tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10278196429305657722011-11-06T19:11:27.253+11:00One woman's journey from Melbourne to London by trainTrish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.comBlogger531100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-67521862768470962882010-08-25T23:02:00.003+10:002010-08-25T23:06:17.687+10:00

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+10:00

To 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+10:00

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+10:00

Morning 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+10:00

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+10:00

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+10:00

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+10:00

‘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.I

Trish 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+10:00

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+10:00

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. There’

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+10:00

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+10:00

The 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+10:00

On 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+10:00

We 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+10:00

The 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+10:00

Zongdian, 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+10:00

Reluctantly 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+10:00

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+10:00

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. They

Trish 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+10:00

It'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+10:00

In 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+10:00

When 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+10:00

I’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+10:00

Thanks 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+10:00

I’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 room

Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-573953234574421102010-06-05T17:06:00.004+10:002010-06-05T17:33:48.964+10:00

Finally, after almost a month of travelling by bus, boat and moto, I’m back on the train with a ten hour journey from Nha Trang to Hoi An. And it’s great to be off the road and back on the straight and narrow track.At first I don’t feel that relaxed about the experience. Getting on the train in Vietnam involves an undignified scramble, with everyone using elbows, shoulders and the kind of pushing

Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-60681845788961715812010-06-04T00:28:00.006+10:002010-06-04T00:51:49.512+10:00

Vietnam is home to some amazing architecture. Ho Chi Minh City in particular has plenty of interesting building, which surprised me as it's not generally considered an architectural gem. In central Saigon, 19th century French villas are hidden down side streets. With beautiful gardens and cool high-ceilinged rooms they make exquisite cafes. Add the Vietnamese talent for making delicious coffee

Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-52620355374111165152010-05-31T16:20:00.006+10:002010-05-31T16:37:16.367+10:00

On Friday I lose my traveller cool. Not only do I have a raging case of PMT (never conducive to zen-like behaviour) but I also find out that I can’t take the train to my next destination: Mui Ne, a small resort on the coast some 300km north of HCMC. I have to climb back on the wretched bus, which then takes seven hours for a four hour journey. We have a driver so laid back the bus doesn’t hit

Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-46900565395763854102010-05-26T20:25:00.007+10:002010-05-27T20:16:21.297+10:00

Vietnam feels much more prosperous than Cambodia. On the Cambodian side of the border we stutter along a narrow two lane road with dusty verges and fragile skeletal bamboo framed homes right up on the roadside. In Vietnam, we're immediately on a four lane highway, with special scooter only lanes, landscaped central islands and pavements for pedestrians. The houses are sturdy and painted; the

Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-18800338675637246272010-05-24T22:08:00.007+10:002010-05-26T20:23:00.247+10:00

My last day in Cambodia and the country turns on the heat for me as the thermometer reaches 45C in Pnomh Penh. Combined with sweltering humidity I feel a bit like a roast dinner in a steam oven, cooking slowly and wetly. In a bid to beat the heat, days start early here. From 5.30am the cafes are pulling up their shutters. Moto drivers stretch and scratch by their vehicles and sleepy eyed women

Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-37366834429730752162010-05-24T22:01:00.003+10:002010-05-24T22:07:39.346+10:00

Today I saw an old woman. Toothless, with wispy hair and a thousand wrinkles she leant on the arm of a younger man and walked slowly along the road. And it came to me suddenly how few old people there are in this country.Everywhere you look you see children, teenagers and those in their 20s. According to statistics, 50% of the population is under 18. Looking around it feels as if another 45% are

Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-33451430062339786992010-05-23T13:06:00.003+10:002010-05-23T13:11:12.262+10:00

Cambodian food is, as you’d expect, a cross between the chilli and lemon grass flavours of Thai cookery and the oyster sauce stir fries and herb filled spring rolls of Vietnam. My favourites are the eye wateringly hot soups, clear broths for the most part, usually fish based and filled with lemongrass, lime, chilli and garlic. I also like the herby fresh spring rolls – mint, basil and coriander

Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-1279752309636981582010-05-20T20:58:00.005+10:002010-05-20T21:26:46.500+10:00

I wake to find the mosquito net billowing about me. I raise my head and see Hannah kneeling at the foot of the bed.‘What are you doing? Why are you messing with the net?’ I’m half asleep still.‘It’s not me, can’t you feel the wind?’ she sounds a bit harried. It’s the middle of the night and I’m not in the mood to wake so I lie back down again, but a sudden crack of thunder over head forces me to

Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-22249619498896824142010-05-17T19:16:00.004+10:002010-05-17T19:34:17.840+10:00

Travelling by train in Cambodia was popular during French colonial times but both track and rolling stock were destroyed during the Khmer Rouge era and the war that followed. As you travel through the country you see abandoned train lines crossing roads and fields, weeds and trees growing among the sleepers. But just outside Battanbang in the country’s north west, it’s possible to travel 135km

Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-1625549951966720712010-05-13T16:50:00.004+10:002010-05-13T17:05:24.228+10:00

I leave Siem Reap at 6.30am to catch a water taxi to Battambang. The boat is 10m long with bench seats on either side. There’s just about enough room for two adults to sit opposite each other, with backpacks squeezed between our legs. The sides of the boat are open to the air and a soft breeze keeps us cool. It’s a nine hour journey to Battambang, through the rivers and tributaries of Tonle Sap,

Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-35472479127741710322010-05-08T21:56:00.002+10:002010-05-09T01:23:21.842+10:00

The sun rises to the snap and click of camera shutters. I can hear someone breathing in my ear and there's a bump on my elbow as we jostle for position. I’m at Angkor Wat trying to capture sunrise over this ancient monument but right now it feels more manic than magical. We left our guesthouse at 5am and joined a convoy of mini-buses, tuk tuks, motorcycles and cyclists heading out to the temples

Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-53977124617390125242010-05-08T21:48:00.004+10:002010-05-08T21:56:07.069+10:00

There’s a thunder storm crashing on to the roof of Bangkok’s Hualampong station when we pull out at 5.50am for the border town of Aranya Prathet, a six hour ride away. I’m sitting in 3rd class hard seats (wooden with stiffly upright backrests) and the fare is 48baht, less than £1. I haven’t had time for breakfast but at the first stop a team of women get on, each selling some kind of food –

Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-61678090128891228322010-05-05T22:14:00.005+10:002010-05-05T22:50:27.089+10:00

So it turns out I don't need to be Kate Adie. By the time I arrive here the Red Shirts and Thai government have reached an amicable agreement (for the time being anyway). Life in the capital seems to be back to completely normal - huge exhaust filled traffic jams, the scent of roasting meat and Pad Thai from numerous street restaurants and more Tuk Tuk drivers than you can shake a stick at

Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-66137601760943235672010-05-04T13:36:00.007+10:002010-05-05T22:11:36.177+10:00

Have spent the last two days travelling up the Malaysian Penninsula - 8 hours from Singapore to Kuala Lumpur where I spent the night then another 8 hours from KL to Butterworth, where I spent another night. Singapore to KL wasn't so interesting for most of the way the jungle has been cleared to make room for mile after mile after mile of palm plantations. They're souless when compared to the

Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-11114688006243320922010-05-02T20:27:00.007+10:002010-05-02T20:42:41.091+10:00

There are two main pastimes in Singapore: shopping and eating. Given that my backpack is already bulging out of its expandable top, I choose eating. You can eat well and cheaply here 24 hours a day from markets, food courts and restaurants. And with culinary options from China, India and Malaysia (among many others), there’s so much choice it’s hard to know where to begin...or end for that

Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-24889549935659924532010-05-02T20:15:00.003+10:002010-05-02T20:35:49.092+10:00

Flying into Singapore on a Friday evening is invigorating. On the left of the plane, the city stands confident, bathed in light. Skyscrapers reach glass and steel fingers into the sky. On the right, in the dark bay, a vast flotilla of cargo ships, a hundred or more, form a queue waiting their turn to unload and collect at Singapore’s port. Their lights, flickering red and green resemble a long

Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-78189358408431852512010-05-01T14:52:00.008+10:002010-05-02T20:40:15.385+10:00

Bathurst Island sits, jungle green, in the turquoise sea. Along with Melville Island, just across the water, it is the traditional home of the Tiwi people and remains an indigenous community that outsiders are only allowed to visit with permission from the traditional land owners. The ferry from Darwin, an hour away to the south, slows as it approaches, then winds its way up an estuary lined on

Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-68128025364482970732010-05-01T14:50:00.001+10:002010-05-01T14:52:17.018+10:00

Imagine an estate where unemployment is the norm, poverty, alcohol and drug addiction are rife. Child neglect and truancy are common and then a case of child abuse is discovered. The government acts. Benefits are no longer paid in cash, instead a Basics card is issued that can only be used for groceries and other basic needs. Alcohol is banned (unless you have a permit, which is difficult to

Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-10118140222655147782010-04-27T11:42:00.006+10:002010-04-27T18:18:43.688+10:00

Darwin and I don't exactly hit it off. Maybe it’s the heat. It’s not just hot (35C at best) but also seriously humid. The minute you step outside it’s as if an overly intimate and very clammy friend has grasped you in a damp and sweaty embrace and then, for good measure, climbed on your back for a piggy back ride. Every step you take you can feel him clinging hot and wetly to your back. Ten

Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-40768465130673713232010-04-24T14:21:00.010+10:002010-04-24T14:52:08.799+10:00

I'm writing this sitting in my Gold cabin on The Ghan (I was upgraded, hurrah!), sipping a cold beer, waiting for lunch to be called and wishing the journey would never end. The cabin is amazing. There’s a double bed at one end, a fitted wardrobe and a table with two armchairs, one beside each window. At the other end, there’s a small fridge (filled with said beer and a bottle of champagne), hot

Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-53116400254710015102010-04-22T11:47:00.000+10:002010-04-22T11:55:06.948+10:00

Alice Springs hunkers low between the rust red hills of the MacDonnell Ranges and the sandy bottomed Todd River. At 8am the day is cool and clear, with pale blue skies and a gentle breeze but already the air carries a hint of the temperatures to come.By late morning the heat is shimmering from the corrugated iron roofs and the bitumen streets feel molten beneath your feet. Shopkeepers retreat to

Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-2489193069463582532010-04-20T09:04:00.000+10:002010-04-20T09:22:00.048+10:00

I’m about to board The Ghan and traverse Australia from south to north and I’m so excited that I ask another traveller to take a cheesy photo of me beside the train. It’s an impressive beast: 29 carriages, 710metres long in total and with 28 crew, including five chefs.This is the first sleeper leg of my trip and I love my basic little cabin with its neat fold down beds and fold away sink. As

Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-23547183224162213342010-04-17T19:55:00.000+10:002010-04-17T20:19:17.130+10:00

Before I left Melbourne I was chatting with a young guy in one of the city’s outdoor shops about this trip. My travel plans were met with unanimous enthusiasm until I mentioned that my first stop was Adelaide. His face fell and he said, ‘wellllll...I’ve heard it’s OK,’ his voice suggesting the exact opposite. And it was with this less than ringing endorsement sounding in my ears that I set off to

Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-45717398874860145292010-04-16T09:22:00.000+10:002010-04-16T09:55:19.599+10:00

I’m underway! And it’s been a lovely first day of travelling on the Overlander through Melbourne’s western suburbs to the city of Geelong and then up into pastoral Victoria. This is wool and sheep country, the kind of country where once a jolly swagman might have camped by a billabong. Flat and open farmland is punctuated by weaving creeks lined with eucalyptus trees. Pink and grey winged galahs

Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-74359549614497070712010-04-14T16:40:00.001+10:002010-04-14T17:20:14.353+10:00

or find myself a toy boy lover? That's what I'm thinking 12 hours before the first leg of my trip. I have butterflies the size of elephants and an almost constant urge to use the loo. And I'm wondering why, for my own personal mid-life crisis, I decided to travel half way round the world by train. I like trains but right now all I can think of are all the sweaty and overcrowded commuter trains

Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-37006124552151022192010-04-11T12:22:00.001+10:002010-04-11T12:31:53.864+10:00

I’ve spent the last two months in Australia preparing for this trip and arriving here after the gloom and austerity that currently pervades Britain and Europe has been a bit of a shock to the system. Australians often call their home ‘the lucky country’ and the sobriquet feels particularly apt at the moment. Australia is one of the few economies in the world that has managed to avoid the global

Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-39917653049356511732010-04-10T12:43:00.001+10:002010-04-24T14:45:03.349+10:00

Travelling overland to the UK you have a choice of routes but if you're travelling by train there’s only really one clear cut option.Here’s how it breaks down:- Melbourne to Adelaide: 8 hours/828km- Adelaide to Alice Springs: 24 hours/1559km - Alice Springs to Darwin: 24 hours/1420km- Darwin to Singapore (fly): 5 hours/3313km- Singapore to Bangkok: 3 days/1946km- Bankok to Phnom Penh: 1 day/

Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1027819642930565772.post-5605515697479072232010-04-06T17:19:00.000+10:002010-04-06T17:25:53.021+10:00

For the last 20 years I’ve been flying back and forth between London, where I live and Australia, where my parents and my brother’s family are, at least once every other year. It’s a tedious 24 hour flight that feels endless and saps your will to live, particularly if you make the mistake of following your journey on the in-flight map channel, where a small plane charts your progress across the

Trish Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02373357671060847411noreply@blogger.com2