Tag Archives: transports

Train journeys

by ladina

“Chai! Chai!” an early morning tea-seller yelled as he walked through the coaches of the train, carrying a huge tin pot of hot tea and small plastic glasses. I turned around on my bunk, drew the sheet up to my nose and tried to get some more sleep. So far, I had slept surprisingly well during my first night in an Indian train: the steady rattling of the rails worked like a lullaby for me; the berth, though not very large, was comfortable. Unfortunately, about four more chai vendors kept me from dozing back to sleep, praising their tea in loud voices. With a sigh, I turned around again and tried to glimpse through the train window: the breaking dawn transformed the sky into a symphony of red and violet. Soon the sun would be out — and this meant that we would reach Agra shortly. The train was supposed to arrive at 6 o’clock and, as opposed to buses, it is likely to keep its timetable. I hence waked José, and we started to open the padlocks from our backpacks, put the few things we had needed for the night back into them, and shoulder their usual weight. Not too soon for, shortly after, the train slowed down and, together with all our belongings, dropped us at Agra Fort.

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Canberra, Australian Capital Territory, Australia

by jose

“So how did you find Canberra?”
“Err…”
“Dead, uninteresting, nothing happens?”
“I was gonna say ‘soulless’, but that’s pretty much it”
(Conversation with Nadia, traveler from Canberra, on the W trail in Torres del Paine)

For those who do not know, Canberra has been entirely built out of the blue to serve as a capital city. And the first impression I had when I discovered the desert, still city, with its topography in concentric circles (alright, it is more interesting than the usual square grid, but still not good) is this one: this is a dream from Le Corbusier.

And it is not a compliment.

But it does not mean Canberra is to be avoided at all costs. The museums over there (perhaps built in order to give a boost to the stagnant culture of the city) are very good – I come to wonder now if the only thing I enjoy while traveling in cities is the art and culture I find there. I am undoubtedly getting tired of partying – really, I did not go on the other side of the world to burn my money on alcohol (again) and have to withstand overplayed commercial ‘music’ (and again). I can do that at home.

“But you’ve got awesome museums there!”
“Ahhh, I hate museums.”
“Alright, change city”

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Newcastle, New South Wales, Australia

by jose

Yeah, Newcastle, but not the one in England. Several places bear the same name as others back in the United Kingdom, as if the founders of the towns had absolutely no inspiration at that moment, or maybe too much nostalgia for their homeland.

Because Australia, as some of you already know, was colonized (some would say stolen, conquered from the Aboriginals) by Captain James Cook, the first European explorer to reach the East Coast of Australia. It quickly became a jail, England sending entire ships of convicts there, on the other side of the world, for them to stay and live the rest of their lives in exile.

But the convicts flourished and thrived, on this land strangely harsh and full of resources at the same time – some would say resources stolen from the Aboriginals. And, in the end, they got their independence.

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Hong Kong, China (香港,中國)

by jose

I remember how every single traveler I talked with was so eager to pronounce the word ‘family’ as soon as Christmas entered in the conversation. I am going home for Christmas! I am gonna see my girlfriend for Christmas! I will be so happy to be with my family for Christmas! Where will you be for Christmas? Oh, first Christmas away from home?

Seriously, what the hell. Is the first Christmas away from home a big celebration, a big step in life, like the first laundry your mum does not do for you, like the first lion you kill, like the first time you get caught by the police? Or is it something like a blasphemy, something forbidden by the gods themselves – or by the conventions, normality rules of the Western society?

Christmas is a day in the calendar, a day like all others, only this day, a few thousands years ago, someone special for the Christians was born – and now, alright, nowadays it has become a world-wide pretext to express love with your family, to gather, to celebrate together. Fair enough. That’s cool. Not a bad idea, after all.

But, for the love of all the gods from all the pantheons, stop acting like being away from home during Christmas is the saddest thing that can happen to a human. It might seem strange to you, but I am happy wherever this planet is in its revolutions around the Sun, I am happy at any possible place on Earth, and I am happy to see my family at any time of the year, even if it is not a celebration in a specific calendar. Oh, and I do not need an excuse from the calendar to offer gifts to people that I care about.

Because Christmas is just a day. Because my family does not magically change during a precise day. Nor does my relationship with them. And I am proud of it – and of them. I am proud that they are honest and constant, contrary to what the Western conventions seem to think about the society. About us.

And because of the fact that actually, the whole world is my home.

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Udaipur, Rajasthan, India

by jose

General laugh in the bus. I turn to Sajjad (Qatar) and stare at him inquiringly. He calms down, catches his breath and finally translates.

She just said: ‘You’re young, why are you wearing shoes?’

Er well… I come from a country where kids wear shoes. Parents buy small shoes to their children – and they need new ones after every few months, obviously – so that their feet are always protected from the clean floor of the developed countries, and that they never are wounded, never feel the ground, never learn to get stronger. So that when they become adults, they still are unable to walk without that piece of equipment, even only on a flat ground, because they still have babies’ feet and soft skins.

Yeah, well, I have no idea why either, Isu.

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International Departures

by jose

Le métro sort en fusant du souterrain, filant tel un obus inarrêtable sur le pont quittant Hong Kong Island à travers la brume hivernale du petit matin. Je me lève, stabilise mon sac contre les sièges, et m’approche de la portière afin de pouvoir admirer, une dernière fois, cette baie que je commence à connaître par cœur. Dans mes écouteurs, Silversun Pickups – Laze Eye entre, avec une synchronisation si parfaite qu’elle en paraît cinématographique, dans un instrumental mélancolique, subtil, raffiné, tachant et électriquement dégoulinant. Cette baie, je l’ai vue tant de fois, en partant en randonnée sur Lantau Island, pour retrouver des gens à Tung Chung, mais aussi et surtout pour aller à l’aéroport.

Pour quitter Hong Kong. Une fois de plus.

Cette fois, je suis seul dans le métro. Seul avec mes écouteurs et mon sac, ceux qui me suivent dans mon voyage. J’observe silencieusement, submergé par le déploiement sonore quasi-furieux du morceau, le bitume humide et froid du port, les couleurs vibrantes mais assombries des conteneurs, les nuages qui semblent avoir descendu plus près du sol, comme pour me cacher à dessein la vide immensité du ciel.

Le train s’engouffre à nouveau sous terre, alors que la piste touche à sa fin en une accalmie apaisante. Je retourne m’asseoir sur le métal. Et essaye de fixer mes pensées, de retourner à la réalité. De ne pas me laisser me noyer dans les souvenirs.


You better lose yourself in the music, the moment
You own it, you better never let it go go
You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow
This opportunity comes once in a lifetime
(Eminem – Lose Yourself)

Benaulim & Anjuna Beaches, Goa, India

by jose

— This is Friday Coffee?
— Yeah!
— By Mango?
— Yeah!
— Remixed by Paul Keeley?
— Are you a DJ too?

And then I realized. Yes, I really was in Anjuna Beach, this now worldwide-known trance scene (thanks to Above & Beyond and their label Anjunabeats) which used to be bustling with loads of illegal night-time trance parties. And yes, I was in Goa, this now worldwide-known province of India where the electronic genres of… goa and psytrance started, thanks to an incredible number of crazy Israeli tourists coming there to have a hell of a good time on those amazing beaches.

Obviously, they were not really the type of tourists you meet in resorts or five-star hotels. They were backpackers, with almost no money but an incredible energy and no need for comfort. I, too, thought I was one, but really, I think India still lowered my comfort standards. Good thing I went there, I guess.

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Mumbai, Maharashtra, India

by jose

The ultimately free man is the Wise man, but he’s lonely.
(Tristan Raoult)

Now that I think about it, India was my first real lone backpacking experience. Not that I was alone, no; I met a lot of people, friendly or unfriendly, travelers or locals, backpackers or foreign students, in hostels, restaurants, streets, buses or even train stations. But I was always traveling alone. My itinerary was only mine, and when I had to part from new friends, I did.

Maybe it was because of the short length of my stay (only three weeks; I will have to come back, and this time for a few months, eh) which forced me to rush to my destinations at all costs – missing my flight from Delhi was not an option, and staying for too long in one place neither – and made impossible for me to follow other travelers. I did my best to visit the most of India I physically and mentally could, having unfortunately to rest at some places because of my weak human condition.

And yes, I felt free. Not free like we, the Donkeys, were back on the highway in Jordan. I felt free because every morning, when I woke up, I could decide what I would do, where I would go, how to do it, without talking to anyone, without having to explain it to anybody, taking my own decisions based upon my own criteria. I could go to uncomfortable, dirty or even scary places without involving anyone else. I could try the risky Indian street food without being a burden to other people if I would get sick. I could bear a heavy travel schedule (sometimes only one or two nights per location, when I was not sleeping in a bus or train) without making people suffer from its fast pace. To put in a nutshell, when I had hard times, I faced them alone, without making anyone suffer around me.

But yes, sometimes, I also did feel lonely. Because no one was here to share the wonders, joys and beauties of the places I saw, no one was here to share my excitation about moving, traveling, discovering this incredible country. No one was there to watch my back, too; it is not a big news that lone travelers are easier preys for thieves, muggers, swindlers, con artists or even just touts.

If being lonely is the price of being free, I guess at least it also made me stronger.

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