Photo by hawkins_hnotk

It was supposed to be a relaxing holiday in Vanuatu. A bit of snorkeling, a few drinks and a giant book to read. However, as we all know things never turn out as just as planned and I had plenty of time to reflect on this as I sat on the sand in the dark, drenched by the monsoonal rain, scouring the reef looking for a man in a canoe to arrive with my kava.

It started out innocently enough. I was invited to take part in a Kava drinking ceremony, in what I thought would be a nice cultural exchange – a good way to start my holidays and would alleviate any guilt for what was planned to be two weeks of slothful relaxation on an almost deserted island. So I happy accepted, though as I sat waiting for hours, dripping wet and wondering which of the mosquitos on my arms were malarial, I wondered what I had gotten myself into.

Kava I am told, is traditionally drunk at dusk. It’s somewhat of a social lubricant; villages have avoided wars, marriages have been approved and more recently building permits granted, all over a few shells of kava. It’s a mild narcotic; rather than getting you drunk it makes your body feel almost stoned, but your mind is still active. Kava also has the added benefit of being an appetite suppressant and more than a few New Caledonian French tourists have been known to use it to loose weight.

It tastes disgusting. Like dirty water and chopped grass.  It used to be prepared by having young boys chew on the root of the Piper methysticum (Piper being Latin for Pepper, Methysticum meaning ‘intoxicating’) plant, saliva mixing in with the mushed root. You, like myself, would be forgiven for wondering about such a person to whom this would appear to be a good idea: “Here’s an interesting tree root – round up the boys, Ima gonna get ‘em to chew this for a few hours, mix it with water and drink it to you know, see what happens”. Luckily the village tweens did as they were told though. As I’d soon find out, Kava is spectacular.

We noticed a light out on the reef, slowly becoming bigger until we could see the outline of what seemed to be a very relaxed man in a canoe. The kava had finally arrived.

The first shell (for all kava should be imbibed from either a purpose made cup, or a coconut shell) makes your mouth tingly. Like you’ve visited an incompetent dentist who missed your gums and shot the Novocain straight into your cheeks. You can’t sip kava, you’re body will reject it. You must scull it, preferably with a chaser – for which beer works nicely – though nothing quite prepares you for the foul aftertaste.

We sat around a table, an even mix of travellers and Ni Vanutau (the collective term for a group of people from Vanuatu). While we waited for the full effects of the Kava to kick in, the preparation process was explained. The chewing technique of yore has been replaced by machine that grinds the root, which is then soaked in water until the liquid turns to watery chocolate milk colour (I was relieved to hear this though couldn’t help but wish it was explained to me before my first shell). Most of the Pacific islanders drink Kava, though it is apparently much stronger in Vanuatu. We were told that you find most kava bars by the red or blue lights that are displayed on the side of the road; the light stays on until the kava runs out. In Vanuatu, kava bars are only frequented by men, though there is a relaxed view towards foreign women attending. Each bowl at these bars sells for 100 Vatu, or about $1, which makes for an incredibly cheap night.

There’s a lot of spitting and coughing involved when drinking Kava, it’s disconcerting and reminds me of what seems to be the national pastime in China. I found it difficult getting into the Kava groove with the guy next to me coughing up a lung, but I persevered.

It was time for the second shell. Straight down the throat, half a beer chaser. Immediately I noticed the tingly feeling spread to all of my face, and down my neck. My body started to relax and I had a feeling of being quite happy with, well, everything.

I traced my teeth with my tongue for a while – which felt fantastic – and chatted to my spitting and coughing friend. The conversation was relaxed, until I mentioned the growing pool of phlegm at his feet. He thought this the perfect opportunity to remind me that up until not long ago, cannibalism was rife in his country (the last recorded incident was about 50 years ago). In fact – he said with a look that rapidly countered the relaxing affects of the kava, he even knew a guy who had once tasted human flesh. I excused myself quickly, something about needing to go to the toilet. Returning after what seemed like only a few minutes, I was told I’d been gone for about half an hour. This seemed peculiar, though who knows. The rain had stopped and I could see the moon come through the clouds, lighting the coral beach in such a magnificent way, I felt as though I must go for a walk, and I really had no say in the matter. The kava had well and truly kicked in.

Later, I sat on the beach, about 20 metres away from the group. I was looking at a piece of coral, admiring the shape, the way the light from the moon bounced off it, and then it moved. Well, scurried. I think it was hermit crab, though I can’t be sure. I named it corab (half coral, half crab). Someone in the group called out to me that it was time for our third shell. I replied that it had only been about 15 minutes, but was told that it had been well over an hour, though who really knows.

I went back to the group, and prepared for round three, my body protesting but my mind keen to see where the kava train would take me. We stood around in a circle and reluctantly sculled our Kava, then half a beer chaser. My body went to jelly; I needed to sit down. Gulping the remainder of my beer, I studied the faces in the group. The Ni Vanuatu, in between spitting, seemed very relax, a sentiment I also shared.  One of the Germans in our group was looking a bit green. I was about to ask him if he was ok, when he promptly threw up. A French guy in the group chuckled at this, mumbling something condescending about Germans all the while furiously rubbing his own knee caps. The other Australian that was there was staring intently at a moth that was dangerously close to becoming a Gecko’s midnight snack. The whole scene started to look pretty sad so I took my leave and stumbled in the general direction of my bungalow. On the way I tripped over and fell on my back. I stared at the moon, falling in love with it’s colour and shadows. After ten minutes someone walked passed and helped me up, though they said I had left the group about an hour ago, at which point I was convinced there was an international conspiracy afoot, orchestrated to fuck with my sense of time.

As I lied in bed, unable to sleep from the buzzing in my head but enjoying the faint rumblings of distance thunder, I decided that from then on I would stop at two shells.  Maybe.

This guest post is written by my friend Jon, a traveller and bar tender in Quito, Ecuador. Besides pulling beers, Jon is actively involved in placing people in volunteer positions around Ecuador.

I asked him to write a few words on volunteering in the Galapagos.

For me, and countless others that I have met here, travelling is an active endeavour. It’s what I call adventure. The enjoyment is taken from participating in a new environment, exploring the terrain with an active imagination, and meeting people in cultures vastly different from those we came from only to discover that we have similar interests and share mutual passions.

One area of Ecuador where people don’t take full advantage of their surroundings in this sense is the Galapagos Islands. Most of the people who go there take cruises. It’s the way it works, and few question the standard practice beyond trying to sort out a last minute cruise either by booking in Quito once they arrive, finding a deal over the internet a few months before they get here, or taking a chance and flying to the islands in search of a last-minute spot being left open on a boat.

I have always found this restricting in the sense that travelling to me involves more than cruises. Not to say that I dislike cruises. It’s just for me, The Galapagos are the same place that inspired Darwin, were the home of pirates, and which offer a glimpse into nature that one rarely sees in one place.

It’s also counter-intuitive to the environment. Tourism is responsible for much of the wear and tear inflicted on the Islands. Quarantines are disregarded, pollution is shocking, and many efforts to preserve the ecosystem are overlooked by the majority of people who live and travel there each year.

One of these efforts that I have a huge respect for is conservation. To break it down simply,conservation in the Galapagos is crucial to keeping the islands vibrant and growing. Organisations like the Darwin Foundation and Jatun Sacha work diligently to repopulate native species of plants that are in danger of extinction. Over-forestation and invasive species of plants brought in on cargo ships that supply the islands with fresh fruit and vegetables daily literally choke out important aspects of the
ecosystem if left unchecked.

A new breed of travelling has emerged here out of this dilemma that addresses all of my points so far, combining volunteering and travel. Though at first glance many dismiss this option as a sort of backpackers’ way to see the islands while saving money spent on cruises, it’s actually more involved than this and deserves attention.

The nuts and bolts of these trips are best illustrated if referring to a specific program and I am using three week volunteer \ travel trip organized by Lead-Adventures in Ecuador as my reference.

• The trip costs roughly what it costs for an eight day cruise and is all-inclusive once volunteers reach the islands and pay the entrance fee at the airport.

• The three weeks are spent on three Islands. First on San Cristobal, then on San Cristobal at the Jatun Sacha biological station, and the last week is spent enjoying the beauty and wildlife of Isabella.

• The work involves clearing space of out of control plants and reintroducing native species that are used for their unique properties by locals.

• Time is spent communally alongside locals who run the projects who offer an educating view of their home and a refreshing attitude towards visitors. They like spending time with those interested in helping.

• The accommodations are in hostels, volunteer lodging, and at a homestay.

This program works for me. It combines all the elements of my way of travelling and injects a fresh perspective to the islands that I look for when discovering a new place. The idea is inspiring, the itinerary is well organized, and when all is said and done, the money spent is contributing to the health of the Islands. This is important to me as money from tourism doesn’t stay on the islands as a general rule.

Working alongside locals makes things more personal. Helping to conserve the islands creates a different dynamic in these relationships that results in friendships based out of mutual respect for the common good. This is travelling.

When not volunteering, opportunities for adventure are at the forefront of the activities. Tours of each island’s exotic attraction are arranged and one feels encouraged to explore the nooks and crannies that offer pictures with participants as well as scenery. These are the moments that I find make new friendships form, present opportunities not seen to the naked eye, and create memories that stand out when in faraway places surrounded by familiar settings.

The places that are chosen for volunteers to stay are also comfortable to me because they offer social settings where I can find new perspectives from other volunteers and travellers. This is why I travel.

I find that sitting down for dinner at a hostel, with a group of people travelling, and in someone’s house create situations where interesting conservations are the rule and not the exception. Comparing notes with others who share my interests for travel often refreshes my passion for discovery while giving me the confidence to keep exploring.

Taking a leap and deciding to do something new like volunteer in the Galapagos isn’t always the easiest step. But for me I find it’s always the situations that begin with a challenge that offer the most reward and keeps me seeking out new horizons. If you have a similar spirit and are interested in finding out more information about the volunteer program that I mention here, ecotourism, or need a contact for anything about travelling in Ecuador, email me and check out my blog . I have a large network of trusted friends who I can recommend for Spanish Schools, Galapagos trips, Jungle adventures, and beach retreats, who came here with a traveller’s spirit and found somewhere and something that they call home and time well spent.

Follow Jon on Twitter

Don’t hang out in San Jose

Allegedly there are some nice areas and cool sights in San Jose. I wouldn’t know because I was too busy trying to fend off muggers, not step on heroin shooting junkies on the sidewalk, all while pretending not to look at the hookers literally earning their money in the alleys.

The taxi drivers also refused to take me anywhere cool because I didn’t want to pick up one of their prostitutes.

Do stay in Alajuela

Assuming you are flying in to SJO (Juan Santamaría International Airport) Alajuela is much closer than the actual city of San Jose. A taxi will run you around $25 to San Jose or just $3 to Alajuela.

There are plenty of small hostels / guesthouses in Alajuela and it’s very safe compared parts of San Jose. It’s not a bad launching pad for the sights and activities around the Poa volcano either.

Don’t take the Interbus shuttle

Nothing against them personally. I’ve heard nothing but good things but they run around $35-40 to the destinations I scoped out.

Do take a local bus

Most of the buses in Costa Rica are very nice and comfortable and they’re also considerably cheap. Last time I checked, it cost around $4 to go from San Jose to La Fortuna or $6 to go to Quepos. Both rides are around 4 hours so that’s not a bad deal for such a long distance.

This schedule should help but get there early to make sure it’s accurate.

Don’t reserve a hotel online

It’s true that Costa Rica is a major tourist destination, especially for backpackers, but it’s not as crowded as you would imagine. If you arrive late a hostel might be booked by the time you get there, but if you have the time, consider checking out the area for good deals.

Do just show up and look at a few rooms

I booked a private hostel room for three last year in Quepos which ran about $50. Not bad for three people, but when we took the bus to the beautiful Manuel Antonio beaches we found that there were plenty of hotels with amazing views of the Pacific Ocean for $25-50. These exact same places were listed online at a minimum of $100 per night.

Talk about slashing prices.

Don’t eat anywhere listed in the Lonely Planet

It’s not that the places listed in the guidebooks are bad by any means, but it appears they double or triple their prices once they get published. If it was listed as a budget restaurant in the Lonely Planet it ran around $10-15 for a standard meal. That’s around the same price as a standard meal where I live in Southern California–one of the most expensive areas in California I should add.

Do find the local soda

Soda’s are your typical Costa Rican eatery. Smaller than most restaurants, most soda’s only have a couple of tables and chairs outside. Many soda’s operate on the street corner with nothing more than a window for you to order your meal. They’re a step or two above food carts on the street.

The best meals I have had in Costa Rica cost around $3 from local sodas. The menu usually isn’t very large and will feature several comidas (typical meals) with your choice of meat. One night it’ll be fresh vegetables and rice, the next it’ll be french fries. It all depends on what they have on hand and what’s fresh.

Don’t party and drink your vacation away

I’ve met plenty of backpackers who sleep most of the day and party most of the night. That’s fine every now and then, but Costa Rica has a lot more to offer visitors than $1 Imperial beers and happening clubs.

Do get out and enjoy the scenery

There is too much to do in Costa Rica to list them all here. Consider white-water rafting, zip-lining through the rain forest, a beautiful hike, or even renting a surfboard and chilling on a beach.

Follow Jeff on Twitter or read more of his travel tales at Have Pack, Will Travel

A last minute road trip I couldn’t refuse.

Jeff from Have Pack, Will Travel had a just over a week in Thailand, visiting the northern city of Chiang Mai – a place I hadn’t been to in my previous trips to Thailand.  He was gracious enough to invite me to tag along.

I rarely need an excuse to go overseas and this was no exception. While it would mean stretching all available leave options at my office job, it would afford me the chance to finally meet my travel writing boss and it’s hard to turn down a opportunity to eat some cheap and tasty Thai food.

I booked my tickets and we brainstormed a few activities to do, trying to fit in as much as we could in as little time as possible.  There’s always plenty to do in Thailand but our trip this time took on a purpose a bit different from the norm: we were going to motorbike from Chiang Mai to Pai – some 762 hairpin turns through the Mae Hong Son loop – one of the most scenic regions in the country.

View Larger Map

The first cool thing about Chiang Mai is that everyone seems pretty ok with you being there.  Not including the night bazaar, there were next to no touts trying to sell you treks, suits or prostitutes. In fact the whole lack of visible sex tourism was a welcome difference from some of the other well-known tourist haunts. People wanted to talk to us with no hidden agendas, and that’s a refreshing change to Bangkok and some of the places down south. Another cool thing about Chiang Mai is the food.  It’s spicy. You’d be right in guessing that the author of SanchezJalapeño is partial to a bit of chili, so the food was a bit of a highlight. It’s frustrating when you say you want something spicy but perhaps because you’re a farang you’re dished up a mild green curry, which has happened many a time. Not so in Chiang Mai.

The first stop for us a stroll through a few Wat’s, then dinner at the walking street market, which happens on Sunday nights.  Walking street however seemed to be a bit of an understatement as the fucking thing continues for miles. Blocks were sectioned off to house all the market stalls – everything from I heart Chiang Mai shirts, giant funky oil paintings, and dried fried insects.

Video © havepack.com

We planned an early night these things rarely go to plan and I spent a majority of the night drinking cheap scotch on the roof with an ever-rotating group of backpackers and my Australian friend Steve, who was along for the ride.

6am came and we groggily woke, showered and mounted our beasts – 3 automatic 100cc scooters which were to be our chariots for the trip to Pai.

The outskirts of Chiang Mai is an amazing place to be early in the morning. We passed songthaew’s crammed full of school kids waiving at us and Monks holding out their alms bowls collecting rice from the people on their way to work.  It’s probably an hour on the main road out of town before you reach the turn off to Pai.  Immediately the scenery changed, and the temperature dropped about 5 degrees. We stopped for breakfast at a small little café situated at the first of the 762 turns to come. After a breakfast of champions (or plain omelette and coffee, depends what your perspective is on such matters) we rode for a while before coming across a dirt path with a sign for waterfalls. We followed it 6km down an eroded dirt track, climbing little hills (no small feat considering we were on automatic scooters) finally arriving at a less than spectacular waterfall. But hey, the trip was good and I got the opportunity to place with a mangy dog I called bush puppy and take a photo of a scarecrow/laundry day.

Back on the main road we drove for a few hours before stopping for lunch.

I ordered the Tom Yum, then realized just how far we were from the ocean – my prawns were hardly going to be the catch of the day. Oh well, it still tasted pretty good and my chili quota for the day was met. We found another side road that led to a geyser so we followed it, almost crashing into a family of elephants being walked up the road.

Video © havepack.com

It was this encounter that reaffirmed my love for travelling (not that it had ever really waivered) – To see these awesome animals being walked up a road at least 20 kilometers from civilization, their owners waiving at us and smiling for photos. The bush puppy that earlier had come bolting up to me, almost making me fall over the top of my bike. I was getting sad that the purpose of my trip here to Thailand was halfway through, the realization that I’d soon be back in my cubical set in. But still, can’t go around forever with that frame of mind so I snapped out of it and  we continued riding, Pai being only a few hours away.

The trip takes a lot longer than you think it will. Any traveller who says they can do it in less than 2 hours is a dirty liar. A local guy we met later that night said he did the same trip, does it every week and it takes him 3 hours. But no matter how long people say it takes them, all agree that the hardest and most complicated part of the ride is the last hour; basically a freefall decent down hairpin turns on the side of a giant cliff – made all the more difficult due to my lake of fuel, but luckily I could turn the bike off and coast most of the way down the mountain.

Before I knew it (well, in fairness 8 and a half hours after we left Chiang Mai) we were cruising into Pai – A small hippy town with a surprisingly large Muslim population set on the bank of the Mekong Pai river, near the Myanmar border. The town is a good base for exploring through some of the Hill Tribes, hot springs and elephant camps, but mainly survives on tourism, with Farang’s counting for most of the visitors until the release of two Thai romantic movies set in Pai (they do love their sappy romance movies) which has resulting in a huge swing in domestic tourist numbers.

Riverside Bungalow in Pai

We spent a few days in Pai, writing notes and checking out the town before we started to think about how to get back to Chiang Mai. We thoroughly enjoyed our epic trip here, but the prospect of doing it all over again wasn’t exactly high on our agenda. So we flew. Nok Mini flies a 12 seater plane daily from Pai to Chiang Mai for about $60 –which was was worth it just for the amazing views over Mae Hong Son, an added bonus being that the flight took 25 minutes.

If you are considering doing the same trip, here’s a few tips:

• Aya are the only company I could find that offer one way motorcycle rentals between Chaing Mai and Pai. At 120 baht they are incredibly cheap but the bikes were well looked after and services.

• Consider getting a GT rider map of the Mae Hong Son loop. It features detailed topography, dirt roads and suggested itineraries.

• Get travel insurance. The last thing you want is a hospital bill that  is $10,000+ just because of a motorbike accident.

• If you can, leave enough time to see some of the hill tribes, and continue onwards past Pai on the Mae Hong Son loop, I hear amazing things about Cave Lodge and can’t wait to explore there in early 2011.

Follow Shane on Twitter, read his posts at Havepack, or catch up on his travels here.

Have you noticed how many travel blog sites are out there? Heaps is a gross understatement. On Twitter alone I must follow at least 150 really interesting and informative travel blog writers. I’m always on the look out for new blog to follow - it’s such a joy to find a hidden gem full of interesting facts and travelogues on cities I want to visit or compare trip notes with.

That’s why I’m glad I stumbled across travelblogsites.com. I’ve been following this website for a little while now. They rank the webs best travel blogs on a weekly basis, and profiles the best ones daily. It’s sort of like a one stop shop for quality, independant travel writing. It’s run by the guys from travelpod (which in my humble opinion houses some of the worlds best travel journals… you can read mine here) and I’ve been fortunate enough to now have sanchezjalapeno.com join the TravelBlogSites community which I’m very excited about.

The site is a great resource while to while away a few hours, or get inspired by some really creative travel writing. Check it out or follow TravelPod on twitter

Follow Shane on Twitter , read his guest posts at havepack.com or catch up on his travels here.

The square of Djemaa el Fna sprawls out haphazardly, a big area that early on in the day can seem a bit vacant, but fills up completely come nightfall. At one end of the square there are restaurants and cafes, At the other -beginning of the Souqs, and if you venture that way can see the fine art of selling in overdrive as storemen press T-shirts and jewellery into your hands.

Locals and tourists alike find themselves here in Djemaa el Fna as the afternoon turns to evening, to meet friends or snap a photo, and of course to eat. This is why I’m here, to fill up on fresh food from the famous night market.

As I walk into the open space it is still very warm and at this time of the day more stalls are being set up for the nightly show. I’m early.

Take a breath and look around for a bit, you’ll be eating soon, I tell myself grumbling stomach. There is an atmosphere of excitement, as if a big party is about to take place.

This is exactly what it turns into in an hour or so, when all the stalls are up and running, people are everywhere chatting excitedly and looking around at the feasts in front of them. Produce is set out proudly and tantalisingly – a variety of fish and other seafood, kebabs of meat or vegetables, piles of fresh salads, olives and dried fruits. Other smaller stalls are selling mint tea or coffee with deserts of cakes and biscuits. Some I walk past specialise in just one thing, like snails, and a huge bubbling pot fills the entire little shop with a line of bowls next to it waiting to be filled and someone squeezed behind it smiling and waving for you to come closer.

The sounds of cooking are all around me – things are chopped, then sizzling on the stoves while spices and herbs are added, and smoke wafts around you as you walk, giving you delicious hints at what you could have if you stop at this one for dinner tonight. The stalls go on and on, a little temporary labyrinth built each night in the centre of the square.

Beside the food is an area where a visual feast is decked out – ladies sit doing henna tattoos, street performers all dressed up sing and dance, and round each corner is the possibility of walking into an area where snakes and their charmers, or a monkey on a leash can be found. I stick to the food but many are seduced into getting a photo taken with these animals – that or they have a snake or monkey draped on them before they know it.

Lights come on, the music swells and the food smells become too good to continue looking around any longer. I stop and see the variety on show in front of this stall, decide its where I want to be and point a few things out as my order, then sit down. A man places a paper mat down in front of me and some olives are set out. As I watch my food being cooked, I realise all my olives are gone – should never leave them alone with me for a minute – I’m given some more.

Then my food comes out – roast eggplant, kebabs, vegetable cous cous. Prawns, Moroccan salad, beetroot. I have been waiting for this all day. I get to work and more bread is placed beside me. The flavours are fantastic, that freshly grilled taste coupled with coriander, cumin and others flavours I don’t know. The olives are simple but with a light marinade of herbs. The bread is fresh and I mop up the juices from the salads and sauce from the kebabs and vegetables. I eat and eat and the night world goes on around me. More people duck in to sit at the long tables next to me and the routine begins again as they pick their food and the chefs get to work. The music seems to get faster as I eat, whirling as the tastes whirl in my mouth.

After I’m done I slowly get up and decide I need to walk my eating odyssey off, still steering clear of the monkeys and snakes. The night is warm and everyone is happy, me most of all.

Marrakech is my first stop in Morocco and I don’t want to leave, a day here in Djemaa el Fna makes me hungry for more.

Follow Milli on Twitter, Flickr or read more of her travels here

.

.

.

Day one.  4:30pm.

My Easyjet flight arrives into Marrakech an hour early, but any time saved is quickly lost during the 2 hour wait in the Immigration line. The queue isn’t even that long, but it’s excruciatingly slow because all the immigration officers keep chatting to each other. The guy in front of me waits ten minutes while two officers seemed to be talking about the size of different breasts. Or watermelons. I don’t speak Arabic and it’s hard to say just by reading hand gestures.

© Milli Vukovic

Our Taxi driver flies through the peak hour Marrakech traffic, trying to get us to the Medina before it pours with rain. We dodge scooters carrying whole families, and men riding donkey’s with gas cylinders strapped to their backs (the donkeys, not the men) heading for the Djemaa el-Fna – The centre of the Medina and the location of the nightly food market.

We arrive at our Riad, or as close to it as our driver wants to go – the alley ways become increasingly narrow, so we are unceremoniously dumped by the side of the road. I scan the maze before us, scratch my head, and start to panic. Out of nowhere comes a guy with a cart – sort of like a wheel barrow mixed with a car trailer. Thinking it was a little primitive, but my feet were aching from the wait in the immigration queue, I start to hop in. The guy just grunts, glares at me and points to my backpack. Seems I’ll be walking, but my bag hitches a ride. I’m just happy that I’ll be getting to my Riad at all. After we arrive it’s starts to pour down rain, so I go to the roof and watch the electrical storm, getting drenched in the process. We go to bed early, I’ve got a busy day planned in the souqs tomorrow.

Day two. 7:00am.

© Milli Vukovic

No one is around, so I unbolt the giant Riad door and sneak out, headed for the Djemaa el-Fna. I want to see Marrakech go to work. The Orange juice sellers are just setting up so I get a freshly squeezed juice out of a dubious looking glass. I remember my guidebook telling me to not use the utensils and cups in the market– sound advice but how do you do that when it’s already been poured in a glass? It’s silly to be too precious about this sort of thing anyway, so I shrug, gulp down my juice and continue walking.

The square is slowly coming to life, and we go for a walk to a nearby Mosque. It’s especially beautiful, and it seems to have some relics in different states of repair dotted around the outside. Unfortunately some angry looking youths start walking towards us, one of them making suggestive comments towards my girlfriend. Her father tells me not to accept anything less than a Mercedes and two camels; these boys hardly seem like the type to pay up, so we quickly scat.

There is a fair bit of sugar in the mint tea

It’s souqs time. I gather my thoughts, attempt a calm Zen like composure and dive in. The Labyrinth is full of butchers carving camels heads, men selling ‘Genuine’ Genie conjuring rubbing lamps, leather bound journals and jewellery. There are dried fruits, olives, spices and preserved lemons in one lane. In another I find men cooking shawarmas , drying fish,  and a Dentist for good measure. My plan is to get hopelessly lost and maybe arrive back in the square for a tajine about lunch time. It works, if a little to well. All roads may very well lead to Rome, but they seem to stop by the Djemaa el-Fna first.

Lunch is a Moroccan Salad (coriander, tomato and onion) for starters, a vegetable tajine for the main, followed by a pot of piping hot mint tea. This comes to about 3 dollars making me a very happy little backpacker. After lunch it’s a quick trip back to the Souqs so I can pick up a new pair of sunglasses. The shopkeeper is friendly, and he asks what I will take to give him my girlfriend. I relay the conditions to him, he says that’s ok – he has  a Mercedes, it’s the name of his camel. No deal.

Before I realise, it’s dusk. The Djemaa el-Fna is alive with snake charmers, acrobats and the smell of roasting lamb. The nightly food market is well underway and we navigate through the stalls, being pulled this way and that by touts offering up such tasty morsels as lambs brain and cow intestines, we settle on a small restaurant and order olives, Moroccan salad, tajine, and fried prawns. A monkey escapes his handler and runs for freedom, but is caught after about a minute. Another monkey aided in the escape by jumping on the face of the handler. Good teamwork.

Fried lambs brain, if you're keen.

Day three. 2:00pm.

The train to Fès has broken down many times today, but this is the final nail in the coffin. Everyone has jumped out onto the tracks and we walk for a few kilometres to the next station. We’re packed like sardines into the back of a Mercedes, 4 people each over 6ft tall sitting and sweating uncontrollably on each other. It sounds much saucier in print than it was in reality. You haven’t really lived until you’ve had your nose crammed into the armpit of a ginormous, sweaty Moroccan man.

A bonding experience

With Fès still a few hours away we settle on the nearby town of Meknès. Again we are unceremoniously dumped from the car – it seems to be a national sport – and we find a hotel for the night. Meknès is pretty and cosmopolitan in the Ville Novelle (new town), and there are no other tourists around. The reason for this is that it’s a fairly boring city with not much to occupy a traveller. Still, I’m happy to see something off the tourist trail. 

Day four. 8:00pm

The train breaks down a few more times today, but always seems to spring back to life just as everyone disembarks. We arrive a few hours late, but it’s better than not at all. Tangier is beautiful. It’s a vibrant city where everyone seems happy, teenage couples hold hands and overlook the Medina from the lookout in the Ville Novelle, and bars give tapas for free. Yep – free. All you need to do is buy a drink, and they bring you tajines, fish, chickpeas and salad. I vow not to buy dinner once in the next 3 days.

© MIlli Vukovic

I’m enjoying a beer and some tapas in the ‘America’s Pub’ – which is decked out like a London tube station. A local introduces himself to me, when I ask what he does he tells me he’s a ‘business man’. He doesn’t elaborate. He does mention later that his job takes him to Spain all the time, and that he can speak 5 languages fluently. I feel very embarrassed with my one and a half languages, but he’s happy to speak in Spanish with me so I can work towards getting that to 1 and ¾ languages.

My new friend seems to know everyone in this town, he’s constantly shaking hands with people, and he commands the attention of the bar staff by a mere click of his fingers. It’s almost as if they fear him. He tells me he’s good friends with the chef as he walks into the kitchen like he owns the place. On his way out the bar he tells me that the chef’s going to look after us. He wasn’t kidding, I’m presented with fish piled so high I can barely see over the plate. I think I’m in love with this town.

Day five. 2:00pm

Holy crap, next door to the hotel is a Spanish donut guy! He’s got a tiny hole-in-the-wall shop where he sells these tiny morsels of heaven in bags of ten for about 30 cents. I’m in love even more now.

I go for a walk in the Medina, the souqs are much different to those in Marrakech. For one all the roads are paved here, and the shops have security systems and fancy lighting. Also most things are priced in Euros and are about 3 times as expensive as they were in Marrakech. I guess it’s to do with the proximity to Spain.

Lunch is at Anna e Paolo’s Italian restaurant. Freshly made ravioli and a bottle of Moroccan red wine for about 10 dollars each. I don’t think I can love any harder than I am right now.

Day six. 5:00pm.

Pretty much a repeat of day five. Lunch with Anna e Paolo, a walk around the Medina and up along the coast. We go to the bar which was the inspiration for Rick’s café. It’s an amazing piano bar in the ritziest hotel in Tangier. A scotch on the rocks cost me about 14 dollars. So I tell him to ‘play it again’ and then steal the toilet paper to take back to our hotel room;  we’re running out. It’s the little things.

Day seven. 11:00pm

© MIlli Vukovic

I’ve tried the tapas at most bars in the Ville Novelle. I’ve eaten so many Spanish donuts that the guy selling them has asked me to move in with him. I’ve walked around the Medina so much that I’m now timing myself doing laps, trying to beat my personal best of 10 minutes 22 seconds. And finally I’m relaxing with a coffee in hand, MacBook in the other watching Tangier pass me by. Tangier is the most un-Moroccan city in the country, but I find that I could easily live here, like so many artists have done before. William Burroughs and some others from the Beat Generation used to have a room in the hotel I’m staying in and Oscar Wilde, Tennessee Williams and Winston Churchill have all at one stage stayed longer than planned. I can see myself living in the shoddier, run down part of town, just me and my laptop in a sea view room writing away about the artistic decadence of Tangier. But then I look at my bank account balance; While the tapas are free the drinks certainly are not, and I realise I need to move on to cheaper pastures – I can’t live on Spanish donuts for ever, despite what the guy working there keeps telling me.

Follow Shane on Twitter , read his guest posts at havepack.com or catch up on his travels here.

Learn Chinese Mandarin on your iPod

An abundance of borsch, cranky provanistas and desolate, snow capped pine forests that stretch forever. Riding the Trans Siberian rail is probably the most amazing thing I’ve ever done. I often recommend it to travellers I meet along the way, but Soviet bureaucracy (amongst other reasons) stands in the way of a lot of people thinking they can do this on a backpackers budget. There is a ton of paperwork you need to fill out, and even more companies willing do complete this for you in exchange for your life´s savings. The thing is, with a bit of forward planning you can do it yourself for a fraction of the cost that a lot of people pay to ride the worlds longest railway.

When I was planning my trip I looked into getting a company to handle all the details for me. The cheapest I could find was through Vodka Train – a subsidiary of Sunlanders travel. They would take care of everything for me, and if I paid them, they would courier my passport around to all the embassy’s required and organise my ‘invitation’ to enter Russia (A requirement of all foreigners). Basically all I would have to do is sign the paperwork, submit a few photos for visas and fork over the cash. I paid them a deposit and they gave me a dossier explaining my itinerary, the places I would be staying and a cost breakdown.

I took a close look at the dossier. The journey I wanted to take departed from Beijing, visited Ulaanbaatar, Irkutsk & Lake Baikal, Moscow and St Petersburg. The trip was for 21 days (which included arrival and departure days, so really 19 full days), would be in 4 berth 2^nd class carriages on the train and dorm accommodation when we stopped along the way. The group size would be somewhere between 8 and 15 and there would be guides at stops enroute in the form of ‘Honchos’ – local students employed by the company to take us around the sites.

All up to do this trip with Vodka Train, it would cost me $3,990AUD (including a mandatory local payment of $150USD, payable to the Honcho in Beijing). As a backpacker this was an incredible amount to fork out, considering it didn’t cover any visa fees or meals, but as I was pretty naïve and hadn’t been particularly fastidious in researching, I didn’t really know if this was a good deal or not. I noticed in the price breakdown the hostel dorm I would be staying at in St Petersburg was listed as costing $70 dollars. I knew Russia was expensive but thought this was crazy, I checked it out online and the cost through the hostels website was $35!

I decided to purchase the Trail Blazers Trans Siberian handbook, and the Lonely Planet Trans Siberian guidebook. These books gave detailed information on how to purchase the tickets at each leg, the chaepest way to travel – but you run the risk of not being able to get a train for days if not weeks on the busier lines, a risk I couldn’t really run due to time constraints. Both books gave excellent recommendations for independent tour companies in many countries that can organise train tickets and one company they both mentioned was Real Russia– Based in Moscow with an office in London.

I requested a quote and was it was prepared for me in a few hours. 1^st class tickets (in a comparatively luxurious two berth compartment, including meals on the train) and the Russian visa invitation letter came to $3000AUD. For a 2^nd class 4 berth compartment the cost would be about half this. I opted for first class – the equivalent of 7 days travel on the trains without stinky cabin mates appealed at the time, but in hindsight I do regret that I missed out on this opportunity to share food, beers and interesting conversations with other travellers.

I had to organise the visas myself, but all this involved was filling out a few forms and sending my passport off to the embassy’s. My accommodation for the trip came to about $400 dollars (all in private rooms, twin share) so in the end I saved over $400AUD, travelled in style and got to stay in some really cool guesthouses, in some of the most amazing cities I’ve ever visited, for duration that I chose, not one decided for me. If I chose the 2^nd class cabins, I would have saved $2000AUD, more if I stayed in dorm accommodation along the way.

I’m not saying these sort of package tours are bad. Obviously these companies need to make a profit otherwise they’d be bankrupt. If you are short on time and don’t want to do all the research yourself then go for it. But if you’re a budget traveller with a desire to step into the unknown and figure it out yourself, then forget the tour, do the research and plan yourself one of the best trips you’ll ever take.

Hints and Tips

• The Trailblazers and Lonely Planet guides compliment each other. Fork out the dough and get both. The maps are better in Lonely Planet and the format is familiar, with good recommendations for accommodation and the history of the route, but the Trailblazers guide is full of interesting sights to see and practical information (like if you are a UK resident, bring along your triangle gas meter key, it fits exactly to the toilet lock so if you find yourself busting to go during the 8 hour border crossings you can sneakily let yourself in. Just be warned that it all goes onto the train tracks below…) the Seat61 website is a great source of information for all things rail.

• Bribe the Provanistas– they’re the cranky carriage attendants that make sure the water in the samovar is always full and piping hot. Bring them with a gift from your country and they get a lot nicer, I was even allowed to use the toilet while we were at the Russian border as long as I promised it was only a number 1, and they gave me some great Russian chocolates (which are amazing, so don’t bother bribing with chocolates -even the crappy no name stuff in Russia is better than most in Australia)

• Sure bring a book, but don’t bother with War and Peace, there’s too much to see, you probably wont get through half of it. Though make sure you are stocked up on 2 minute noodles – you can pick them up from the Babushka’s on the station platforms along the way – they sell everything including icy cold Russian beer, home made soups and pastries. Awesome.

You can read about my travels on the Trans Siberian here

Learn Russian on your iPod

]]> http://sanchezjalapeno.com/trans-siberian-on-the-cheap/feed/ 1 http://sanchezjalapeno.com/favourite-couple-of-days%e2%80%99-hangout-spot/ http://sanchezjalapeno.com/favourite-couple-of-days%e2%80%99-hangout-spot/#comments Sun, 23 Aug 2009 06:47:05 +0000 Shane http://sanchezjalapeno.com/?p=62

A city that surpasses every expectation. It doesn’t happen all that often. Sure, you would have travelled through some really impressive cities and had a great time, but how often can you say that you enjoyed every aspect of the place you’ve visited? The local inhabitants, public transport, funky bars, delicious restaurants, and the travellers you’ve met along the way. It’s not very often you can give the tick of approval to each and every one of these criteria which make for a fantastic city. Having said that, we’ve all been to at least one (and if you haven’t, turn off the computer, pack your bag, and head straight for the bus station. As long as your ticket doesn’t say Canberra, you should be ok)

To celebrate all those really cool places that we just stumbled into, every few weeks I’ll be asking some fellow travel writers what their absolute favourite city is from a different viewpoint.

This week I asked “What is your favourite ‘couple of days’ hangout spot?”

Paris

Photo by Milli Vukovic

When thinking of a place I would always love to pop over to and just hang out in, my thoughts easily turn to the eternal city of Paris, France.

While this beautiful city has many world famous sights and even more queuing tourists to view them, there is so much more to entice someone back again and again.

I love to discover another quirky little bookshop or funky boutique (window shopping only), and I will always attempt to master more of the scores of art galleries along leafy cobblestone streets.

Then I often end up just walking around slowly taking in the different architecture of the buildings and churches, or even stumbling on some extravagant gothic stonework found in shady cemeteries, interspersing this with stops for a coffee of course.

Be it summer walks in the immaculate parks or sitting in a warm café with a hot chocolate for winter there is always something I love to do here.

At some point in the trip I will endeavour to sit outside an eatery where the chairs are set up facing the street, and with a wine or a pastry in hand I will become a voyeur along with others  beside me, watching as the fashionable Parisians strut down the street while the afternoon sun warms us all.

Then the evenings pose quite the predicament – out to a glorious dinner and some theatre or find a tiny bar and listen to some jazz?

Being such an expensive city and me a poor backpacker it has never been somewhere I have been able to stay too long in, and not knowing the French language could never really see me get a good career here and call it home, but Paris is definitely a place I can return to and dream in for just a few days.

Milli Vukovic is a freelance photographer currently in Mexico, but is just as likely to be in Morocco this time next week. Backpacking around the world in search of the weird and wonderful, Milli is always on the look out for a the perfect shot, an amazing beach and the worlds best laksa. You can follow Milli on twitter or read her travel blog.

Casa Katy

My favourite hang out spot is perhaps not one you might expect of an article such as this one.

I know this is far too vague an introduction for an article on a website entitled ‘Sanchez Jalapeno – Spicy Travel’. I should really be documenting my exotic adventures in Spain, or describing in great detail the various blisses that come from lounging on a Thai beach whilst my colleagues back in Australia are grumbling about early starts and long hours at the office.

But the truth is that I have never been to Spain or Thailand. I did go to Italy whilst studying Italian in VCE, and loved Rome – in spite of the fact that my travel buddies (teachers included) left me stranded in a strange hotel because they were unaware that I was taking a nap. However, as I’ve only been to Italy once, I have come to the conclusion that it does not qualify as my ‘favourite place to hang out for a couple of days’.

How on Earth have I completed two paragraphs and one sentence without actually disclosing my favourite hang out joint? Would it be possible for me to captivate a travel audience for 300 words without this all-important piece of information?

I won’t deny that it would be a literary risk to embark on such a journey with my readers. And whilst I do like to take measured risks, as a budding publishable author, I have just enough fear and desire inside of me to let you know where my favourite travel spot is. I truly hope that my credibility within the fringe markets of writing is not lost as a result of my blatant audience-pleasing tactics!

I have 50-or-less words to inform you that my favourite place to hang out for a few days is at home. I recently bought my own house, you see, and I love nothing more than to fall asleep at night in solitude, knowing that I am at one with where I am at right at this moment.

It’s simple, and it’s me. One day I will explore Spain – I met a travelling busker from England who will be eventually settling in Spain with his wife. I have to meet their babies! They’re gonna make gorgeous babies. And a psychic once told me that England is where I will truly feel at home, although there are some definite holes in this theory. I am a complete wuss when it comes to the cold, and from all accounts, England seems to have one season, and it’s not summer, spring or autumn. Who am I to argue though? – psychics can tell the future, and this lady was a psychic. So she should know.

But for now…I’m setting up my life where I’m at. And where I’m at is enjoying my favourite hang out – home. Yep.

Sucre

Photo by Shane Brown

The judicial capital of Bolivia, isn’t La Paz, it’s Sucre. I didn’t know that before I arrived in the country, and from the moment I set foot in Sucre after 12 hours of dodgy buses I was enchanted by the place. All the buildings are white washed, the streets are clean, and the locals take pride in their town – They’re more than happy to recommend to you their favourite museums and art galleries (of which there are many) and the owner of a bar we were drinking at even gave me her bicentennial ‘collectors’ calendar, which catalogued for each month a significant piece of local history.

It’s a very affluent town, lots of cool clothing and department stores, and an abundance of funky cafes and bars, of which quite a  few have some Dutch influence (or owners); which means pomme frittes, European coffee and a good selection of imported beers. There’s heaps of Chinese restaurants which proves a good respite from the normal fare, and plenty of bars have wifi (at decent speeds too) which helps when you’re trying to update your blog and catch up with friends on Skype. One café even has a cinema upstairs showing the latest in Bolivian comedies (The white lama) as well as a few other alternative movies, like The Motorcycle Diaries.

This only scratches the surface of what Sucre has to offer, but as far as being just a place to hangout for a couple of days and recharge, you’d be hard pressed to beat here.