The straight line leads to the downfall of humanity

Leaving Vienna today via overnight train to Frankfurt to enjoy good ol’ NZ vegetarian cusine with C. and N.! Weather has been wet and I have seen but the merest fraction of what Vienna has to offer. No grand winter balls unfortunately, maybe someone will ask me next time?

Vienna. Capital of Austria, recipient of superb public transport and holder of an embarrassment of cultural riches. Mozart, Beethoven, Haydn and Strauss all lived here. Only 8 million lederhosen wearers live in Austria now, belying its history as the seat of the Holy Roman Empire for centuries. Bussed up a hill near Vienna surrounded by a bizarrely bucolic array of vineyards. Strange so close to the city, which is remarkably low rise. The Danube, that slut, also lazes through Vienna and alongside the (no doubt committee named) UNO City housing such UN organisations as the IAEA, the Office of Outer Space Affairs and of course the United Nations Register of Damage Caused by the Construction of the Wall in the Occupied Palestinian Territory (UNRoD).

The plethora of museums I took a crack at included the Albertina (impressionism exhibit), Leopold (Edvard Munch exhibit aka the Scream!), Kunsthalle Vienna (Berlin Wall exhibit), Westlicht Center for Photography (World Press Photo Awards 2009), Museum of Modern Art (MUMAK), the former Imperial ‘hunting lodge’ of Schöbrunn (mini-Versailles) and of course the Hofburg, the former imperial palace in the center of Vienna. Despite all this highbrow stuff, the highlight for me was Kunst Haus Wien aka Museum Hundertwasser. This is the museum designed by Hundertwasser himself (looks wicked from the outside), one of my favourite artists and probably the most world-renowned artist who ever called New Zealand home. That was of course the fascinating thing, he spent so long living in Northland and even designed a new flag for New Zealand as well as constructing the Kawakawa public toilets. His eco-philosophy appeals as well as his fantastic art. They were also hosting an exhibition of Annie Leibovitz, the New York photographer famous for taking pics of famous people which was also very cool. Unfortunately for me the gift shop was outrageously overpriced so no posters to take home (starting at 50 euros…).

My host works for the Federal Chancellors’ office  and we talked politics, philosophy and complexity theory late into the night. As in many European countries, the rise of the far right is a concern. In Austria the influx of immigrants combined with the economic recession has led to alarmingly high levels of support for parties such as the Freedom Party whose policies are basically anti-immigration and anti-Islam. The basis for this probably has deep roots within the Anschluss, or the annexation by Germany of Austria in 1938. Though it’s a pretty complicated issue which I won’t canvass here, it appears that it is still a live wire in Austrian political discourse to discuss the slow and incomplete de-Nazification that took place after the war. In addition to this, Austria is a deeply conservative Catholic country with a large rural population.

I also experienced the 20th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall on November 9 1989. One of the seminal events of the last 50 years and documentaries are playing 24/7 on all the channels. It’s hard for me to relate but I can assure you, the people I’ve met behind the Iron Curtain do. For some new school experience I visited Vienna University which is currently being occupied by the students demanding better learning conditions, an action I wholeheartedly support so I therefore bought a badge showing a university in flames. Awesome. The scene inside is fairly orderly, a peoples’ kitchen has been established to feed the masses (and the crafty homeless), plenary sessions denounce various issues: the far right, capitalism, incompetent university management etcetera but of most interest to me was my host assuring me, ‘they have parties every night’.

Experimental Music. I accompanied M. to the world premiere of two new pieces of music. I was here to be wowed by the famed Viennese passion for classical music, or so I thought. The two pieces included a combination of the oboe, tuba, cello, flute, bass flute, piccolo, bass clarinet and a clarinet. What resulted was a cacophony of discordant screetches, bassy plugs (presumably caused by the tuba which had something resembling a bucket stuck in the top of it) and fluttery sighs. I never knew these instruments could make those sorts of sounds! There was whinnying, gurgling, squawks, quacks, atonal hisses somewhat reminiscent of a deflating LiLo, pops, plops, gasps, groans, tweets, a sound suspiciously like the death rattle of a dying man, huffing and mooing. Utterly unlike anything I have ever heard before.

The baffling pieces were summed up (for me) by one of the Warholian critics (complete with knitted cardigan and wig-like hair) who sat down and offered a distinctly Austrian post-assault analysis of the songs on our senses. At least that’s what I assume they were talking about. They could also have been discussing the virtues of black horn-rims versus rimless spectacles. M. translated that Warhol #1 noted that the first song reminded him of a grossly fat woman lying in bed who was refusing to get out – put him on the couch I say… The audience nods sagely and hmms in approval as the virtuosos returned to inflict the compositions on us once more. Next time I’ll go listen to some Mozart…

Tak, mmm, tak tak

I’m in Vienna, Austria staying with M., a friend from Tibet!

Poland. Land of pierogi and suffering. Poland has an unfortunate habit of being conquered repeatedly with Mongols, Germans, Russians and other assorted empire builders sweeping through regularly. For some reason, it seems to be a recurring theme in Eastern Europe for people to describe their histories as full of suffering. The Poles do not shirk this duty with plenty of reminders to me about this (in comparison the Tibetans of course seem rather happier about it all but of course their suffering is rather longer, infinite if you will).

Warsaw. I took the overnight bus from Vilnius to Warsaw. Most uncomfortable and due to some fiendish trick combining daylight savings and the fact that Poland have their clocks one hour different to Lithuania despite being on the same longitude, I arrived at 4.45am and spent some time hanging around the bus stop in pitch black darkness. I ventured on to my hosts’ house and her rabid dog Holka.

Warsaw was the scene of some of the darkest scenes of WW II. One of the largest Jewish cities in the world before 1939 with over 400,000 Jews was steadily reduced into two ghettos which were liquidated (a somehow sickeningly apt word) between 1940 and 1943 with around 450,000 killed, mostly at Treblinka or of starvation and disease inside the ghetto.

There is a very good museum called the Warsaw Uprising Museum which commemorates the desperate fight by the Warsaw partisans against the Germans in advance of the Soviets. It was one of the greatest betrayals in the whole war with the Soviets stopping their advance to allow the Germans to defeat the partisans and allow enough time for them to exact revenge by effectively razing the entire city (eight out of every 10 buildings were destroyed) on direct orders from Hitler.

Today, that means that almost every building in Warsaw was built after WW II and has resulted in some horrific architectural crimes. The Soviets rebuilt the place  in both the original version (painfully touristy Old Town) but mostly by giving free rein to Soviet realist construction on a vast scale. Monumental AND monolithic apartment blocks sprout throughout Warsaw. Despite this, the place kinda grew on me. Like Berlin, Warsaw is attempting to move to a reputation of art, music and thought rather than architecture. The University library however is a triumph of engineering and now a celebrated landmark with secluded nooks and crannies amongst the greenery on its roof. I am unaware of how much weed has been consumed up here, I can only surmise that the quantities are likely to be vast.

All Saints Day. This is a tradition celebrated in Poland (and other Catholic countries) where you visit cemeteries and light candles on the graves of your relatives, cleaning and sweeping away the autumn leaves and remembering the dead. I visited the largest cemetery after dark with a good crew of couchsurfers and we passed the TV trucks and waffle makers before entering the eerie confines of the narrow rows between the ornate mausoleums, mournful statues of angels and flickering candle light. Entering the catacombs you can see how famous any given Varsovian is by the quantity of candles in front of their memorial headstone. The memorial to Jewish Varsovians who died during WW II was especially moving.

Budapest, Hungary. I stayed with B. a friend from Austin, Tx! It’s getting colder but I am resolute that drinking to keep warm is the right strategy. Budapest is really made by the mighty Danube which flows through the middle of the city bracketed by stately palaces and bisected by many bridges. It happened that while I was there, Hungarians were  marking the anniversary of the Hungarian Uprising of 1956 during which over 5,000 died. This was a definiang event both in Hungary but also amongst the other Eastern block countries.

After Stalin’s death in 1953 there came increasing calls for greater freedom. After days of protest, demonstrations at the Parliament on October 25th led the State Security Police to fire into the crowd, killing many. Inflaming the country, this led to a bloody uprising with the Soviet troops garrisoned in Budapest eventually retreating to the countryside and the Soviet Politburo appearing to bow to calls to pull Soviet troops out of Hungary. A few days later the Politburo reversed their decision as it appeared that the storming of the Budapest Hungarian Working People’s Party building (on rumours of political prisoners being held there) resulted in lynchings of the political police guarding the building. This swift turnaround resulted in thousands of Soviet tanks invading Hungary and the crushing of a nascent independent Hungary. The PM, Imre Nagy was shot and buried in an unmarked grave. His statue now stands leaning on a bronze bridge railing gazing reprovingly at the Parliament building as if to remind those in power of the cost it took to gain Hungarian independance.

I ventured into the heart of the old city, climbing up to the castle to see the fantastic Hungarian National Gallery with a great view over the city to boot. The Ludwig Museum of Contemporary Art was great, showcasing one insanely awesome artist called Attila Csörgo (don’t ask me to pronounce it) whose kinetic pieces are unfortunately not on Youtube but, I assure you,  horrendously complicated and mind altering. Good stuff. Also visited the Terror Museum which chronicles the Hungarian torture machine history in WW II and the Soviet era. Powerful.

Hitchhiking. I decided to give it a go, seeing as I was getting low on funds and wanted to see what it was all about. Approaching this in a scientific manner, I perused hitchwiki.org for the best location in Budapest from which to depart to Vienna. I noted the advice about hitchhikers who make eye contact with drivers are 50% more likely to be picked up. I thus started by eyeballing the drivers at my first location, a petrol station close to the M1, the main motorway going north. After a 45 min stay, mildly frustration, I had learnt my first lesson of hitchhiking: location , location, location. There was little space for drivers to stop if they did like the look of me, so I picked up my bags and jumped on the next bus and relocated to a petrol station adjacent to the motorway, similar in looks to the mighty Bombay Hills BP. It’s all about quality not quantity, i.e. you want to widen your ‘funnel’ of potential drivers to ensure most of them are going your way and you want them going slowly enough so they can size you up.

Drivers are going to mentally say no for a multitude of reasons: he’s a man and I’m a hot single chick, I don’t pick up hitchhikers, my car is too small for his bag, he’s wearing a funny hat, I’m not going all the way to Vienna, I don’t have the time, I want to meditate, where do you think he hides his axe, he probably hasn’t washed in a week – dirty hippy and I don’t want him despoiling my baby seal fur-covered seats in the Beamer, daaarling.

It’s hard not to get discouraged, all those blank faces, sometimes fearful, sometimes stuffed with a mouthful of McDonald’s burger, or nodding negatively or with a slight shrug of the shoulders. After all, I used to be just like them and I can empathise. I wouldn’t have picked up me either! Good news being that I am now far more likely to pick up hitchhikers. It’s shit to wait in the cold for hours.

I reflected back to my conversation with Graham, an Irishman in Warsaw who had walked 25 km through the snow in the middle of the night to cross from Lithuania to Poland. Could be worse I told myself. Another friend told me she had hitched to and from school every day since she was 15 till graduation. How hard can it be? I finally gave in after detecting within myself a growing hatred of Mac-stuffed, Audi-driving Hungarians. Retreat turned into the Long March and I finally got on a bus to Vienna at 7pm after idealistically exiting the house at 10 that morning. The moral of the story is patently obvious. For some reason I come across as an axe-murderer.

Attila Csörgő

Alkulukuja Paskova Karhu

I am drafting this post sitting in the largest cathedral in Vilnius, Lithuania.  I have to say that even for an atheist, there is nothing to stir the emotions like sitting in a church with soaring pillars and flying buttresses (just for F.) listening to the stirring sounds of a choir singing the exquisite choral strains of Dvořák. From here I leave for Poland and its capital Warsaw. *Warning*, slightly longer post but I think worth reading.

Ack! So being the trusting being that I am I lent my camera to a guy in the hostel in Riga who had his camera (indeed his entire bag) stolen earlier in the month. Coming back from my days jaunting (ever tried it?) I came across a sorry-looking guy in the hostel bar, explaining the camera had been ripped out of his hand in the middle of Riga’s busiest shopping street!

After two hours in the Italian restaurant next door to the station to await the inspector (three wine carafes down), we entered Riga’s KGB/Soviet-chic central police station opposite an attractive translator and a leathery police inspector with bizarrely festive nail extensions – all very surreal (maybe the wine). I dislike the atmosphere of police stations in general. It’s as if the ill luck of legions of suspects and crime victims have seeped into the linoleum floors and industrial wallpaper.

Some obscure Latvian drama is playing in the background – ignored by all protagonists except for quick glances by the inspector from time to time. Translator wearing a police blue coloured jacket. Signing a completely unintelligible document in Latvian. T. waiting outside in the corridor sipping awful coffee. Fluorescent lights. Slam. Fin.

Riga. Riga is the capital of Latvia and has a population of 700,000  out of a total population of 2.2 million. It’s the largest city in the three Baltic countries. Riga’s prime attraction for many is its vibrant nightlife (and by extension the beauty of its women and British stag parties). In addition to the bars though is a beautiful old town mostly car-free with ancient Hanseatic guild buildings.

There are museums, art galleries, churches and cobblestone streets. Unfortunately much of the old town was destroyed in various wars especially WW II which explains the elevator in the highest bell tower of the cathedral. Great view from the top though. Outside the old town they have the world’s largest collection of German Art Nouveau buildings.

Like both Lithuania and Estonia, Latvia had horrific experiences under Nazi and Soviet rule and therefore Latvians are also intensely proud of their independence. There are concentration camps you can visit but I didn’t feel quite up to it. In the event, virtually the entire Latvian Jewish population of over 60,000 perished in the Holocaust.

Vilnius. Vilnius is the capital of Lithuania and the European Capital of Culture in 2009 and have really come to the party with a massive program of events as well as restored public monuments. It’s a very beautiful city (known as one of the greenest in Europe) and has a long and glorious history. There are a plethora of museums here to visit and many buildings of historical interests including a veritable cornucopia of churches; Catholic, Orthodox and Lutheran. Interestingly, Lithuania was the last country in Europe to be converted to Christianity from paganism, having a bad habit of martyring monks.

The defining event in recent history, as in all the three Baltic states, is unequivocably their independence from the USSR. The trigger event was the Baltic Way protests involved a human chain reaching almost 600 km from Vilnius to Tallinn. The days before independence (1990) had the potential of being far bloodier than they eventually were given the statement by the USSR Central Committee, “Should they achieve their goals, the possible consequences could be catastrophic to these nations. A question could arise as to their very existence.” As it happened, more people died in Lithuania fighting Soviet forces in the January Events than in the other two Baltic nations.

My host U. took me to Trakai, a very nice town west of Vilnius with a restored castle in the middle of a lake, amber souvenirs and home to a pleasingly obscure ethnic minority of Karaims. We returned to the bus stop and just as we arrived a fight had broken out between three shaven-headed louts and a middle-aged blocky man who had apparently refused to share his cigarettes with them. Kicked and hit, he held his own despite 3 to 1 odds and not one of the thirty odd onlookers (mostly older women to be sure) coming to his aid including YT. Never have I felt the lack of any martial art training so keenly. What was more bizarre is that after someone called out that they had rung the police, the thugs stopped attacking and even shook the victims hand and with shoulder clasp! Police arrived and I think they caught the villains. I must stress though, it was no worse than happens every weekend in Auckland’s CBD.

It reminded me of a event in Beijing when I was there, 200m from our hostel, where a man went insane and stabbed 14 killing 2. This is two weeks before the most sensitive event of the year in China (60th anniversary of the Chinese Revolution) with legions of police. Day after, armed police in every hostel/hotel lobby and SWAT police on every street corner. Talk about bolting the stable door. Point being we are cossetted in our cotton wool suburban lives unaware of the sharp edges of our society all around.

Russia and the Baltics. I felt somewhat abashed when it was pointed out to me the pain that my Communist Party t-shirt potentially gives to people. Similarly the resurgence of old Soviet propaganda posters and other kitsch that glorifies a regime which murdered more people than the Nazis. In fact the questions arises, why should we be more offended by Nazi symbology?

The catalyst of this thought was brought home to me by my host who asked me to watch a gripping documentary called The Soviet Story. It encapsulates the whole reason why, by and large, the Finns, Latvians, Estonians and Lithuanians not of recent Russian descent (immigrants after WW II), do not like Russia. If the NZ government can apologise to the Samoans, Chinese and Maori, can’t the Russian government apologise on behalf of the Soviet terror machine? In fact, what is worse is the way Russia is playing with historical revisionism, today. Scary. The rise of a new fascism in Russia? Not unthinkable. 

In one winter alone in the Ukraine in 1932/1933 around 7 million Ukrainians died from a man-made and augmented famine. War crimes were committed by Soviet soldiers and hundreds of war criminals are still living in Russia today hailed as honourable veterans. The documentary notes, ‘no-one wants to believe that their ancestors were simple criminals’. Further, the fall of Communism inflicted a national humiliation on Russia - belief in the heroic deeds of the past have allowed modern-day politicians to fashion a new strong post-Soviet Russian identity to replace Communism. But. The majority of Soviet dead before, during and after WW II were inflicted by the State, not on the Eastern Front. You might say the Nazis got the idea of the Holocaust, the practicalities you understand, from Stalin.

The Germans have come to terms with the crimes of the Nazis, Russia has elected to collectively minimise the facts and move on (archives opened during Yeltsin years have now been closed).  The scars on the psyche relating to their Soviet histories are very deep in the former SSRs. Russia has not confronted its dark corners of its history. When I travelled through Russia, the way the mass media, politicians and the education system whitewash the past is disturbing. I hope that the fantastic Russians I have met on my trip are able to objectively assess my opinion. I truly enjoyed Russia but those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.

Award ceremony! and it’s ok, nudity is part of the experience…

Dear all, six months since I departed from Auckland Airport. I have been to 11 countries, traversed 15 international borders and am still unmarried without dependants. After departing St Pete’s I took the bus to Estonia and am now sitting in a hostel in Riga, Latvia.

Estonia. Estonia is a former SSR and like many, still striving to create a stable identity acceptable to all its citizens. It’s on the Baltic sea and has a population of only 1.3 million. It has been called the Baltic tiger for its very high growth rates post-independence and has established a framework legal, economic and political in nature to enable it to position itself as an open economy keen for FDI. One feature of a world recession is that they tend to hit small, export-oriented economies hard and Estonia has been suffering, with an official unemployment rate hovering just under 12%. I stayed in Tallinn, the capital, with the high flying Oksana who is busy conquering the world on behalf of Skype (their largest office is based here).

There is a nicely restored old town complete with hokey medievally dressed actors beckoning alcohol-laden Finn’s to come into their restaurants. Effectively the Estonian tourism industry is funded by alcoholic Finns. The old town was cobblestoned, dotted about with restored Hanseatic buildings and phlegmatic Estonians. I also attended the 1st Tallinn Autumn Sauna and Lounge Party put on by the local CS community. It was great! Lots of heat, occasional nudity, lubricated by wine and beer as well as a hookah. Just quietly, I think sauna parties are the next bit thing…

Estonia is still scarred in ways and dealing with the legacy of being effectively a small rubber ball being hit between various countries over the last thousand years including Sweden, Germany and Russia. During World War II they were unfortunate enough to be first occupied by the Red Army, then the Germans, then the Red Army again. Many died and many were sent to the gulags. There is an interesting museum of occupation in Tallinn which documents it all, up to their independence in 1991. Of course the only thing that people hear about Estonia is the soldier and the attempts by Russian politicians to use it to their advantage in the great geopolitical game being played between NATO and Russia, when in reality its more complex. Ethnic Russian Estonians make up a significant minority, mostly having been relocated to Estonia after WW II to Russify the region and repopulate the area after the war. Many younger Russian Estonians are still grappling with this identity business. Good luck! I also visited the Kumu contemporary art museum which was fantastic. I can honestly say I now know more about Estonian art

Round-up. Well-met unknown personage. I am a traveller, not a tourist and its a role I am revelling in six months on. Indeed I left Auckland amid teary scenes at the airport from Tristan’s family (my own had wisely decided to depart earlier). What a journey, and one which has only whetted my appetite for more. Many people  have invited me to visit them and who am I to decline? My journey has taken me to Australia, Thailand, Malaysia, Laos, Vietnam, Cambodia, back to Thailand, Macau, Hong Kong, SW China, Tibet, Nepal, NE China, Russia, Estonia and now Latvia. I have suffered dollars, baht, ringgit, kip, dong, riel, patacas, dollars again, yuan, rupees, rubles, kroons and lats.  Highlight, lowlights and plain inscrutable events the significance of which wholly escape me have occurred. Like any great odyssey, awards are important to recognise these achievements of all stripes.

And the winners are!

*offbeat and bouncing drumroll*

Pentax shot of the day award for most beautiful place – tie between Koh Phi Phi at sunset and Olkhon Island, Siberia.

Biggest ‘Small World’ moment – Walking into a restaurant in Lao Tingri, Tibet and seeing Nan from work sitting there enjoying some tea!

Most debauched traveller(s) – tie between Belgian lad in Khao San Rd (a veteran now of AIDS tests every time a condom breaks for him…) and Mark in Nha Trang with his saucy session in the surf in front of about 150 onlookers…

The Dorothy ‘I wish I was somewhere else’ red shoes for sleaziest moment – sitting on beach in Cambodia next to a pasty, overweight Aucklander on a sex trip surrounded by women ‘young enough to be my daughter’.

Best and cheapest beer – Beer Lao, Laos.

Lonely Planet Gold Star award for dirtiest accommodation – The Green Hut in Kuala Lumper. I can’t get the image of bedbugs crawling down the wall towards me out of my head. Thanks LP!

Most luxurious accommodation – Oksana in Tallinn, hooray chocolate banana cake!

Closest to death – 2 hours of hell on a bus in Vietnam.

Plunger of the day for worst toilet – some hick Tibetan town public toilet which doubles as the place they dump dead dogs.

Best overall food – Thailand

Best meal – Close tie between grilled Mekong fish and pork Laap both in Vientienne, Laos.

Farang Shuffle toilet roll of honour for worst food – Tibet

The ‘wrong approach cockroach’ medallion for worst drink – cocktail at Brownie’s in Hue. Free but have some professional pride!

The subjective choice award for most beautiful women – Russia.

The ‘WTF’ electric shock endowment for most surreal moment – 3am rentboy wakeup call in Hanoi.

Best non-verbal communication moment – toasting with Rosa the Russian lubricated by a bottle of vodka in Zaibaikalsk.

Intrepid Travel voucher for commoditised mass tourism and despoilation – tie between Dali and Lijang, Yunnan, China.

Best museum – Hermitage, St Petersburg.

Non sequitur secateur of the day for oddest moment – finding a cake office on the fourth floor of an office building and being invited to eat the best damn chocolate cake I think I’ve had in years.

‘Good on ya mate’ badge for adventurism – Phil biking around China on his own.

The ‘Warren Buffet One Ton Biography’ Book Club stamp for best bookshop – Bookworm in Hanoi, Vietnam.

Nicest guest house staff – Giant Guest House, Chiang Mai, Thailand.

The Rattle Your Dags Medallion for mangling phrases in another language – Ilona

The Green Leaf of Happiness for bar with the best ‘view’ – High Bar, Koh Tao.

Self-Awards

‘Chump Tick’ for eating a meal in a restaurant in Bangkok and then realising I had lost my wallet and couldn’t pay. They are still waiting for the money I think…

The Kashmiri Golden Fleece(d) for buying a carpet even when I told myself I was only going to look, in Kathmandu.

The ‘One More Beer’ Tankard for sleeping in and missing my train to Russia.

The ‘Red Bull Bucket’ for dodgiest experience – Koh Tao outside the 7/11 grappling with Thai thief.

If you’re not prepared to be wrong you’ll never come up with anything original.

Sir Ken Robinson. TED

Moscow, St Petersburg and saying hello to Oleg’s little friend

Colleagues, friends, lovers of dynamism and rusty cogs. I have struck winter in St Petersburg, having been caught out in the first winter snows of the season, somewhat of an about turn from the tequila sunrises on the beach in Thailand. Fewer lady boys too. In any case, I have ventured from here after my Russian visa expired onto the bucolic seaside capital of Tallinn, Estonia. At least I wish it were bucolic, latest weather reports have the high at 6 deg C and a low of -2 deg C. Positively tropical…

Moscow. The capital and a massive conglomeration of wealth, power and Soviet-era apartment blocks radiating outwards from the historic, and current, heart of the city, the Kremlin, I couchsurfed with Katja and Nastia, and the traditionally Russian male Yevgeniy in the 17th floor apartment which overlooked a park set aflame by the morning sun and glowing sunset. My days in Moscow were spent riding the comprehensive, gloriously mosaiced and resolutely symbolic Metro. They say (I always wondered who this ‘they’ were) the Metro is one of this highlights of a trip to Moscow and they aren’t wrong. Fearsome war-era Soviet women scything wheat with a proletariatian determination, ecstatic factory workers polishing the latest impractical tractor design and Lenin with his jutting chin and broad forehead leading the country ever onward into a utopian future. Merely by swimming in the sea of commuters in this triumph of Soviet wartime engineering I felt uplifted and ready to throw off my capitalist shackles.

Kremlin. The red brick walled fortress dominates the centre of the city, surrounded by appropriately massive buildings on all sides. It contains the residence of the President of Russia and previous Soviet leaders. Outside it n a small marble block-like bunker, the waxy marionette of Lenin lies, inspiring few and fascinating many. Inside, the government buildings lying tantalisingly close, barring only the serious looking policemen. Stepping lively to avoid frequent cavalcades of black tinted government Audis zooming in and out no doubt bearing hookers, drug couriers and members on the FTA negotiating subcommittee on Zambian cross border trade. There are a clutch of cathedrals with spectacular frescos and imposing walls of icons as well as the Patriarchs residence (head of the Russian Orthodox Church). Talk about separation of State and Church…

I visited the Armoury – the storehouse of Tsar crowns, gold, emerald, ruby, pearl, sapphire, diamond et al encrusted illuminated Bibles, chalices, silver platters, Fabergé eggs and imperial bric-a-brac. Getting blase about treasure is tough but I managed it. The artifacts which most impressed me most were the Imperial carriages. Enchanting concoctions of lacy gilded wood, improbably arched with rich scenes painted on the doors – something straight out of some fairytale with bewigged footmen and haughty Empresses. Glorious.

Art. Being a self-confessed avoider of shopping, the boutiques and shopping malls filled full of leggy, stiletto wearing society ladies with heavyset bodyguards appealed not. This, in addition to the fact that Moscow is one of the most expensive cities in the world, directed me instead to the Pushkin Museum of Fine Arts. A world class collection, especially of impressionist and post-impressionist works. I also made it to a sculpture park described by Lonely Planet as moody. I made the most of the opportunity to take obscene and inappropriate photos of me and the statues. Also made it to the New Tretyakov, Russias’ premiere contemporary art gallery which introduced me to paper architecture, one of the coolest styles I’ve ever come across. I visited Sparrow Hill at dusk and saw the night skyline of Moscow. An interesting city awash with wealth as well as those struggling to get by on salaries insufficient for the cost of living. I departed my hosts after cooking them a meal and passing through three (3!) steel doors to get to the elevator to embark via train to St Petersburg.

Saint Petersburg. The history of imperial Russia is more alive here than anywhere else in Russia. This was the seat of the royal court and is described as Russia’s window to Europe and the west (that being a perennially popular topic of travel writing, together with the duality of Russia’s character between East and West) and it really is. It was designed to Tsar Peter the Great’s orders to move the capital away from the sneaky Muscovite nobility, to encourage Russia to embrace new European ways of thinking and provide Russia with its first port after chucking out those dastardly Swedes who had dominated the area for ages. It was designed to resemble Amsterdam’s canals so is riddled with them. St Pete’s is a truly beautiful city and has retained its role as Russia’s leading centre of the arts and social development. Lenin started the Bolshevik revolution in then Petrograd in 1917, Pushkin, Dostoevsky and Putin all grew up here. It is built at the mouth of the Neva river and is laced with canals which gracefully flow past the houses of aristocracy and the monumental facades of palaces. The wealth of the largest country in the world was concentrated here for over 200 years and it shows.

The Hermitage. This is the mother of all art galleries, being the largest in the world. It is housed in the clutch of former palaces of the Tsars and Tsarinas along the Neva and to me the building was as interesting as its contents with spectacularly lavish chambers, halls and galleries dripping in rococo gilt, gaudy eclecticism and classy neoclassicist style. Highlights for me were the Flemish masters including Rembrandt, the impressionist collection including Cezanne and Monet and the Italian masters including one of Michelangelo’s only 14 paintings and the only one of his statues outside Italy. The place is truly massive and after six hours I had only seen about half of it. Go there if you have the chance.

Russian Museum. This wonderful place absorbed me for four hours, housing only Russian art and also outrageously huge. The obvious point to make is that both museums had decent head starts when the Soviet state confiscated the vast art collections of the nobility and wealthy when they came to power. It’s not stealing if we say it isn’t. Other highlights including getting stuck on the island after 2am as the bridges all raised to allow ships up the Neva, the incredible inside of the royal cathedral, St Isaac’s, the Peter and Paul Fortress and of course the State Political History Museum (hmmm). I moved couches halfway through from the hospitable Dasha to the bohemian self-proclaimed squat of Yulia and her merry band in the center of the city which was fun. St Petersburg is the coolest city I’ve been to yet. It has a vibrant beat, European sensibilities, and a fondness for history. Pity about the weather!

Russia: Irkutsk, Lake Baikal, Yekat. and Suslik Pizza

Privyet comrades! I have arrived safely and eventually in the land of the Russkies. I am on my way to Moscow tomorrow from Kazan the capital of Tartarstan, an autonomous region of Russia full of fierce Tartars. I have passed a very pleasant few days in Yekaterinberg (it’s near the exact geological border between Asia and Europe) in the custody of Couchsurfer Ilona and feel ready to blaze ever westward towards Europe and the splendiferous cities of Moscow and St Petersburg.

Trans Manchurian. Due to my debauched lifestyle alluded to previously I caught the Trans Manchurian instead of the Trans Mongolian (though the extension did allow me to watch the ABs trounce the Wallabies in the company of two Aussies- Sean and Julian, ah life is sweet). The train wends its way north from Beijing through Manchurian cities such as Shenyang and Harbin and crosses the border into Russia east of Mongolia. This was an epic journey of 66 hours which passed in the delightful company of Paul, a Wellingtonian who had been teaching English in China. He was in the next compartment so he swapped over and we reminisced over politics, art and the all important question of who will become Auckland’s next super Mayor.

Train neighbours Rosa, Anya and Larissa kindly invited us to a traditional Russian lunch as we waited (total 10 hours at both border towns) for the bogies to be changed on the carriages (the Chinese rails are narrower than the Russian ones so they lift the entire train and put new wheels on them). Lunch consisted of borscht, salad, blinis, fish cakes and mashed potatos and of course a bottle of vodka.

The landscape was incredible – first some desolate tundra with dejected looking grasslands aware of the impending winter, closer to Russia the taiga starts up with neverending stands of forests, autumnal golden leaves scattering from silver barked birches, flashes of burgundy, rusty yellows, patches of the first snows sheltering in shadowed nooks, a bright blue sky and then the southern end of Lake Baikal. The wooden planks of the little cottages which flash by are weathered and warped from the cold they endure but also gaily decorated with fretwork adorning the eaves and brightly painted window shutters and doorframes alongside well-tilled vegetable patches filling in for insuffucient pensions and also, perhaps, providing a continuing connection with the land.

Irkutsk. This is the gateway to the Lake Baikal region and also has an interesting history (early revolutionaries against the Tsar in 1825 were exiled here) with it being core to the Russian expansion westward. I stayed at the Baikaler Hostel hosted by the excellent Masha and Anastasia, and oddly met someone who had worked with my old company in Auckland!

Lake Baikal and Olkhon Island. The lake is the world’s largest fresh water lake by volume and the deepest (1642m) and also incredibly holds 20% of the world’s unfrozen surface fresh water! What a place. I stayed on Olkhon for three nights and had an amazing time. Truly spectacular scenery. The island has about 2,000 residents and being there in autumn was great – forests and fields, horses and susliks running free and how about that serenity?

Stayed at Nikita’s Homestead and suffered the banya, met some wicked travellers (FINally met a Finn!) and made a trip to the north end of the island with English speaking Denis and Nadya (who incidentially invited me back to their place in Irkutsk to feed me Kamchatka caviar) and had a wonderful bonfire on the beach at freezing midnight with the crew – Seema, Masha, Sandy, Annti and others. Unlimited buffet including omul, the everpresent ‘fish of the day’. Sad to go as it has been one of the most beautiful places I have seen yet. Shame about the disrespect many Russian tourists have for the place though, empty vodka and beer bottles litter the beach and the roads.Will canvass this later.

And for those of you interested, yes it is Siberia and yes it is cold. Not quite freezing weather yet but for almost half the year, from mid-October until the beginning of April, the average temperature is below 0 °C in Irkutsk and Lake Baikal freezes over.

Yekaterinberg. Having decide a nonstop train ride to Moscow was a bit too far, I arranged to crash in Yekat. after a fun 50 hour ride. I was stuffed with food by adventurous Marina, Anni and Irina. They did their best with smoked omul, homemade strawberry jam, chocolate nuts, sausage, chicken, cakes, biscuits, tomatoes, pickled cucumbers and sunflower seeds. I also braved the dining car with Marie and Jean-Francois from the island. Contrary to common perception, I was not invited to drink flagons of vodka by every second Russian. Maybe next time.

I ended up in Yekat. with Ilona, who is studying linguistics (translation and interpretation). She was incredibly hospitable – I decided to offer my services as a guest speaker in their class lecturing on the difference bettwen kiwi and kiwifruit, the meaning of ‘rattle your dags‘, and why Maori don’t eat people anymore. A roaring success even though the interpreter had trouble translating ‘poo’, confused ‘bro’ with ‘bra’ and decided ’sweet as’ was better as ’sweet ass’. Ah the life of an interpreter I was also shown around by a mad hatter array of Ilona’s friends of whom I will say are incredible people and I wish them all to come travelling as soon as possible!

Yekaterinberg itself used to be the centre of mining administration in the Urals so has a long and glorious history. Interestingly  the constructivist architectural style had a beginning here, though I struggled to see the ‘tractor’ allegedly depicted by one monolithic block. Yekat. is also notoriously the site where the Romanov Tsar and his family were murdered. Given the renaissance of religion in Russia (er, I mean the Orthodox church…) the site where the Tsar was knocked off is now honoured by the Church on the Blood. A knack for names those bearded monks have…

Kazan. One more overnighter to just one more UNESCO site – the kremlin (meaning fortified city) in this muslim state. Nicely tarted up for the 1,000 year celebration of the history of the city in 2005. The area has a very interesting history which I have not the time to share. Suffice it to say that the place is oldy worldy, has more mosques than churches and the rat beauty show I attended in the main musuem was more wierd than gross. The giant snail called Princess being a personal highlight. Also saw a collection from the St Petersberg Hermitage on Greek heroes which was cool.

Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us or we find it not.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

it gets down to about -40deg in winter

Beijing, and Country Bumpkin Sacrifice Meat

It’s a small world after all and some thoughts on China. I’m in Beijing at the moment and on my way to Irkutsk. I have decided to skip Mongolia because ironically I have heard such good things about it on my travels so far that it would ill become me not give it the month it deserves! Thus ever onward!

I completely forgot to mention this in my other post but I saw a most peculiar and welcome apparition in an obscure village in Tibet. On the way to Everest Base Camp we stopped off in this little one horse town to refuel in the restaurant and I walk in, turn to my left and see N., a contractor from my old workplace! How bizarre! And yes we had to take a photo to prove it had happened at all. She was on her way to Mt Kailash for the kora and it was great to see her and share some memories! The world is getting smaller…

The other memory was my last one of Tibet. We descended the plateau to the border town (one of the most appallingly designed towns in the world, unfitting as the major land border between China and effectively India). In any case, when we passed through the customs we were thoroughly searched on the way out by young border guards rifling through our copies of the Lonely Planet to see if the Dalai Lama had put anything naughty in there, also going through the photos on some cameras to see if we’d taken piccies of naughty monks or militaries doing what militaries shouldn’t be caught doing. Bit desperate really and not really a ‘thanks for all the memories and come back soon’ moment.

Thoughts on China. China is a complex country with a complex problem: there are too many Chinese. Simply expressed but what does this mean? It may mean that some think a Communist system is the best that China can hope for in the foreseeable future – anything else would end in famine and civil unrest. Most Chinese seem happy and indeed proud of the economic progress that has been made in such a short time. There are many that remember the pain and suffering of the Cultural Revolution. In my old politics lecturer’s words – the Chinese government is ‘reform mongering’ on a slow and steady basis, that is to say allowing the populace incrementally more liberties to release the pressure valve of increasing demands over time as the country becomes wealthier.

Chinese people are very community conscious – the parks are full of people practicing Tai Chi, learning ball room dancing, mass choirs, weird martial arts, hacky sacking, chatting, drinking tea, playing board games and generally utilising the parks to the max – much greater appreciation of ‘the park’ than in NZ in many ways. Anyway, the state institutions in the form of the security apparatus, Communist Party and other arms of Government are too ingrained and widespread for their to be any effective alternatives in the middle future. Every day the newspaper runs articles about naughty officials being executed and investigated for bribery and/or negligence. Always a scapegoat will be found in China lest the public go unappeased….

Shanghai. Is money. A shiny new city currently being scrubbed and rebuilt to an inch of its life in anticipation of the World Expo being held next year. They are spending more on it that the Olympics in Beijing (~US$45 billion) building new subway lines, refurbishing the old colonial buildings, new boardwalk along the Bund and just general big state spending. Lots of well spoken Chinese trying to scam you into having Y1000 cups of tea with them and accompany them along to an art gallery to purchase cheap, derivative and uninspiring Chinese art. Shanghai Museum is one of the best in China and really covers everything you will see in terms of bronzes, calligraphy, ceramics, furniture, jade and paintings. Other than that, it is a commercial city, bland and, typically, demolishing all that is old to replace it with new stuff – the Expo is on next year starting May 1 and no doubt it will be spectacular. If you have the opportunity, it might be worth a nudge.

Beijing. Capital city of China and its center of gravity in many ways. Its so stuffed full of things to see that’s it pretty overwhelming! Flat as a pancake, boulevards incredibly wide and bikes and electric scooters everywhere (petrol ones are pretty much banned) with great wide bike lanes everywhere. I stayed nearby Tian’anmen Square which was awesome. The Chinese do things on a large scale in Beijing. The main road past the Forbidden City is about 16 lanes wide, the buildings just enormous (but squat) and the public transport is fantastic – a legacy of the Olympic Games.

Visited the Great Wall, a ’secret’ place away from the crowded, shiny new restored places. Our group were the only ones climbing the wall as far as we could see, really beautiful and such an impressive engineering achievement, built on the bones of millions of worthless peasants.

The Forbidden City. Wow. Massive and fascinating. Spent the best part of a day here and was blown away. Its got lots of nooks and crannies you can chill out in, large displays of stuff (you know, ornate useless things that royal families tend to collect) and lots of tourists.

798. This is the contemporary art district in Beijing. Wickedly cool (‘post-industrial chic’ apparently) with dozens of art galleries and cafes and cool shops selling stuff that is actually cool. As an art buff myself, I am devoting a full day to it on Saturday for their annual art fair. 798 is highly recommended if you like art.

Train. Damn trains. Missed my train to Russia after drinking all night and sleeping in. I am now booked on the Trans Manchurian, a clunker that will take 63 hours to reach Irkutsk. Stocking up on Dostoevsky and biscuits.

In a postscript – I decided randomly to go running at 1am around Beijing, we (yes there was another mad marathon runner who wanted some training…) ran alongside the moat of the City, a beautiful experience and something I recommend – the streets are just so smog-laden during the day that its hard to see more than 300m if its bad.

Yet more tibETI

Leaving Nepal now, destination Shanghai – financial engine for the East! 10 days in Kathmandu was too long, wish I’d been able to go on a trek. Insh’Allah!

Sera and Drepung. The Drepung Monastery was once the largest religious monastery in the world with over 10,000 monks in residence. Now it seems sadly quiet with only around 300 and China strictly vets who else may apply for entry. The place is close to Lhasa and houses some nice relics as well as CCTV cameras, even in the chapels. The toilets are rooted firmly in the Middle Ages, simple holes in the ground falling a story and where the monks use it for manure.

The Sera Monastery is famed for its debating monks. It consists of a fascinating hand slapping and gesturing whenever a point is made to the seated recipient and is loud, boisterous and fun. They debate such philosophical questions such as INSERT. Juxtaposed with this charming picture is the zoo of photographing tourists surrounding the novices. The scene made me think of Schrodinger’s Cat or how merely observing a phenomenon changes. Fulfilling Beijing’s wish that every religious institutions is reduced to a tourist destination where Disney actors play in a model monastery.

Namsto Lake. This holy lake is north of Lhasa and on the way we stopped at a local fair/horse and yak riding festival. No horses but I did see quoits being played for prizes, got shot at by a Tibetan boy with a BB gun and saw a riotous display of clothing worn by various Tibetan minorities. Namsto at 4700m altitude is enormous, actually the second largest lake in China and breathtakingly beautiful. It’s a holy lake for Buddhists and there are many prayer flags and scarves draped around some sacred rocks. Pilgrims wander along the lake past photogenic yaks and on the opposite shore a chain of hills underlie the tallest mountain in the region at 7117m. The lake disappears at one end into the horizon and the atmosphere is calm and contemplative. No swimming unfortunately – my dipping of toes was sternly told off. Not so cold through, Lake Tarawera-esque.

Everest Base Camp. Spectacular. A long drive to get here through rugged, arid country dotted with oases of We stayed in the ‘Mont Blanc’ a yak tent hotel with our beds arrayed around a yak dung powered stove, togged up against the cold. The tent city is nestled between the arid valley walls, once the path of a large glacier, and now channeling a small steam gently moseying down from Mount Qomolangma – the local name for Everest. Hot damn! The sight was inspiring and beautiful and to me a personal highlight of my trip so far. I’ll let you into a secret – at this altitude colour appear more vivid, crisper, brighter and somehow  … just more colourful. The pinky orange glow of the sun setting like a scarf around Everest, the blue, blue, blue and white of the cloudy sky, the innumerable shades of brown, burnt russet – remnants of ancient rocks slowly crumbling into the valleys. The drive to Nepal was awesome – amazing how the landscape changes so much. The road was pretty dodgy and the potholes bounding us all over the places with sheer precipices on one side and imminent landslides threatening constantly.

Nepal. Poor, unfortunate and corrupt but with a wealth of resources, chiefly in its abundant water for generating hydro power. Subsequently of course, it’s a pawn in the regional great game between China and India both desirous of possessing it as a client state. Nepal of course happy to stay as a buffer and play them off against each other. Hilarious (but deadly serious) headline in the latest Nepali English-language newspaper – Nepali PM promises Chinese Politburo visitor to crack down on anti-China activities in Nepal e.g. Tibetan activists. Lots to see – Kathmandu is old and has a fascinating history in its own right.

Durbar Square chock-a-block with  Buddhist and Hindu temples, naff souvenir shops and erotic carvings. We were there for Indra Jatra, a Hindu festival, worshipping Lord Indra, the god of rain and the king of heaven. Went to the main event where the PM and all the ambassadors were and a few thousand Nepalis all going spare to snatch a sight of the Kumari – a living goddess who gets carted around for an hour in a golden chariot thing hauled by dozens of people. Oh and she is only 4 years old and only stays priestess until she reaches puberty and then she’s booted out with her family from the palace she lives in.

Former Royal Palace in Kathmandu. For those of you unfamiliar with Nepali politics – the king is dead, long live republicanism! The former king’s palace in central Kathmandu is now a museum. The previous king being somewhat unpopular. The lawn is uncut, the ground unkempt and the building itself slowly moldering away under a Government keen to expunge royal from all participation in today’s chaotic modern Nepal and establish its post-monarchist credentials. Fashionably dated décor and a razed dining outhouse where the royal family were massacred in 2001 thronged with school kids completing their assignments by noting where Prince X and King Y’s bodies where found. Opulent and sad – the family photos of the King and Queen were still at their bedside, the collected works of H.G. Wells and George Orwell in the library (yay!), group photos with Tito,  Ceauşescu and the President of the Maldives line the corridors. All in a good political student’s day!

Picture bonanza – Macau, HK, China and Tibet

Tibet.

For those of you in some doubt as to where I am or what the Roof of the World refers to, it’s Tibet, or in official Chinese parlance, the Tibetan Autonomous Region (TAR). Surprising to me, Tibet is a huge province and it was at one point far larger – twice the size it is today! I did a quick back of the envelope calculation and today’s Tibet province is five times the size of NZ. I have just finished an 10 day tour and am recuperating in Kathmandu, Nepal. In short, if you ever get the chance to go to Tibet, take it.

Qinghai to Lhasa. This is soon becoming one the great train trips. Contrary to previous advice the trip (from Chengdu)  is actually 43 hours (left Chengdu 9pm and arrived in Lhasa at 4pm two days hence). It is also controversial with this stretch costing ~US$4 billion to construct over five years and having to battle three main adversaries, the high altitude affecting the workforce, the delicate environment through which the tracks thread and lastly the ground, part of which is permafrost so they need to artificially cool it to prevent the tracks from buckling. Some facts: 675 bridges, dozens of tunnels, and 1956km of track. We didn’t stop at the highest train station in the world at 5,068m, only stopping at Na Qu which is at 4,513m . For contrast, the height of Aoraki/Mt Cook is only 3,754 m! The train was great fun and the scenery was incredibly spectacular including watching the sun rise over the Tibetan plateau, the vast grasslands which in summer are free of snow, the nomadic herders with their flocks of sheep and yaks and the distant mountain ranges and nearer rolling hills with craggy old escarpments punching through the grasslands.

Altitude. This is something that I had anticipated (but not the extent!) as it affects all low landers who climb to this height. Above 3,000m the body starts to feel the effects. Lhasa is at 3,490m and some of the places we visited are far higher. I first started to feel the effects on the train as much of it traverses the Tibetan plateau which is higher than Lhasa (over 960km of the journey was at over 4,000m!). You start to feel tired, maybe a little headachy, your energy is zip and walking to and from the toilet exhausted me. Sleeping is especially difficult and the air dries you out as they pump in extra oxygen into the special carriages to assist people to acclimatise. Over the trip we were like arthritic geriatrics: no running, no jumping and nothing more vigorous than a slow walk! By the end of the trip we’d acclimatised fairly well and so long as we did not do anything too athletic, I felt ok.

The Tibetan Issue. The presence of the Chinese military in Tibet is heavy, obvious and unwanted by the ethnic Tibetans. Seriously the main street in Lhasa has over a dozen barracks and other military buildings, every street corner has CCTV cameras, many key crossroads and street corners have serious looking detachments of soldiers (usually in groups of five) in military fatigues with body armour and riot shields with armed soldiers. There are camouflaged Land Cruisers, trucks and armoured vehicles driving around town. Effectively Lhasa is one large garrison town. The Tibetans seem to deal with this by ignoring them. It is not hard to get the impression that the soldiers are not comfortable as it is strangely bizarre to contrast the martial law impression of the huge number of soldiers and police with the blase attitude Tibetans have whilst buying food and making their pilgrimages! My current thinking is that even a negotiated position such as allowing Tibetans control over their religion and language will not happen soon. Sadly, China is there to stay and will continue to attempt to replace Tibetan culture with Han culture.

Norbulingka Park and the Sho Dun Festival. I was lucky enough to be in Tibet during one of their major festivals. This is the so-called yoghurt festival where there is copious amounts of yoghurt and Tibetan opera on offer. Also Budweiser for some reason, corporate sponsor this year yay! *sob*

Potala Palace and the Johkang Temple. Spectacular! This is the former winter residence of the Dalai Lama before he fled to India in 1959. It’s stuck up on the hill above Lhasa and is massive and an ever present reminder to everyone that the Dalai Lama should really be there. Unfortunately you can’t photograph anything inside without paying a huge fee so I’ll just have to relate that the treasures in there are amazing! The funerary stupas of late Dalai Lamas are all made out of gold and covered in precious and semi-precious stones. The Fifth DL who built the Potala has one that is  covered in 3,727 kg of solid gold and studded with 18,680 pearls and other stones… It’s an amazing structure and truly a treasure of the world. Johkang Temple is the holiest temple for Tibetan Buddhist and located in the middle of Lhasa. Incredible to see the devotion shown by pilgrims. Saw one that had this massive weeping callus on his head where he had banged it so many times on the stone ground when completing a full prostration, that is lying full length on the ground. The pilgrims circle the Johkang clockwise and then go into the temple to add yak butter to the butter lamps (which are continuously emptied by monks to prevent them from overflowing) and sticking small money notes in front of various statues. Awesome!

More updates on Tibet when I get a chance. Everest Base Camp, yak butter tea, monasteries and madcap bus drivers!