tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10278196429305657722024-03-13T16:09:45.626+11:00Travels with an iron donkeyOne woman's journey from Melbourne to London by trainTrish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.comBlogger53125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-67521862768470962882010-08-25T23:02:00.003+10:002010-08-25T23:06:17.687+10:00Home...25,500km, 12 countries, 3 continents and four and a half months later and finally I’m back in London. First I spent a few days in Berlin with Ivan and Sabine, two friends of mine. The sun shines, the tree line streets pavements are filled with tables and chairs as cafes make the most of the weather and Berliners sip coffee in the dappled shade. We wander along the canal, buy cake to eat with Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-14637937260704692010-08-17T19:57:00.003+10:002010-08-17T20:04:46.891+10:00How long is too long on a train? St Petersburg to Berlin, 36 hours, 1,450kmTo be honest I don’t know the answer to the question I’ve posed above. I’ve taken plenty of journeys of 20, 24 and even 36 hours and have always been a bit sorry to step off the train at my destination. My longerst journey (52 hours) was a pleasure from start to finish and I didn’t want it to end.There is something delicious about the enforced idleness of train travel; a rare thing is this busy Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-47128754977014545372010-08-16T01:16:00.007+10:002010-08-16T23:58:12.788+10:00A tale of two cities Moscow and St Petersburg couldn’t be more different. In part it’s due to the weather – an unfair comparison given that Moscow was blanketed in smoke and heat while I was there, while St Petersburg welcomes me with perfect northern European summer days: sunshine, pale blue skies enlivened with the occasional fluffy white cloud and cool breezes. The light sparkles off the city’s canals and river Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-27950826679715876662010-08-11T00:45:00.007+10:002010-08-11T22:45:19.037+10:00Moscow burningMorning in Moscow dawns hot. By 10am it's 38c and the hair is heavy with acrid smoke. At my hostel, travellers lie in a torpor on their beds or gather in the lounge room. Rumours run riot: the Italian press is predicting that a nuclear arsenal is under threat from the fires; the Poles have evacuated their embassy. I check the BBC, which sets my mind at ease with a restrained piece about the Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-57269675292410264102010-08-10T03:08:00.005+10:002010-08-11T01:09:40.696+10:00Travelling with Russians - Trans Siberian, Irkutsk to Moscow via Novosibirsk, 5,185km, 80 hours Finally I’m on the Trans Siberian, a five day trip that takes me from Irkutsk to Novosibirsk and then on to Moscow. On the first leg I share a carriage with three Russians – Ludva, a plump, jovial woman of about my age and Andrei and Ivan, two oil workers, part of the team laying the controversial pipeline through Siberian. They’re in their late 20s and heading home for annual leave.I quickly Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-86598557936326713932010-08-08T02:22:00.006+10:002010-08-08T03:07:26.603+10:00Sunbathing in Siberia Siberia is nothing like I expected. Though I’m not entirely sure what I expected (salt mines? fur hats? grey skies?) I definitely wasn’t thinking of 28c temperatures, water glinting in the sunshine and the sand hot beneath my toes as I rub sunscreen on my arms. I wasn’t thinking of flower filled meadows, sun dappled birch forests, lush green fields and a sky that stretches endlessly above, a Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-56734763148074956942010-08-02T22:49:00.004+10:002010-08-02T23:04:39.138+10:00Wheelin’ and dealing on the Trans Mongolian: Ulaan Batar to Irkutsk, 1121km, 25 hours Starting an argument with someone who you’re going to be sharing a small cabin with for the next 25 hours in the first five minutes of meeting them is not necessarily a lesson in how to win friends and influence people. None the less that’s exactly what I do before the train has even pulled out of Ulaan Batar station.I’ve just stowed my bag and sat down when the first of my cabin mates appears Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-10688690171856218442010-07-28T22:41:00.006+10:002010-07-28T23:19:58.955+10:00Channeling my inner Genghis Khan‘This is your horse,’ says Hishgay, the Mongolian groom and guide. ‘His name is SlowGo. He’s a very good horse for beginners, very quiet.’ He’s holding a small bay pony with black tipped ears and a short black mane that’s as thick and prickly as the bristles of a broom. As Hishgay speaks, the horse is shaking its head up and down ferociously, skittering from side to side and twitching all over.ITrish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-74038761159589351482010-07-27T12:58:00.004+10:002010-07-27T13:42:36.229+10:00Trans Mongolian: Beijing to Ulaan Batar, 30 hours, 1,500km The train pulls out of Beijing’s central station precisely at 7.47am. Some of China’s train stations maybe chaotic and crowded but Beijing Central is anything but. Wide clean corridors with sleek polished floors, chandeliers and comfortable chairs are the order of the day here. The train itself, in contrast, is an old one, painted green and gold and with hard bunks and a rattling fan in place Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-81038073437392096052010-07-26T18:32:00.002+10:002010-07-26T18:40:19.548+10:00Beijing and the Great Wall I stand on the small hill top looking out over the Forbidden City. I’ve climbed here for the views, which are said to be spectacular. In fact, I don’t see anything. A haze of smog and pollution hangs over the entire city. I can see the entrance to the Forbidden City some 50m below me, but further than that everything disappears behind the mist. My eyes are stinging and my nose is running. Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-65586633232736087282010-07-25T21:52:00.003+10:002010-07-25T22:02:19.175+10:00Panda bears and teracotta warriors This isn’t so much a blog post as an excuse to post some cute pictures of panda bears. Yes, I’ve been visiting the panda sanctuary in Chengdu and have fallen for these big lazy puddings. Pandas spend their lives either eating bamboo or sleeping and manage to cultivate a look that says ‘I’m seriously laid back’. They always find themselves a comfy spot and something to recline against seems to Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-87285934596288077022010-07-22T11:22:00.003+10:002010-07-22T11:46:43.968+10:00Day 4: a burial and a weddingThe morning dawns clear and sharp. The pills seem to have worked. My headache is nothing but a dull pulse and I can face food again. But at this height, 4100m, the air feels thin and the sunlight has a sharpness to it, even at 7am. I’m glad I’m feeling better because we’ve been invited to witness a local sky burial, which takes place on one of the mountains that stand sentinel around the town. A Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-5037791103320681072010-07-21T19:52:00.009+10:002010-07-22T11:13:52.218+10:00Day 3: Litang: the wild wild westOn the third day we take another bus ride, just a short 3 hours through more awesome scenery – from alpine meadows of pine and grass to high plateaus where huge boulders are scattered.When we arrive in Litang it has an unprepossessing look to it. The streets are dusty and the detritus of incomplete roadworks lies everywhere. Walking on the pavement is a risky business, deep holes appear at Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-20051640849991500822010-07-21T19:20:00.004+10:002010-07-21T19:29:37.544+10:00Day 2: Monkish hospitality in DaochengWe spend the night in Daocheng at a colourfully decorated Tibetan inn called Here Cafe and the next day hire bikes and ride into the countryside to visit a monastery we’ve been told is about 10km away. We cycle out of town and spot the monastery up on a hill; it looks quite close. But as we turn off towards it the road starts to climb. Not steeply but steadily, for some 6km or so. We can see it Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-84906787839609586782010-07-21T19:04:00.004+10:002010-07-21T19:14:21.646+10:00Tibet Szechuan Highway Day 1: Ain’t no mountain high enoughThe four day bus ride across remote north west Szechuan turns out to be one of the most jaw dropping travel experiences I’ve ever had. It starts innocuously enough at 7am on a Friday morning when we (Dutch couple Lisa and Milan and I) catch the bus in Zongdian. Sharing the bus with us are Tibetan men of all ages – all smoking heavily and most dressed in sheepskin coats, many wearing cowboy hats. Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-5721112495017868362010-07-21T18:56:00.004+10:002010-07-21T19:03:50.383+10:00Not my Shangri LaZongdian, in the north of Yunnan, is a little town with nothing really special about it. Set in a valley, the architecture is lack lustre and the landscape surrounding the town less spectacular than most I’ve seen in Yunnan. Perhaps recognising this (and the steep competition that the rest of the province offers in luring the tourist dollar) the local authorities decided in 2007 to rename the Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-81020791358464397942010-07-21T18:50:00.003+10:002010-07-21T18:56:05.462+10:00Trekking Tiger Leaping GorgeReluctantly leaving Shaxi behind, we head north. Rolling hills are replaced by cloud topped mountains and the air becomes noticeably cooler. We’re on our way to walk Tiger Leaping Gorge, a two day trek along goat tracks over the mountains and beside tall cliffs. The walk starts with a four hour steep uphill hike. After an hour on a winding tractor road the track veers off and across the hills. Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-30775266368828155262010-07-21T18:43:00.005+10:002010-07-21T18:49:57.429+10:00Market day in Shaxi When the bus driver drops us off on the main street in Shaxi it looks like a run of the mill rural Chinese town; albeit one in a beautiful natural position – a green valley surrounded on four sides by high, pine forest covered hills. We shrug on our packs and ask directions to the hostel. Locals point us down a side street and when we turn it is like stepping back in time.We’re on a tree lined Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-58327945928147432492010-06-23T18:21:00.007+10:002010-06-23T19:14:43.227+10:00China girl I arrived in China last Friday and fell in love with the country immediately. A row of taxi drivers greet me as I exit customs. ‘Taxi?’ one of them enquires half heartedly. I shake my head. ‘But,’ I say, ‘I’m looking for a bank.’ I’ve arrived in China without a single yuan, as the banks in Vietnam won’t sell foreign currency.I show the drivers my bank card and mime taking money from an ATM. TheyTrish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-10857136917347993162010-06-17T19:46:00.007+10:002010-06-17T20:49:22.178+10:00Time for goodbyeIt's my last day in Vietnam and to be honest I'm pleased. It's been hot. It's been hectic. It's been hassley. And I'm ready to leave. Vietnam is the most beautiful south east Asian country I've visited but there's something missing. It's taken me until my last day to put my finger on what that is. I'm in Sapa, a hillstation in the country's north west. It's cool here (at last, a day under 30C) Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-65026985556318682912010-06-16T15:37:00.002+10:002010-06-16T15:50:17.826+10:00Bia hoi in HanoiIn Vietnam, beer is cheaper than water. A half pint of the local brew, bia hoi, will set you back the princely sum of 4000dong, that’s about 20cents. It’s no wonder that as the sun sets I invariably think to myself ‘maybe I’ll have a beer’. Tonight is no exception. I’m wandering the streets of Hanoi’s old town, absorbing the atmosphere and building up a thirst. I spot a bia hoi cafe and, dodging Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-79905931544701925052010-06-13T20:09:00.002+10:002010-06-13T20:17:25.161+10:00Nimh BinhWhen I arrive in Ninh Binh my plans of lying on my hotel bed under the air conditioning with a book are scuppered by the fact that it’s the city’s half day of power. Virtually every town in Vietnam has its electricity cut for half a day every other day; here it won’t be restored till 8pm tonight.I take a cold shower and go for a wander, in search for a cafe with a generator and air conditioning.Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-70099978279924374382010-06-12T00:30:00.004+10:002010-06-12T00:41:22.687+10:00Hard sleeperI’m not at my best at 2am. Unlike some night owls, I’m not the kind of person who thrives on the dark, welcomes late nights and embraces the decadence of sleeplessness. I like early mornings, waking refreshed with a long night’s sleep behind me. I'm tetchy when the alarm wakes me at 1am and I have to creep around the room, trying to dress and pack without waking the others in the dorm. I have a Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-87568436283135657852010-06-09T18:16:00.006+10:002010-06-09T18:54:53.193+10:00On the road againThanks for all your comments and support after my last post...after my three days in bed, I’m feeling much better. So I pack my bag, which is getting heavier by the day and now has a large lamp shade strapped to the side (it seemed like a good idea in the shop) and heft it on my shoulders. I’m on the move again. And, as if to reward me, the train trip from Danang to Hue is one of the most Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-35828603672422507932010-06-07T15:56:00.003+10:002010-06-08T13:12:29.713+10:00It's not all sea, sand and sunshineI’ve spent the last two days in bed with a cold, sleeping, reading in a desultory fashion and indulging in feeling a bit homesick and sorry for myself. Being ill does that to me wherever I am; I lie there feeling lousy and wracked with self pity. I think I enjoy it in a masochistic way. Luckily the hotel I’m in is a cut above some of those I’ve stayed on this trip. It’s peaceful and cool; my roomTrish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com3