having my fingerprints burnt off, eating a whole animal with your hands is probably the most satisfying way to eat something. Although I did need a shower after as I was covered in grease. Still only cost me 4 bucks though.
That was in Lviv, a very nice town blah blah blah. Then I took a train to Kiev and was joined by about 30 Ukrainian military guys who thought I was pretty special. They 'made' me drink beer and this Ukrainian cognac until 3am. If you've never heard of Ukrainian cognac, there's a reason. It's not their speciality. Our good rapport was maintained until one of the guys, a rather large paratrooper, got really drunk and told me that he 'needed' me to stay with him at his house and started giving me long stares. Everyone got a little awkward after that. But Kiev was fun, lots of partying going on. Despite the Norweigan guy who ran the hostel I was at, who kept lecturing me about the 'slant eyes' and 'curry munchers' stealing all of 'our' natural resources, there was a lot of good people in Kiev. I went out with a bunch of Swedes and Ukrainians one night and remember buying a few bottles of vodka at a grocery store and very little after that. I woke up in a different hostel in someone's bed. I don't know where they slept, maybe in my hostel in my bed but that seems pretty unlikely. The bad thing about partying with Swedes though is that I'm always the ugliest one there. The Brits are much better to party with.
Then Odessa. Odessa is full of Russians and, consequently, full of cigarette butts and beer bottles. It was like it was halloween and the only costumes being sold were 'washed-up prostitute' and 'aging male go-go dancer'. I have never seen so many mesh shirts on men before. It was nice though, in that drinking by yourself was once again socially acceptable, if not expected. This one guy on the bus (named Golya I would soon learn), at 10am on a Tuesday, accompanied by his mother, stumbled into his seat, mumbled/burped something to me, and promptly passed out. He was so drunk his mother couldn't wake him up at their stop. So she started hitting him and screaming at him. Then an old man came and started hitting him and screaming at him because he wanted the seat. Then other people started hitting him and I felt bad for poor Golya until I started hitting him. It was quite fun and his mother actually thanked me when Golya woke up/threw up.
But the weather wasn't so great so I headed to Moldova. If you know anything about Moldova (including where it is on a map), you're my hero. It's pretty weird. It's Europe's poorest, most corrupt country, it has a crazy communist breakaway republic in it, and it is really, really good at making wine. A nice bottle of wine costs a dollar. I went to a winery which had 2 million bottles of wine and we had to take a bus through the 55km of wine cellars. My inciteful comments at the wine tasting included, 'This wine is very bold, I enjoy the boldness very much','This wine tastes a little winier than the last one', 'I like the bubbles', and 'Do you have a bathroom in the immediate vicinity?' I didn't impress the guide very much.
After two bottles of wine to myself, the bus ride to Romania was fairly blurry. I do remember some Moldovans trying to smuggle stuff into Romania and getting caught when the bag they had hid under the bus got caught in the wheel and was dragged around the parking lot when the bus started to move, much to everyone's amusement. Those guys didnt make it into Romania. Poor Moldovans, you'll never win. I arrived in Bucharest in the morning, took a look around and immediately booked a train out of Bucharest. Bucharest is a hole. It has some interesting things to see but they don't make up for the packs of disgusting straydogs, scheming gypsies, and general filth. Not getting the exchange rate quite down, I took out $1000 out of an ATM. I tried vainly to shove it back in but that doesn't work. So now I am a walking jackpot for pickpockets and the odds are very good that I will lose a significant amount of money very soon. After a few somewhat uneventful but relaxing days in Transylvania, I am now in Budapest. Being in the EU is nice in some ways because people speak English and occasionally use logic but the prices are crazy. What cost me a couple of healthy chickens and an arm's length of sausage in Ukraine now cost me hundreds of dollars. But Budapest is sweet.

Bouche