Jumat, 10 April 2009

Piatra Craiului

Cheile Zarnestiului si Piatra CraiuluiCheile ZarnestiuluiPiatra Craiului - Ref. Grind
La Om
BranCreastra Pietrei Craiului
La Curmatura
Prin padure
Locomotiva
Horn
Cabana Curmatura noapteaPadurea in ceata
Caine albRapel

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Thanks to my younger sister I finally found a proper soundtrack for the images I filmed last year in September. Hope you enjoy the Padis experience:



The Padis area (Zona Padis) is located in Bihor's Mountains (Muntii Bihorului) and those, in turn, are part of the Romanian Apuseni Mountains (Muntii Apuseni). Here are some of the main attractions in this region, ordered as they appear in my video:


Pestera Focul Viu: there's a large opening in the roof of this cavern. In summer, on a sunny day, light shines through the opening and onto the glacier inside, creating an illusion of burning fire.


Pietrele Galbenei: large cliff face overlooking a vast valley.


Lumea Pierduta: "The Lost World" - several avens (vertical caves) are grouped in this area, the most spectacular one being Avenul Gemanata.


Cetatile Radesei & Cheile Somesului Cald: a network of tunnels and vertical shafts (avens) dug through the mountain by water.


Cetatile Ponorului: a formation similar to "Cetatile Radesei", but on a much larger scale. The portal seen in the video is its main entrance and it's 73m tall - about as high as a 20 story building.


Pestera Ghetarului de la Scarisoara: the cave which houses the largest glacier in Romania.

Ciucas > Muntele Rosu > Japp

Dupa o noua iesire in Ciucas si o alta sedere la Cabana Muntele Rosu, a iesit genericul de mai jos. Sper sa nu se supere nimeni...



Cateva precizari care merita retinute:
  • daca plecati spre fosta Cabana Ciucas si nu e poteca prin zapada, va ia aproximativ o ora jumate pana la Fantana lui Ioan;
  • meniul de la Muntele Rosu are traduceri in engleza sub fiecare fel, si ies in evidenta urmatorii termeni: suc de fructe - juice of fruits; cafea mica - little coffee (aproape ca ti se face mila de saracuta cafea);
  • in camere nu e foarte cald asa ca merita sa luati saci de dormit la voi (pentru orice eventualitate);
  • fata care ne-a fost gazda e prietenoasa si foarte de treaba, si la fel e si proprietarul, care s-a oferit sa ne ia cu masina din Cheia (noi am ales totusi sa urcam noaptea prin padure).

Una peste alta, totul e bine cand se termina cu bine. Mergeti la Muntele Rosu daca aveti ocazia si vizitati Muntii Ciucas.

Sabtu, 04 April 2009

Growing Potatoes Potatoes are a staple in the diet

Potatoes are a staple in the diet of many people all over the world. Potatoes are a nutritious, versatile vegetable, and they’re very easy to grow. But before you run out to the garden with your tiller and hoe, there are a few things you should know about planting potatoes.

Do not plant potatoes too early, while the ground is still frozen. If the ground is too cold and wet, the seed potatoes will delay sprouting until the growing conditions are more favorable. This is usually in early March to late April, depending on the climate. Potatoes do tolerate cool soil and a light frost, but not much growth will take place until the soil warms up a bit.

You won’t find potato seedlings or packets of potato seeds for sale at your local garden center. Instead, potatoes are grown from seed potatoes. A seed potato is nothing more than an ordinary potato, with at least one “eye”. The “eye” is the small white growth on the potato that you usually take off when preparing potatoes to cook.

Way back when, before supermarkets, when gardens supplied most of the food put on the table, the last of the potatoes in the storage bin come spring were used for seed potatoes. Wise gardeners set aside their blemish-free, healthiest potatoes for seed. Seed potatoes can be planted whole, or they may be cut into pieces with at least one eye per piece. Seed potatoes with more eyes will grow to produce a larger quantity of potatoes but the potatoes will generally be smaller. Seed potatoes with fewer eyes will produce fewer potatoes, but those potatoes will tend to be larger.

This allows the cuts to heal over slightly, which helps to prevent soil-borne diseases from infecting your potato crop. Always choose seed potatoes that are free from blemishes.
Plant your whole or cut seed potatoes two to three inches deep in good, rich soil. Rows of potatoes should be about three feet apart and the potatoes within the row should be planted If you choose to cut your seed potatoes into smaller pieces, divide them a day prior to twelve inches apart. If your potato crop has suffered from scab in the past, toss a small handful of dry pine needles in the holes beneath your seed potatoes. Along with moving your potatoes to a different section of the garden each year, this will help prevent further scab infection. Potato scab appears as rough patches on the skin of the potatoes.

Depending on the warmth of the soil, potato plants will begin to emerge from the soil anywhere from one to three weeks after planting. When the plants are about a foot tall, use your hoe to mound six to eight inches of soil continuously along the entire row of plants. This is called hilling. Hilling ensures that the potatoes will grow deeply under the soil, away from sunlight which would cause them to become green. Potatoes that suffer from greening will be bitter and the inedible green parts must be discarded.
Keep the potato plants evenly watered while they are growing. A dry period followed by a rainy spell will cause some potato varieties to develop a hollow core.

Another potential problem with potatoes is the potato beetle. The larvae and adult beetles will feed on the potato foliage, and a heavy infestation can damage the foliage enough to reduce your harvest considerably. Watch for the beetle’s yellow eggs on the undersides of leaves and crush the clusters whenever you see them. Larvae are a deep orange color with a row of black spots on both sides, while the adults are a paler orange with black stripes on the body and black spots on the head. The larvae and adults can be picked off the leaves and crushed if there are only a few. An infestation can also be controlled with Bacillus thuringiensis, or Bt. Bt is an organic control that is very safe to use. Look for Bt that is specifically for potato beetles. It is sold in many garden catalogs and garden centers.

Once your potato plants have bloomed, you can begin to harvest small “new” potatoes. Depending on the variety of potatoes you’re growing, this is about eight weeks after planting. In the fall, after the foliage has begun to dry and die back, the entire crop can be dug. Before storing them in a cool, dry and dark place, make sure the surface of your freshly dug spuds has dried a bit. Spread them out in a dry spot out of direct sun, such as a garage or a day

Friday, February 6, 2009 I am Beginning to Wonder

Ya know I started this blog as kind of a passing fancy because I am a believer in surviving, and I love gardening. Thinking this would be a good blog subject for potential viewers. BUT believe me I feel it is time to get serious about these considerations. I am beginning to believe we are in the midst's of a social melt down. and it will be everyone for themselves, Forget about help from the government, look at New Orleans they are still rebuilding, but if it was a another country they would have been rebuilt with state of the art Construction thanks to your tax dollars. This brings my topic of gardening to survive to a hole new level. I hope this is not a panic attack and I am not trying to scare anyone but we need to be ready. Just getting educated on these subjects is not enough, you need to plant that garden, harvest the crops and store them for the year or next growing season. There are so many subjects about surviving as far as actually surviving as to food, water, shelter, weapons, fire, clothing, so many things to consider so just start thinking about what you would need to do to be ready, just in case.

Some things about Container Gardening

I'm a firm believer in container gardening. This type of gardening has many advantages, first you can control the amount of water the plant needs, and if the environment get bad like a storm you can move the plants to a safe place until the storm or whatever passes by. But the best part is you can be right there to watch them grow and develop. Now you want to make sure that your container is deep enough to contain the roots so you want to have enough room for the plant to grow. A good rule of thumb is the roots will grow down as far as the plant grows above ground. Another thing is Please make sure your containers are clean and free of cleaning products. This will have a profound effect on how your plants do over the season because of the residual effect of cleaners.

What's Survivor

For some reason, survivor has became a bad thing, how is this possible, doesn't everyone want to be a survivor? It appears that we as a nation has this death wish, and don't want to survive.
Well I for one plan on being a survivor and I am happy to tell everyone.
Don't be a shame of wanting to survive. It is built into our genes and only the pervert think that there is something wrong with wanting to survive.
What makes a survivor is having a backup plan for your backup plan and the knowledge and skill and equipment to carry them out.

My ultimate last resort is with a good knife I can take care of most survival situations. Drop me off naked with a good knife in most parts of the world and I can make it or at least make a good try of it. Do I want to increase my odds, you bet. The bug out pack increases the odds considerably. I would say be at least a factor of at least 3 for me, for someone with less knowledge or skills, this would increase them by 10 to 50 times. The reason it increases for me is that I do not have to spend time of energy for find or improvise the things that I now have with me. So I have the time and energy to do other things.

What if I don’t even have a knife? Then one of the first main focuses is to find something that can be made into a knife or at least used to cut. A rock that can be chipped to make a cutting edge, a tin can, or anything that can be made into a cutting or puncturing tool.

The idea here is that the mind is the only survival tool you really have and the make it function as a survival tool you need skills and knowledge and most of all the will and determination to survive.

Keeping a clear and unconfused mind is one of the most important things to maintain. Alcohol and or drugs are anti-survival. Anyone that doesn’t think so are not a survivor.

Disaster Scenarios

This table shows the different local or short term problems and the effects that you might expect to encounter. For some of the natural events, moving to an area that does not have the problem is the best solution. If your survival and the survival of your family are important to you, why would you live in an area that can kill you?
We make many decisions during good times that are not in the least survival oriented. So many are in denial as to what can happen. People in California will tell you that they don’t worry about earth quakes and most don’t even prepare for them. If you would have asked people in New Orleans about living in an area prone to hurricanes and below sea level, they would have told you that “I have lived here my entire life and never had any problems.” People will say I am not going to leave I rode out the last one and didn’t have any problems and too often they die because of their foolishness.”
Over 70% of the world’s population lives within a couple of miles of the ocean and sea shores in spite of hurricanes and tsunamis. Many live within a few miles of active volcanoes. Why, is the beauty of the location or the job so important that you are willing to risk your life? Don’t let your job or the beauties of the land kill you, move! Sure there are risks everywhere, but that doesn’t mean that it is survival oriented to ignore the risks when you can be in a place that is less risky, or that eliminates some of the risks. Living a hundred miles from the beach will eliminate the risks of hurricanes and tsunamis, not living in a forest will eliminate the risk of forest fires, living in the country away from a large city will eliminate many of the risks of Terrorist and not living within a flood plane will eliminate most of the effects of floods. Living above the lake will eliminate the possibility of the dam breaking and flooding you. This should be common sense, but for most people, it is just not even in their thoughts.



Local or

National in effect


Starvation


Shelter


Water


Relocation


Food


Skills required


Preparation Required

Terrorist Attacks





X


X








X


X

Biological agent attack





X


X








X


X

Chemical agent attack





X


X





X


X


X

Nerve Gas Attack





X











X


X

Floods





X


X





X


X


X

Tornado





X


X





X


X


X

Hurricane











X


X


X


X

Tsunami











X


X


X


X

Forest Fires











X





X


X

Riots





X


X





X


X


X

Civil Unrest

















X


X

Kidnapping

















X


X

Hostage

















X


X

Bomb Threat

















X


X

Suicide Bomber

















X


X

Drought


X


X





X





X


X

Conventional War


X


X


X


X





X


X

Nuclear War


X


X


X


X


X


X


X

Race War





X


X





X


X


X

The Retreat

The Retreat
Where do you have your retreat?

There are many within the survival community that
says that you should find a small town, and purchase a house there. The reasoning
being that in that way you will have support from the town people and that
they will defend their community when the ball drops. This might be a valid plan
with some small communities, but for most it is not so good. Many of the
small communities in a lot of states, that have less than 3000 people do not
even have a grocery store, and many have no gas station. They are no longer
in any form self reliant. Now once you get into the 3000 plus size community,
you now again have the same problem as with the larger cities. You have the
crime and the looters already there, just waiting to do their thing at the first
sign of a disaster. Besides, in any small town you will have 90% of the people
stand by and wring their hands, and only a few that will actually want to
prepare and secure the town. It is not likely that the ones that want to secure can
even begin their preparation until the first group of looters has already
arrived and taken over. What do I mean by taken over? Let’s say we have twenty
well armed men come in. The first thing they would do is round up 40 or 50
women and children and secure them in one of the stores. They would then demand
that all the supplies that they want be brought to them. Now in many of the
small towns, what they want might not even be available, so they would kill some of
the children. And make more demands. It will now be almost impossible to
set up a defense to protect the town. Even if a defense was set up before the
first group of looters arrive, how many of the good town folks do you think
will man the guns once the shooting starts? Remember these are not trained
military, or if they were it was WWII or at best Nam. The young are leaving
the small towns, so mostly the old is still there.
For this and many other reasons I do not consider the small town as a suitable retreat.
Besides, for the first few years, even if living there full time, you are one of the outsiders
and not trusted. (In other words part of the problem)
I instead believe that a small farm a couple of miles out of town is better. I will explain why latter. The small farm will give you a chance to plant your survival garden. You also have the land where you can hunt and fish if you have a pond or better if there is a river or a large creek on the land. You can also plant fruit and nut trees scattered among the other trees. Plant trees for wood also. You want a large part of the land in woods. With a few meadows intermingled with berry patches.

Now as you would not be able to defend your farm against even a few looters,
you need to have some way to hide from them. The only safe place is under ground,
so if you have purchased in hill country, you can dig into the side of a hill and build an underground retreat that way. This is best as that will provide drainage. If you are on level ground, you will have to contend with leakage into your under ground retreat much of the time.
Why create problems if you don’t have to? So what do you look for? Hilly
country, a creek or river, wooded land, at least 10 acres wooded. Another 4 or 5
cultivated or meadow with a house. (You can put a mobile home on the land if
doesn’t have a house. A well, utilities if don’t go off grid and access by road, but
not on a major road. Preferable you will have no neighbors within a quarter
mile. Your underground retreat should have enough room to live comfortable, that
means at least 20 square feet for each member. It won’t be like home but you
don’t feel too cramped with that much space. You also need storage for food, water
and equipment. Do not have all of your supplies in the main retreat. In case that it is discovered, for that same reason, have an exit that is on the other side of the hill. Hide the entrance as best you can and if it is away from the buildings there is less chance of being discovered. Preferably yours
will not be the only wooded area around, so there is not much reason for the
looters to look farther than the farm building for something to take. Most will
not be hunters and the few that are will be looking for something like deer.
If in an area where there are cattle around, they will probably go where the
cattle are and stay out of the woods. Cattle are easier to hunt than deer and
provide more meat. A dome structure is best for your underground shelter. Build out
of ferroconcrete will probably be best as that can be done in place. Using
small rebar ¼ or 3/8 it can be bent in place and the ¼ mesh can
be cut into 2 foot wide strips and tied into the structure, chicken wire added in will
allow you to place concrete into the mesh making the dome between 1 and 2 inches
thick. This is thick enough to support about three feet of earth above and if
curved all the way down, will not be forced in by the surrounding dirt. Start
the dome about three or more feet in from the edge. A twenty foot dome will be
10 feet high in the center and will have about 300 square feet of living space.
If needing more room create a second dome connected by a tunnel, at least
3 feet long. If done in this manner you should be able to hide your retreat
from prying eyes, even during construction.

Jumat, 20 Maret 2009

My pics at rome


Italy Travel Tale - The Long Journey

A glass of chilled white wine. The sound of laughter and catches of Italian conversation fill the air. A gentle breeze blows the sweetly scented bougainvillea flowers around. Couples of all ages walk hand in hand up the cobbled streets. Young people sit on the jetty, playing scopa in the moonlight and smoking cigarettes. It is well past midnight, but the main street in Riomaggiore, in La Cinque Terre, Italy is alive with Italians and tourists alike. We are so glad we are here...but one hour ago we were not so sure.
After one euphoric week spent on the relatively untouched Island of Sardinia, it was time for us to head off to the next port of call; La Cinque Terre. Everything was planned. We had tickets for the only ferry leaving that day and accommodation at our destination was sorted. The sun was shining and with excitement we boarded the ferry. It appeared that all other passengers had arrived hours ago, as there was not an empty deck chair, bench or indoors seat available. Not to let this dampen our spirits we sat on the floor, using our backpacks as support.

Within minutes the ferry set sail, and within minutes the weather turned. The previously non-existent wind had risen to gale force proportions. We were tossed from side to side. An automated voice over the loud speaker advised us that, due to the wind, all people were requested to sit inside for their own safety.

What was meant to be a four-hour journey took six. It was then it occurred to us that we should ring Roberto regarding our accommodation in Riomaggiore. We should advise him that we would not make the 6pm check in. We made the call, and it was arranged we would be there at 8pm. We were sternly told not a moment later. No worries, we thought. We were on the main land of Italy by now and only had to get one train...easy.

After disembarking the ferry and managing to find a bus to take us to the train station, we looked at the time. It was nearing 7pm. Another call was made to Roberto to advise that, due to circumstances beyond our control, we would be there around 10pm. He sounded angry. He was stern on the phone and grunted that we were not to arrive a moment after 10pm.

Slightly baffled as abruptness, we purchased a train ticket and soon boarded our train. The train was going to Genoa, and we were to disembark at La Cinque Terre...or so we thought.

The train ride was a picturesque journey along the Italian coastline. We passed La Spezia, which sounded familiar from the guidebooks, but we could not remember why. Soon we saw the first of La Cinque Terre - the five lands- and the train kept going. Then the next town. And the train kept going. It was then we realised we why La Spezia sounded familiar. We should have changed trains at there for a local connection to La Cinque Terre. It was then we realised it was 10 minutes past 10pm.

Should we call Roberto, shouldn't we? We decided that we would not call him. We would get there a little late. What could he do - refuse us accommodation? There is a warning here - never tempt fate.

Just before the stroke of midnight we arrived at Riomaggiore. There was no time to admire the beauty of this exquisite Italian town. We hurried up the steep, cobbled street, with 20kgs strapped to our backs while dodging flocks of people. The town was alive this time of the night. With sweat pouring from our brows - it was the height of summer - we reached our accommodation and rang the bell. No answer. We saw an after hours number and called. Ring, ring. No answer. Ring, ring again. No answer. Ring, ring a third time and a surly man picked up - Roberto. It was to late, he screamed down the phone. He is eating with his family now. He cannot come. He will not come. Bang. He hung up the phone.

An old man and his dog by this stage have come to see what was going on. Should we laugh or cry? We explain what Roberto had done. The old man is not surprised. Apparently Roberto does this all the time.

It was now after 12am. We were two girls, alone, with nowhere to stay. Worry had not set in, just yet. We must have looked angry, upset, scared or some other type of extreme emotion. It was then our knight in shining armor came. A handsome man at the bar saw us, walked over and said he would help us find somewhere to stay. He knew Roberto. he had helped people in our situation before. He worked at La Dolce Vita, another 'room finding company' but they were full.

He opened the door to his office. Within two minutes we were being escorted down a cobbled path by a lovely, middle-aged couple. They had not only a room to spare, but a spare apartment. And for a cheaper price then what Roberto was to charge.

Tempted to track down Roberto and give him a piece of our minds was an enticing thought. But the thought of a glass of chilled white wine, in the bar with our handsome savior proved too good to pass. "Due biccherie di vino bianco, grazie." Cheers to a happy ending.

Backpacker in Rome, budget travels around Italy

Katherine's text suggesting ‘a mini break of culture and alcohol', as she had so succinctly put it, came at just the right time so we got out a map of Europe (our geography is, at best, sketchy) and searched for countries to fly to. The list, which included, amongst others, Geneva (because it seemed vaguely political), Amsterdam (the red light district seemed oddly appealing) and Dublin (no new language needed).

The range was quickly cut down by the price of flights as we opted for the cheapest and ended up being a toss up between Rome and anywhere in France. We went for the former as the latter, after endless school trips, was not somewhere we wanted to venture in a hurry.

So Rome it was. We quickly booked super cheap flights, meaning of course we had to depart at a shockingly early hour, and questionably inexpensive accommodation, which conjured up all images from horror hostel films. The following week we set off for Rome, guide book in hand, carrying an obscene amount of luggage for a three day trip. One set of footwear was simply not enough and the idea of taking fewer than six outfits for a three-day trip was non negotiable.

Arriving at Newcastle airport we wandered through duty free mocking the fake tan of the assistants in the perfume department before embarking on what proved to be quite a mission of blagging a good seat on the flight. You see when you fly with easyjet no one is allocated seating. Instead, as we are the plebs of the travelling world, we were given a ticket with either A, B or C scrawled on it and when your letter is called the idea is that you make a mad dash to the front. This may be all well and good if you live in certain European countries where pushing does not compromise etiquette but this is Britain. So we found ourselves edging, rather than shoving, to the front and eyeing up any possible opposition. It really is an all time low when one finds oneself thinking it permissible to knock over the wheelchair-bound, those with small children or small children themselves.

Luckily, thanks to our strategic manoeuvres, we got the seat we'd hoped for, right at the front, lots of leg room. Only down side is that should the plane crash we were most likely to die and, worse still, in the event of an emergency we were responsible for the nearest exit. Still, we were finally on board and enjoying our pain au chocolat not, of course, provided by easyjet, but by Katherine's mother. I then decided to forego my rather unrealistic plan of learning Italian and soon dozed off. When I next opened my eyes we were landing in Rome. Hurrah.

Arriving in Rome on a Sunday morning was marvellous. We had come just in time to have breakfast in one of the best cities in Europe. And so we did, in a small quiet café away from the hoards of tourists and gaggles of street vendors. I would like to think this came about because Katherine and I were street savvy enough to find an undiscovered off-the-cuff spot but in truth it was due to us being lost. We then decided our best bet was to waste a lot of money by getting into a taxi, always extortionate in Rome, and gesturing in the general direction we thought the hostel might be. Safe to say we eventually got there but found out later that we had, naturally, been taken the very long, and very expensive, route. The blow was sweetened, however, by knowing we'd beaten the fat American couple to the taxi.

Aware that we had but two whole days in Rome we quickly dropped our stuff at the hostel and headed into the centre, taking with us our guide book and factor 45. I'm a firm believer that one of the best ways to get to know a city is to wander as though you lived there and sample cafes as a local would. In theory this is sounds reasonable but when wandering takes you around the entire walls of Vatican City it is time to grudgingly refer to Lonely Planet for help. Though our misdirection had been adventurous we thought it best to stay right in the city and it was here, late afternoon, we found ourselves in a small bar observing the most questionable male fashion I have ever set eyes upon.

Katherine and I had unwittingly ordered drinks in what seemed to be poser central and it was here that the two things I love about Italy collide- cheap wine and a hilarious interpretation of gentlemen's grooming. Here men care as much, if not more so, about their appearance as women and this translates into a love for hair gel, tight clothing in luminous shades and sunglasses indoors. The young Italian male then accessorises with either a Vespa or a convertible, orders beer and drinks it leaning against his vehicle of choice.

The following day we accidentally ended up at the Spanish steps, perusing the surrounding shops and it was here we saw Italian fashion at its best. Gone was the atrocious spandex in favour of crisp suits which, being red blooded females, we found alluring despite the remaining hair gel. Instead of a scooter these fine specimens accessorised with a leggy blonde stick thin woman in frighteningly high heels, teetering from store to store, clutching a small pedigree dog. It was here Katherine and I observed and envied the Italian concept of a lunch break. Sitting in a café as tourists we had all the time in the world do sip a glass of wine and have a good gossip. So too, it seemed, did the native workers. Rather than flitting from the office in a mad dash to grab a quick sandwich before a working lunch commenced, the café goers of Rome take lengthy time out to really enjoy good food in good company. The only similarity between London and Italian businessmen is that both spend a large quantity of time barking into a mobile but even here there is a difference- while Londoners bark orders to colleagues in overseas offices, the men of Rome jabber away in the way they tend to day to day. Though Rome is busy, even hectic, throughout the day the pace of life is markedly slower and this worthwhile attitude to life is evidently applied to their careers. Experiencing this I vowed to take a more Continental approach to any further employment I might embark on once summer came to sorry end.

Throughout my mini break I found myself repeatedly wishing certain areas of British culture emulated the Italian way of doing things and I'm not alone in this fantasy. Friends and family alike long for a more European experience of cafes, restaurants and bars, especially when it comes to the loathsome British tradition of binge drinking. On visiting Roman bars it wasn't just the beer that was refreshing, the whole social environment tasted sweet too. The presence of people of all ages, including families with small children, transforms a potentially drink oriented atmosphere into one of genuine socialising and good chatter where getting drunk is a possibility rather than a necessity.

Thanks to our new appreciation of alcohol we awoke without a hangover though, still, unfortunately in the hostel which resembled an NHS ward rather than shelter for travellers. But I suppose given the extreme cheap price of a night we could hardly expect much luxury and anyway the whole point of going away is supposed to be about who you meet and where you go rather than what the sheets in your bed are like. With this in mind we happily trotted off in the direction of St. Peter's accompanied by our new found friend, an Australian girl we'd met at breakfast.

Edging nearer and nearer the Swiss guards we joined the queue which was thankfully in the shade. I'd been to St. Peter's before but it was when I was seven and I think then I was more concerned about the teddy bear I'd left at home. But second time around we were both really rather excited. Katherine and I are Catholics and as we entered St. Peter's we both felt a faint flutter of pride. Pride for our religious heritage was somewhat dampened by the queue jumping nuns who proved a threat to our orderly line, even more so than the mantilla-clad old women. Though they did offer us some entertainment as the day crept towards a baking noon time- we played ‘spot the religious order'.

I am always strangely impressed and yet appalled by the opulence inside so many religious buildings. Standing inside St Peter's one is conscious that a large amount of gold is perhaps appropriate in giving glory to God, and, by association, the patron but one can't help but wonder whether the Almighty really is a fan of art that so closely verges on kitsch. Within this spirit of reverence and wonder we said a quick prayer as we past whichever pope lay in the glass case, who Katherine noted ‘was dead short'. I found the whole thing rather creepy and also somewhat spoilt by the Japanese who thought it the perfect Kodak, or, rather, Leica, moment. After unintentionally losing the Australian girl we continued our journey of kitsch by heading for the Vatican shop and buying a John Paul fridge magnet and a calendar of Benedict XIV (lovingly referred to by Katherine as ‘Ratzy'). Overall we were quite happy with a tourist jaunt this morning though I was disappointed that there were no Pope snowstorms to purchase. I suppose for the best kitsch I'll have to go back to Lourdes.

The baking heat had done nothing to diminish our appetites as I heard it was supposed to. We wandered past a café and decided it was ice cream and sit down time. You can't go to Italy without gorging on ice cream but on this occasion I opted for a small, but extremely rich, chocolate one which, considering what was on offer, I thought rather restrained. Being English we then commented on the weather (‘rather hot') and applied a liberal serving of sun lotion. Ready to brace the sun once more, we wandered through the plethora of shopping areas in quite a daze. After traipsing around shops ranging from small boutiques to European chains we became quite tired. Not wanting the trip to be a waste I bought a very pretty set of underwear and a pair of shoes, the latter from which I have suffered buyer's remorse ever since.

By the end of our second day we were knackered from what seemed like endless walking so quickly changed at the hostel and went to a little restaurant in a side street. This proved to be one of the highlights of the holiday as we had great food at low cost and good wine to match. To top it off the night ended with a slurred conversation involving extensive speculation (and, what I thought at the time to be, wisdom) from me about who Katherine might end up getting hitched to. Wonderful.

Looking back I'm thankful we had a great night as the next day was crap. We were flying home what morning and this involved us rising at stupid o'clock and attempting to carry our luggage and religious souvenirs back to the airport. This already stressful journey was not aided by the arrival of a London girl who had asked us for directions and who we had been unable to shake off. So there we were, in a cramped bus, sweating horribly and making small talk to an extra from Eastenders.

My body then thought it a good time to develop menstrual cramp at a time when I had no painkillers. Bloody marvellous. This uncomfortable and irritating situation led me to discover the first, and only, bad experience of Rome- the price of medication. Extortionate. Though I suppose it gave me the chance to use up all the change before heading back home to the green fields and awful weather of home. The rest of the journey became quite a blur and jumbled together into various memories of waiting for transport, getting on transport, leaving transport. The only time I was truly awake was to brace myself for the easyjet battle of the plane seats. We won again.

The Dance in Kenya - An adventure in a missionary village in Africa

It was my last night and dusk fell at around six o'clock . As the sun slipped behind the Cherangini Hills the punishing heat of the day lifted and a warm evening took its place. Darkness enveloped the village. I was dining with a small group in the mission house. We had just finished our evening meal when a distant murmur of little spirited melodies began to trip across the village for all to hear. "The young people dancing" I was informed. It was an intriguing sound.

Ashi a trainee priest from Nigeria and Ekai a local Turkana agreed to go with me to the source of the musical hubbub. It would mean a walk of approx ½km across the village. It was a moonless night and there was no illumination from any building except from the mission house. My two colleagues were both dark skinned Africans and so they camouflaged brilliantly in the night. Before setting off a torch was placed in my hand. This was not just in order to find the way, I was told, my self preservation was at stake.

After darkness none of the missionaries ever go outside without a torch. A beam of light is essential to ward off the roaming scorpions that come out at night to scuttle across the sand. If trod upon their instinct is to flail and bite.

That evening I was wearing a pair of breezy sandals and was thus fair game for any wily scorpions. We proceeded across the sand cautiously. Pointing our torch and our attention at the ground we navigated acoustically towards the source of the musical song. Our tentative crossing of the sands took a little over ten minutes and thankfully we met no poisonous chompers on the way.

Arriving, we stumbled into an electric atmosphere of mania. The air was muggy and there was a thick alfresco smell of sweat. In the dark and with no illumination of their own were roughly one hundred young Turkana gathered together in a swirling crowd.

Their pounding bare feet leapt about stirring up great clouds of dust. My eyes squinted adjusting to the scene and I moved around to get a good view. Many were clad in tee-shirts and light clothes while others had traditional cloaks and neck adornments. In the middle of the crowd swaying to and fro was a shifting circle of dancers holding hands. All those forming the enclosure sang together in unison.

Others moved from the outside to the middle of the circle and leapt into the air. Many different rhythms were clapped out and a competition arose amongst the encircled jumpers. They were nearly all men and in striving for the highest leap each was attempting to attract the most female attention.

I was determined to take some photos of this amazing event. I bustled my way as near to the edge of the circle as I could, prepared my camera and snapped a picture. The flash split the darkness of the sky. Screams of excitement and fear erupted, but hardly without missing a beat, all resumed the song and motion of dance. Cameras are unknown in Turkana.

The only flashes ever seen come from gunshots. On four occasions my camera flash blazed the night and each time all the singing swelled into a collective yowl before quickly subsiding to a rambling hedonistic chant and chorus. The photography didn't stall the evening; it made its own contribution to the intoxicated dervish.

The flashes did declare however that there was a visitor among the locals. Hitherto I had been barely noticed but now I quickly became an object of curiosity. Wherever I paused or stopped a crowd quickly gathered, peering at me astutely.

The tables were turned; I was now the exotic object. A multitude of silent starers persistently surrounded me in the dark and I began to feel unsettled. I located Ashi and Ekai and we left the dance and began heading back to the mission's house. While walking and as the sound of dance dropped off, Ekai explained that many the songs we had heard were about rain and cattle, the two great organs of life for the Turkana.

Back outside the mission's house we bid eachother goodnight. I was tired and ready for sleep and so I went to prepare for bed. However, the night's acoustics were not over. Many, many crickets had come in to hide in the house and were chirping loudly in high chorus.

I located and silenced the ones that were in my room but I was resigned to undertake a similar hushing up of the rest of the house. It reverberated with cricket melody. I lay down upon my bed, draping my mosquito net over me. As the day's tiredness accumulated and I began falling asleep the resonating crickets began to harmonize with the continuing song from the distant dance. Amidst the humidity of the night's drama, I drifted into dream.

Travel in Africa - A Travel Tale from Uganda involving volunteering

I say we, because I was there as part of a voluntary conservation project with a London based NGO. Arriving with a group of around thirty volunteers we travelled, via Kampala, to the Pian-Upe reserve which was to be our home for the next ten weeks. This proved to be a remarkable ten weeks which, I am glad to say, has encouraged me to return to this continent again and again.

Prior to my departure, what I'd learnt about Uganda was that this country seemed to be famous for three things. The first being Idi Amin, who'd famously pronounced himself as the King of Scotland.

The second was Entebbe Airport which, during the rule of Idi Amin, became the scene of an Isrealli commando raid after a civil airliner was hijacked en-route to France. The third, was the source of Nile River near the town of Jinja. A place which is one of the final resting places of the ashes of Mahatma Ghandi.

Unfortunately, I also learnt that the images which people have of the African Continent are often borne through misconceptions and sometimes ignorance. Often this is due to the reports presented by the media – covering stories of war, famine and illness.

As with any country, Uganda has had its ups and its downs, but I am thankful that I had made this first voyage. For anyone I have met who has travelled to any part of Africa, we all agree that we return better and wiser for the experience we gain.

As for the demise of the Ndejje frog? Well, that's another story!

The Medinas of Morocco - A Backpackers Perspective of Morocco

The enduring image I am left with is the medinas of Morocco. Each medina is a city unto itself, self contained behind walls of stone covered in a red or brown plaster and standing at least 20 feet high. Inside there are countless small streets, lanes and alleys and buildings 3 storeys high looming over the lanes and passageways where people live. But above all, there are people- hundreds, thousands of people shouting and talking, begging and selling, eatingat tiny food stands or drinking mint tea in 4or 5 table cafis.

Each town has its own distinct medina with a totally different character. In Rabat, the capital of Morocco and a city of over 2 million people, the medina is right off the 2nd principal street ( Hassan 11) and so is adjacent to the town, or what the Moroccans call "la ville nouvelle". We entered from the east through the main gateway which is about 400 years old and this road is immediately bisected by another road running north-south. Each of these roads is about 10 people standing shoulder to sdoulder wideand there are little stalls and kiosques on each side and on the north-south street there are vendors in the middle as well. Many of the salesmen are shouting out what they have to offer as well as the price to create a constant barrage of sound. There are restaurants, men's clothing, fruit stands, butchers, jewelry stores, shoes, lingerie, knives and axes, cigarettes, general stores-in short, everything.

All in public, with people pushing and shoving; even the women dressed in hijabs will give you the occasional elbow. You have to move with the flow of the crowd and pull off into a little store if you want to buy something. We ate in 3 ot the tiny retaurants in the medina, each one only had half a dozen tables and thenapkins are just cut up paper place mats. The food was very good though. The Rabat medina is relatively small, maybe half a kilometre long and 1 kilometre wide and I don't know how many thousands of people live inside, but surely there are many. There are almost no windows on the side streets, but all the roofs are flat, so all the laundry is put out there to dry.

After Rabat we went to Meknes where we saw the jewellers and embroiderers at work. They hand roll the yarn onto individual spools. Boys hold one end of the yarn, sometimes as much as 50 metres away around a bend in the road, while the craftsman winds the yard onto the spool. He will then stack it in his little store alongside dozens of others, all of different colours. The embroiderers sit cross legged in tiny compartments tith the jallabas on their laps as they sew by hand the intricate stitching which turns into incredibly beautiful designs. Their hands move so fast that it is hard to follow each movement, but you can see how the design grows as they work without stopping.

The Fes medina is separated from the ville nouvelle by the Royal Palace and some open ground. Inside the medina is something special. First of all it is huge, easily 2 kilometres long by one and a half wide; then it is built on hills so there is little plat space and finallf it was built in the 1300s and has, apparently, had some renovations but very few modifications since then. The main streets are paved with cobble stones, with a side gutter to allow garbaga and sludge to drain away. The buildings are 3 storeys high as usual, with the ground floor being taken up with little stores and the 2 top floors for people to live. The width of the main streets is about 10 feet and in some places large wooden beams have been jammed between the buildings to stop them falling into the street. We had tea in a tiny cafi that was about 15 feet deep and 8 feet wide, but it had a TV.

The men inside were so friendly that they changed the channel on the TV from Arabic to French so that we would feel included (and I'm quite sure that none of them spoke French). Mules, donkeys and horses carry most of the goods in the Fes medina and you keep having to jump out of the way as another donkey walks by laden with oranges or propane tanks or water. Everybody is selling. It is hard to walk more than a few steps without a carpet seller, food seller small boy offerinf to show you around or jewelry seller enticing you with fine looking merchandise.

People showed us great kindness and generosity, chasing away small boys who were bothering us and giving us a ride back into town when we couldn't get a taxi. It is an incredible experience. At the same time an assault on, yet stimulation of, the senses; claustrophobic yet full of life and energy, life at its richest and rawest. We visited the Fes medina twice and only skimmed the surface of what it has to offer. People have lived like this for hundreds of years, with a mosque (pronounced moskay) every few hundred metres and even more frequent water fountains and public baths because life here is a public event.

Solo Backpacking - Four Reasons, Eight Tips

Why solo backpacking? To be honest, one of the reasons I sometimes go alone is simply that it’s tough to find people to go with, especially on short-notice. So reason number one is just the sheer necessity. But that is not the only reason to enter the wilderness by yourself.

Another reason to backpack alone is related to the first: simplicity. For example, if you like to go light, you may have conflicts with friends who want to share the weight of heavy cooking gear and tents. You may prefer cheaper trips, rather than joining others on a flight to some distant locale that isn’t any more beautiful than the trails within hours of you. In other words, you might not want to trade three affordable adventures for one expensive one.

Going solo gives you freedom as well. Even the best hiking partners will not need breaks at the same time, get hungry at the same time, want to hike the same distance each day or do the exact same things. When you’re alone in the wilderness, there is a natural rhythm that can never be there when several people’s needs have to be taken into account, and you are free to follow that rhythm.

Finally, if you have ever wanted to “commune with nature,” or have a more spiritual experience in the wilderness, backpacking solo is the way to go. Most of us cannot help but talk too much when we’re with others. Of course, that scares off wildlife, but it is also true that when alone most people just plain notice the environment more.

Being alone can deepen certain experiences. There is nobody there to define you - just you and the nature around you. If you’ve ever sat quietly and enjoyed a great view, you know that it is a different experience than when you sit there talking with someone about it. And while some friends can sit in silence for long stretches while sharing the sun set or the cloud-shadows passing over the mountains, it isn’t common.

Alone, you begin to realize how entirely indifferent - but not hostile - the wilderness is. Whether you take this trail or that one doesn’t matter to anything or anyone but you. Whether you stay warm or get cold, live or die, is a matter that is mostly irrelevant to everything around you. Yet as a human we are actually equipped to survive here.

On a solo backpacking trip in the Sierra Nevadas, I ate my fill of wild currants at 13,000 feet. As I walked by small lakes the trout scattered. Sunshine warmed me as I took naps on soft grass, and moonlight lit my way during night hikes. It is true that a misstep here or there could lead to death, that lightning could strike me down, or rain could soak me and make me hypothermic. But because of this I pay attention when I am alone out there.

Alone, you become very aware of your surroundings, of the clouds forming in the sky, of any little pain in your foot or back. It is an awareness without worry. This in-the-moment experience is worth having.

Solo Backpacking - Some Tips

Fortunately it has become much safer to get out there alone. This is because of technologies that can turn what would have been a disaster in the past into an inconvenience. Lose your maps? Just turn on the GPS unit on and find the landmark setting for your car to get out. Break your ankle? Turn on the emergency locator beacon or get out your cell phone.

To make it safe without giving up the experience of solitude, then, start by leaving the cell phone charged but off. Don’t allow calls to you and don’t call a soul unless you have a serious problem. As mentioned, a locator beacon is another safety option, but don’t let such safety devices lure you into a false sense of security that gets you into trouble. Leave your basic itinerary with a trusted friend or family member, so they’ll know when to call for a search if you don’t return.

If you have a GPS unit, be sure to “mark” the car or trailhead before hiking in isolated areas - especially in difficult terrain. I recently was in an area where it took three hours (no trails) to travel a bit over a half-mile to the car. Without the GPS it would have been easy to get lost.

Finally, learn some skills to make solo backpacking safer. Being able to make a fire in any conditions is a good place to start. Knowing how to construct a few different kinds of emergency shelters is a good idea too. Also, while food is not usually the first concern in a wilderness emergency, it can’t hurt to be familiar with a few wild edibles. And learn how to treat the most common injuries and illnesses you might encounter out there.

Copyright Steve Gillman. To learn more Solo Backpacking Skills, and get the ebook “Ultralight Backpacking Secrets (And Wilderness Survival Tips)” for FREE, as well as photos, gear recommendations, and a new wilderness survival section, visit: http://www.The-Ultralight-Site.com

Find The Cheapest Cruise Deals Online - What You Need To Know To Have Save Boatloads Of Money

Do you want to find the cheapest cruise deals online? If so, you need to know the ins and outs of cruising during certain times of the year. There are many tricks to getting the best possible deal for your vacation.

The first thing you need to know is that the season will usually determine the pricing of the trip. There is an “in season” and “off-season” time period. If you’re willing to be flexible you can save a lot of money. Of course, this is only one of the many ways.

If you only get a certain amount of vacation time or it’s set in stone as to when you have to go on vacation things will be a little bit more difficult, but there are ways to save money even so.

The next thing to pay attention to is the location. There are different times of the year where it’s cheaper to go to the Caribbean than it is to places like Bermuda, Canada, South Pacific, Alaska, and more. It’s best to study the exact times of year where the pricing is the lowest.

If you are a little more flexible with the time frame, it might be best overall to travel in the fall. That way you’re not battling millions more people than you have to in competition for the best prices.

This is only the starting point to the savings you can find cruising. Finding the bargains takes an insider’s perspective. Don’t worry! If you’re willing to learn the ins and outs of cruising you can save 100’s or 1000’s of dollars. You really can find the cheapest cruise deals online.

Get a free 30 page guide to cruising by clicking here. You won’t find this insider’s valuable cruise information anywhere else!

Rivers In Jamaica Are Stunning Places To Visit

Rivers in Jamaica

There are more than 100 rivers in Jamaica but not all of them have been explored or can be navigated. The most popular of all the rivers to be found on this island are in fact the Great River, the Rio Grande and the Martha Brae River. But other rivers around the island are actually increasing in popularity as well.

The Black River which is the widest of them all is 73km long but only the first 28km can be traveled along in small vessels. Then there is the Rio Minho which is the longest of all the islands rivers and flows south to southwest where it starts at Portland Point and ends up at Carlisle Bay. The major town that is situated on this rivers bank is May Pen, Clarendon. But as well as those rivers that you can see there are a number of underground rivers located in the limestone regions of the island. The main ones of these being the Hectors and Cave Rivers.

Many of the rivers on the island and not just used for pleasure but have other uses as well. The Rio Cob and Milk River are used to irrigate the land surrounding them. Also the Rio Cob is used to produce hydro electricity for the island as well and this also goes for the White River and Rio Bueno. Certainly the Rio Grande is probably a river that many people have heard the name of and this is where one can try a spot of rafting if you wish.

Before you visit Jamaica check out our Holidays to Jamaica and also our Package holidays to Jamaica

Kamis, 19 Maret 2009

Local or Long Distance?

You know you want to hike, but you have not yet decided where to go. That is when you should make the critical decision of distance. Do you want to stay in your local area? The same state? The same region? Or maybe you want to go cross-country for a completely new adventure.

My Area

One-day hikes can often be accomplished in your local area. Check with the local parks system to see if there are marked trails that you can go on. Your local area should have that information readily available so that you can make an informed decision. The maps and information provided should give you a good idea of the layout of the land, distance, and any features that could hinder your hike. This may be a preferable situation if you just want a quick weekend or one-day getaway without a lot of travel.

The State Is Wide

If you are interested in expanding your local search, you can travel within your own state. The state parks system will offer more variety in trails systems and can give you a change of scenery without a lot of travel. These trips can give you the ability to travel a shorter distance and spend less money than a cross-country adventure. Plus, you get to see the beauty of your state that you may not have known about previously.

All In

So you have decided to chuck it all in and go for broke. You live on the East Coast, but you want to see the West. With a little bit of planning, you can do just fine. First, coordinate how you will be getting there. Will you be hiking all along or going straight to your destination and back? Do you want to buy supplies there to cut down on packing or do your pack at home and take it with you? Make sure you have detailed maps of the area and plan ahead for any side trips that you want to make. Budget in enough time to go fishing or climbing if that is your passion. Above all, have fun.

Backpacking Vacations

Hiking and backpacking can be fun vacations if you plan for them. No other vacation will allow you to see the beauty of nature and enjoy the thrill of accomplishment that a backpacking vacation will. If you are well-prepared, the memories of fun will last a lifetime. Make sure you know what you are getting into before you strike out. Be well-versed in where you are headed, what the plan is once you get there, and be aware of any dangers that may come up along the way.

Chart a Course

You should decide where you want to go and what you want to do once you get there. Your hiking abilities should be taken under consideration when planning your trip. If you are not a well-experienced hiker, then it might be best to stick closer to home and plan a simpler hike. If you are more experienced, you may wish to spread your wings a bit and travel farther and spend more time out on the trail.

Take a Friend, Take the Family

You should know what the hike will involve and whom you will be taking. Is this a family vacation or a weekend to get away with your friends? The members of your party will be influential in choosing the best destination. You do not want to be carrying your children on a strenuous hike that will last five days, just as you have no need to seek out a family-friendly trail if the family is not coming along. Plan your trip around who will be coming with you and know how they can contribute to the overall hike.

Take What You Need, Not What You Don’t

Pack your gear so that it will best serve you on the trip. Measure out exact quantities of all your supplies and pack them as tightly as you can. Make a list of all the equipment you will need and double-check that you have it all. Will you be going through extreme conditions? Make sure your pack reflects that. Also, do a test run with all your equipment so that you know how to use it and how best it will serve you.

Bonfim to Yemanja in Salvador, Bahia




I really did not plan it this way.. but, I guess I am lucky. Millions of people were in the streets of Salvador partying the day I landed and the day I left Salvador, Bahia. Yup... Bonfim to Yemanja.

I reached on the day of Lavagem do Bonfim, a sacred festival where the steps of Igreja Bonfim is washed. There is a long parade from the heart of the city to Igreja Bonfim, almost 9 kms away. Millions of people make their way to the church, dancing, singing and drinking beer. Once they reach the church, they tie colourful ribbons which say 'Lemrbranca do senhor do bonfim da bahia'. Every ribbon is tied to the fence of the church with three knots and you are supposed to make a wish for every knot. After dancing all the way to the church in the heat and not really drinking anything (I dont like to mix religious festivals with beer), I was more than glad to get my share of ribbons.





































Bonfim made me realise that Salvador can be overwhelming even without all the Capoeira I was looking foward to. I was staying with Alda, who incidentally I met in Peru on a boat trip. We just hit it off because she loves India and I love Brazil. She invited me to stay with her at her place in Rio Vermelho, a beautiful beach 30 minutes west of the historical centre of Pelorinho. I was glad to be far from the tourist crowd and more than happy to see that my room had the most amazing view of the sea.

















Salvador is supposed to be the Mecca for Capoeira, one of the main reasons I wanted to travel to Brazil. Just the week before reaching Salvador, I had attended a huge event of capoeira in Ilheus Bahia. The event was Capoeirando, the annual event for my Capoeira group Cordao De Ouro. As much as I had been looking forward to this event for as long as I knew, I discovered many things about Capoeira and the way I feel about Capoeira in those few days. I am not going to really elaborate too much on this. But, Ill talk about the few things I learnt...

















Capoeira is my Capoeira family back home. I was with 200 people, who all belong to Cordao de ouro family, the group I am a part of. But, at the same time, I did not feel a part of this larger family. Maybe it was my mental state of mind or missing home or whatever you call it.... To me, Capoeira is my group back in India. They are my family and the entire event seemed meaningless without being able to share it with people I love to play with. With people I learn from. With people whom I drink beer with at home. For the first time in these 3 years, I was afraid to enter the Roda and I did not like that feeling.

















Brazil cannot make you do a backflip. Well... everyone thinks that training Capoeira in Brazil is going to make you fantastic Capoeirista. Well, I suck big time at that. I havent been playing regularly. I havent been learning anything. I think I was playing a much better game when I was at home. In Brazil, Ive been caught up so much with the whole `I want to soak into the Brazilian culture` that a lot of things other than capoeira have taken priority.... So, unless you focus on Capoeira, whether its at home or in Brazil, no miracle can happen. And especially, attending a huge Capoeira event cannot teach you anything superhuman. Philosophy is the only the only thing youll get. So, am enjoying that.

Mestres are not Gods. I loved waking up in a small house (Casa of Dona Maria) in Capoeirando and walk out to see Mestres lying around in the hammock, drinking coffee, singing, talking, walking... doing everyday stuff. Mestre Suassuna was staying in the same house. Mestre Lobao was our neighbour. Mestre Deputado always hung out in the verandah. All the Contra mestres stopped by for coffee. It was a little dreamy... yet so real. I used to know all these Mestres only thanks to the MP3 songs in my Ipod. It was amazing seeing them in flesh and blood and realising that they are human... (I guess Ill be partial to Mestre Suassuna here and call him God.. it was truly incredible to meet him)

















Everyone is a student at something or the other. All mestres, contra mestres, intructors, students.. everyone is learning something. Working on something. No one is really perfect at everything. Capoeira is something you learn all your life. Baba, my teacher at home has always told us this. But, it was nice to see this in Brazil. To see that everyone is putting effort on something that they know they have to work on. It just inspired me to take up one movement or one song a month and work on it. Im sure that by 4 or 5 years, the list of things I can do will be substantial then.

















Women can play kickass capoeira too. It was fantastic to see some women mestres, contra mestres and students playing some fabulous games. Even at home, we have more women in the group, but since acrobatics gets associated with Capoeira, people think women cant play. Thats not true. Capoeira is not just about acrobatics. It was wonderful to see challenging games devoid of acrobatics and yet look fabulous. (Dedicating this para to my dear friend Mel, who I share a laugh with everytime people are doing one hand Au's and flips)


















Back to Salvador from Capoeira....

Reaching Salvador, I was keen on getting as much Capoeira as possible. If there is one thing that I have been shattered with in this whole trip, its this wish. I went to many schools in the past 2 weeks.... schools of Angola and Regional... in Pelorinho and other places... but, just did not find what I was looking for. Classes were very touristy thanks to the Carnaval season approaching. I was charged 20 reals per class to play with other tourists. Classes started on Bahian time (thats a whole new chapter I am not getting into.. If you people were making fun of IST.. Indian standard time, you havent witnessed Bahian time). I dont know whether it was the classes I picked or generally the way things operate here.. But, I really missed the rigour, discipline and more than anything the Axe..... I missed Cordao De Ouro. Also, Im not doing justice by trying a class once and deciding its not for me. Im not doing any justice by staying in Salvador for just 3 weeks and deciding its not for me. I guess thats possibly the reason I will return one day to Salvador maybe for a couple of months and stay put doing Capoeira regularly. But, I am aware that I do need ample time to research the schools that I want to play with. Capoeira was the reason I decided to come to Brazil and Capoeira was the reason Im deciding to leave salvador and go back South. I do know that spending some extra time in Rio and Sao Paulo will only help me discover nooks and corners that I love to stumble upon in large cities.

Anyway... other than the Capoeira fiasco in Salvador, I had a bloody fabulous time thanks to Alda. Alda works in an organisation providing culttural opportunities and leisure activities to industries in Salvador. She has amazing friends, who are involved in something cultural or the other. Every day, we landed up meeting her friends and doing something wonderful... Whether it was a Samba night listening to Lazzo sing... or a Jazz night at the Modern Art Museum.. whether it was evening eating Chocolate desserts... or an Indian dinner night.... whether it was dancing at Boomerangue or Borracharia or getting an Afro hair makeover at home.... whether it was lazing in Praia do flamengo or parading with Hare Rama Hare Krishna group.... whether it was a musical night with Aleh playing the guitar or Danilo playing the Berimbau.... Alda knew how to get things going. I was spoilt like a kid by Alda for a couple of weeks.

















































More than what we did, its the people I got to meet thanks to Alda.... Willy, her American neighbour who works in Bahian tourism and the only guy Alda allows into her house with shoes... Marie, his friend from France who is a Yoga teacher and a masseuse.... Danilo, a yoga teacher and a experimental musician....

The people who made everything worth it

Was just thinking about how many interesting people Ive met in this trip so far.....

I guess Ive always had this doubt in my mind whether travel is about meeting people or seeing places.. I guess its a bit of both.... I remember people more than places and I remember places because of the people I met there...

So.... a big thanks to all these people for making my journey worth it....

Italian gay artist in a China town bus in New York

A music lover and wonderful human being (who incidentally is my sisters educational Godfather) in Madison

3 Tam Bram Engineering Boys living the typical American Grad student life in Madison

Sociologist Mom in Sao Paulo

The 17 year old on a metro who was carrying a cake for his girlfriends birthday in Sao Paulo

Amelie Poulain look alike and kickass samba dancer in Sao Paulo

Drama queen cum Capoeirista who loves to wear roman sandals in Sao Paulo

Brazilian capoeirist couple who ideally should have been a bollywood dancing couple in Sao Paulo

Brazilian born middle eastern obsessed Foodie in Sao Paulo

The only Brazilian guy who doesnt like the sun and coffee in Rio De Janeiro

His girlfriend who is as Brazilian as it gets in Rio De Janeiro too

A Chilean artist who has made one of the most romantic and moving art staircase Ive ever seen in my life in Rio De Janeiro

A Slovakian Anthropoligist living in Bahia in Rio De Janeiro

A social worker from Portugal, working with children in Rio De Janeiro

A professor from Petropolis who is learning English in his 50s in Rio De Janeiro

An Australian from England, overstaying her visa in Brazil to learn Capoeira in Rio De Janeiro

2 Brothers named Washington and Wellington in Ouro Preto

An arrogant American who asked unbelievably idiotic questions about India in Ouro Preto

A Polish guy who was locked outside the hostel in Sao Paulo

His English friend who kept ringing the bell in the wrong house in Sao Paulo

The Canadian couple who were fussing about 5 dollar meals but spent 100 dollars on REM in
Buenos Aires.. whatever rocks their boat...

The 3 loud girls who wore lycra and went out only at 10 pm and returned at 6 am in Buenos Aires

The pinstriped shirt banker gathering in a Halloween meetup in Buenos Aires

The Peruvian Women Shahrukh Khan Fan Club in the hostel in Cusco

The Swedish (overenthuasiastic engineer sent to Peru to work on some technology project) who escaped work for a weekend trip in Machu Picchu

The Colombian couple Lina and Mauro who I cannot describe in one sentence.... They are my family and I love them to death... Met them in Peru and landed up traveling in Bolivia with them.. Check out what I have to say about them in my post Un-Boliviable

French couple in the hostel in Puno, who were doing the exact reverse of my trip from East to West giving me invaluable advice about Bolivia and Chile

Brazilian 40 year old who looked nothing over 30 in the boat in Lake Titicaca .. Landed up going and staying with her Salvador after a few months

The Mexican sisters in the boat in Lake Titicaca who were dying to go sand boarding

The Australian exchange students in the bus ride from Lake Titicaca to Lapaz, with whom I spent an afternoon drinking beer and bitching about cricket

Bolivian biologist who hosted me in Lapaz and who is now tripping around India.. I truly managed to convince her to visit my country

Another wonderful Bolivian girl with a Swiss boyfriend (who worked in an organisation with priests.. so he really coudlnt admit he had a girlfriend)

The large Bolivian family who made me feel so welcome I was afraid I would leave Bolivia with Montana as my surname

Menta, the most beautiful blind dog Ive met in my life.. I wish she couuld see how beautiful she was

A Colombian 21 year old gastronomical student who is moving to Australia to become a chef... who danced with me under the stars and taught me how to love Spanish music.. I traveled with
him in Bolivia and fell in love with his spirit... I cant wait for the day I get to travel with him again

A German geologist, without whom I would have never understood the real natural beauty of the Bolivian salt plains...

A French couple.... the guy talking all the time and the girl sitting quietly.... Kinda reminded me of Roy and me (opposite though)

An Israeli gang who sang Bob Marley all the time... something about the whole wild outlook of
the group made me fall in love with Israel... I just have to go there

The perfect boyfriend anyone can ask for... the colombian boyfriend of my Indian friend in Santiago, Chile... he is adorable

Peruvian single mother to a baby who looks like a J&J baby in Santiago... a fantastic strong woman

Monicas mother - Energetic mother, shopper, tour guide cum Ambassador of Santiago

Capoerist professor (friend of neeshas from the US) who I think looks really hot

Spunky theatre artist cum dancer addicted to Yoga and wearing Indian clothes all the time in Santiago

Colombian Chica Loca (Crazy in Cordoba Argentina... there is an entire blog post dedicated to her..

James Dean look alike Argentinian guy who just returned from Canada in Cordoba

Greek god who dances like he was born to dance in Buenos Aires

A cartoonist cum beedi smoker who loves to bicycle in Buenos Aires

An Armenian Australian chiropractor in Buenos Aires

A Colombian guitarist who was spending time learning music in Buenos Aires

A Brazilian student in Argentina, missing home

An American round the world traveler with whom I shared 3 wonderful days in Iguazu

A ping pong expert and business woman from Singapore (she is in her 30s and already a MD of a company) in Iguazu

A lost little boy from Singapore who wanted to travel all around South America in 25 days in Iguazu

A Californian couple who run a fitness club with more positive energy than anyone else Ive met

A Brazilian family (who have adopted me as their daughter) in Curitiba

An American firefighter (wonderful dancer but he will deny it, patient listener considering how much of my non stop banter he has put up with and someone who I am addicted to in many ways now) and his friend (who Ill always remember as the guy who lost his camera on New years in Rio and tried to report it to the cops....)

A talented Brazilian musician who needs a third hand (to hold the beer as he strums the guitar) in Vitoria and then in Belo Horizonte

His father, who makes the best breakfast in Brazil

His fathers friend, who I can fall in love with had he been about 20 years younger

An American woman who lives in Salvador Bahia setting up an NGO for the homeless, who incidentally spent many of years of her life as a professional dancer, grew up in Hollywood (knows Brad Pitt), has 20 year old sons (when you see her, you wont believe it) and a heart of gold

An American guy who moved to Salvador 18 years ago and celebrated the 18th birthday of his move with my Indian dinner

An American girl who decided to visit Salvador for 3 months and is paying for everything with her credit card, hoping to get a job to pay back those bills when she heads back

A British girl, whose aunt paid for her rount the world trip, discovering herself

A Spanish guy, who can make you laugh even when everything around you makes you want to scream and cry

An American guy who does some virtual techy job (computer software stuff) who lives in a different country every year... Im freaking jealous

A Brazilian guy who was obsessed about doing handstands and kissing the British girl in Chapada Diamantina

A Brazilian lady who moved to live in Hawaii and named her son after Narayan, the Indian God as she is obsessed with Hare Rama Hare Krishna stuff in Chapada Diamantina

A Brazilian guy from Belo Horizonte who volunteers with children in a Favela teaching them Capoeira and Afro dance

A 5 year old Brazilian girl who taught me how to dance to Shakira on a 24 hour bus journey from Salvador to Belo Horizonte

A house full of girls who throow weekly international theme parties and monthly costume parties in Belo Horizonte

A girl wearing a pink dress and putting up balloons at a music show in Belo Horizonte

A whole bunch of musicians who make the world seem like a more beautiful place in Belo Horizonte.......

..... and I still have 3 more months to go.....

Survived the Carnival,Brazil

Every year, sometime around February, I remember media channels and publications covering the Carnival in Rio De Janeiro. From a distance, I have been party to bits and pieces and always imagined the Rio Carnival to be an orgy of millions of semi-naked Samba dancers in glittering costumes. I was terribly wrong. This very moment, as I am sitting in the balcony of a South zone apartment in Rio, sipping Cerveja (beer), and listening to a Samba band pass by in the street below followed by hundreds of people moving to the addictive rhythm, I feel a part of the real Rio Carnival.
One of the toughest decisions since I reached Brazil was choosing the city where I would spend time during the Carnival. Whether it is the traditional carnival of Olinda or the Afro-Brazil influence in Salvador or the mud parade in Paraty, every city in Brazil boasts of a Carnival with its own unique touch. Having read that it was possible to do something every hour for the entire month of February in Rio and wanting to experience everything possible as a first timer at Carnival, I chose Rio.
It has been 10 days since I reached Rio De Janeiro and I learnt a few things about the grand Rio Carnival. If there is one word to describe 72 hours of no sleep, having beer and barbecue for breakfast, thousands of people sporting crazy costumes and dancing in the streets, its called 'Blocos De Rua' – the street parties of Rio, that take place in every neighbourhood all day long.
If there is one place where there are more feathers than the bird population of the world, more colours than you can mix on Corel Draw, more perfect bodies than you can imagine, more fireworks than Diwali, more cheering and competitive spirit than any sporting event, this place is called 'Sambodromo' - the place that houses the Samba Competition among the top schools of Riode jeneiro
If there is one place where you can see carpenters, electricians, painters, artists, musicians, dancers, writers and technicians working towards one goal, with incredible teamwork and effort, its called 'Cidade Do Samba' – Samba City, the place where the Carnival paraphernalia is produced.
If there is one reason why bumblebees, mummies, angels, devils, prostitutes, musicians, magicians, clowns and cross-dressers hang out together, its thanks to 'Fantasia' – costumes, the very DNA of the Carnival
If there are people peeing on the streets, homeless picking up beer cans to sell and make money, dirty starving street kids crawling under the stands to pickpocket tourists, drunk men beating up their women in broad daylight, people throwing up from bus windows, its called ‘Realidade’ - reality, one thing that even Rio Carnival cannot escape.
If there is one word for energy, life and spirit, it is ‘Cariocas‘ - the people of Rio De Janeiro, who are the drivers behind the biggest party of the world. I leave with a backpack full of glittering memories from the Carnival and symptoms of a strange disease. My feet move three steps even when I am asleep and this disease is called Samba Itch. What a perfect souvenir from the Carnival!









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