tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-112162802011-10-26T16:16:00.440Znot a bloody travelogueLectricenoreply@blogger.comBlogger1971100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-38200712327111107582010-04-12T10:51:00.001Z2010-04-12T10:52:30.006Z

I passworded the other blog.Email me to ask, if you need to read it.  If I don't give it you, it isn't cos there's stuff about you in it, it's cos there's stuff about me that I'm not ready to share right now.  Another time, I swear.

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-91000903305876184642009-08-05T22:37:00.000Z2009-08-05T22:42:20.110Z

While desperately trying to access the web from a by now ancient laptop bought in Singapore some time back, I find I can blog from Picasa, even if Explorer and Firefox no longer exist on the thing. So. Here's a photo of Isabella eating a Pinta Lengua on day 2 of our trip to the Amazon. For absolutely no reason whatsoever, beyond proving that there is internet. Sometimes. Somewhere out there.

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-44666407547977789502008-03-17T16:44:00.002Z2008-03-17T16:58:43.369Z

Oops. I got to Peru and never updated again. '06 to '08 with only one slight twinge of guilt.In a 17 hour chug-a-thon across the least touristed border crossing between two countries since I got stuck between China and Nepal for 11 days, I got from Vilcabamba to Chachapoyas in one day, a high altitude Andean city surrounded by Indiana Jones style archaeological remains. (Really. We're talking

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-51131640058226222592007-11-07T18:48:00.000Z2007-11-07T18:49:33.787Z

Yes, I am still alive. And still in Peru, as it happens.Wow. That surprised me.

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1164389654745488482006-11-24T17:30:00.000Z2006-11-24T17:34:14.760Z

Slight adaptation to my plans caused by liking Perú enough to decide to live here forever.Obviously this could work out a more complex decision than it first seems. But. All good. All, all, good.Currently, strange forces tie me to the northern highlands, and make it difficult to want to move on. I'd still like to get to Manaus, and to Cayenne, and to México, but it doesn't look like I'll be

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1162497523230327182006-11-02T19:46:00.000Z2006-11-02T19:58:43.513Z

Just down from a blissful time in some cloudforest south west of Vilcabamba, and about to set off for the border crossing that's not in any guidebooks, and that if you ask locals about, they say "well if you find out, can you write it up and let us know, in case anyone else ever asks again?"So ... off the map for a day or two, then I'll be inthe northern highlands of Peru: in Chachapoyas, which

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1161625350082175662006-10-23T17:19:00.000Z2006-10-25T01:25:25.396Z

This first bit's untimely ripp'd from an email I sent today ....I'm hyper nervous about the river journey through Peru and Brazil. I know it sounds great, but I just can't seem to feel excited about it; just apprehensive about being murdered or contracting hideous diseases while lying prone in my hammock. Can't wait to get to French Guiana, which sounds much more relaxing. I got some tablets from

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1161623948231237942006-10-22T16:55:00.000Z2006-10-25T01:23:07.826Z

... Okay. After six weeks of studying in smoggy Quito, I'm well up on all things ecuatorian. Including the great weird breads, fruits and juices, and the sodding ever present rice and beans.The pollution was so bad I ended up leaving Quito every single weekend, in search of air that doesn't make you cough like a seventy year smoker of a Monday. So I visited:Baños (mountain biked downhill through

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1159373624738105922006-09-27T15:57:00.000Z2006-10-23T16:54:38.400Z

I'm in a bizarre self inflicted rush. Tengo prisa.Just to say: I'm leaving Quito permanently on the 13th, so you haveabout two days exactly to post that letter there*, or change theaddress to the next one.I think the next one listed in the sidebar here is Cayenne, in French Guiana, where I can pick stuff up in late November.But if you want an address in between now and two months from now, then .

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1158796930429905852006-09-20T23:54:00.000Z2006-09-21T00:02:10.823Z

Quito and I are not speaking any more. The honeymoon drew to a frosty, sudden close.I can't eat any more rice, any more huevos, I can't suffer Quito's icy 6am showers, they remind me too much of an old man with no teeth spitting, I can't blithely walk into morning smog cloud dense enough to make the Andes disappear.I'm the snappish bitter wife who wishes Quito would scrub up a bit, act more like

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1157732897726232472006-09-08T16:16:00.000Z2006-09-08T16:28:18.096Z

More on la lengua ... it's making my head hurt. I don't speak any english here ... unless I'm reading a novel or writing an email (oh, that's 75% of the day done, then).> How strange to be in a> non-english speaking world, I didn't know they existed!Me either. Everywhere else I´ve been ('cepting China, where you're inferior for not being chinese anyway, so they expect you to be stupid, which is

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1157471139875859962006-09-05T15:40:00.000Z2006-09-28T01:59:10.056Z

So... I´ve been in Quito, Ecuador, just two days. I had one spanish lesson.I also had 19 hour flight lag, altitude sickness, major period pain, stinking squits, a stinking cold, and a blister from the damnably new experience of wearing a watch .... moving or standing is hard, let alone recalling anyone´s name.And nobody speaks english.But.... I toasted the spanish! I rule! Soy Yo puedo hablar

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1157056730437328512006-08-31T20:34:00.000Z2006-08-31T20:38:50.520Z

Trying to weather a ridiculously deflating vaccination program, while getting ready for another 6 months away ... but the recovery naps are winning. So if I haven't spoken to you this week, please bear that in mind. And that my shit mobile company have binned every mobile phone voicemail I got this year instead of forwarding them to me; the only voicemail that works properly is the one listed

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1156610385095519022006-08-26T16:34:00.000Z2006-08-27T16:19:14.826Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 1px #000000; }.flickr-frame { float: left; text-align: center; margin-right: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } water spiral ........... Tidying. Updating details of how you can write to me, or leave me voicemail (not that you ever do, you buggers. How many cards have you had?)Sneaking in overdue end-of-journey posts

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1156588561747229342006-08-26T10:30:00.000Z2006-08-26T21:24:26.570Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 1px #000000; }.flickr-frame { float: left; text-align: center; margin-right: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } I got the address of my host homestay family in Ecuador, and suddenly The Terror has me wondering why, at 36, I suddenly need to speak Spanish?I mean, I'm British: undergoing total immersion in a language

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1156587782868366372006-08-26T10:17:00.000Z2006-08-26T14:20:42.406Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 1px #000000; }.flickr-frame { float: left; text-align: center; margin-right: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } You remember my long moan about breaking laptops, mp3 players, health systems, and friendships?Well, lots of that stuff is still broken. I'm just learning not to blame everybody else.I sent the mp3 player

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1154426017370415102006-08-01T09:48:00.000Z2006-08-26T14:29:57.756Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 1px #000000; }.flickr-frame { float: left; text-align: center; margin-right: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } Kalaupapa Peninsula I booked my flight to Quito! 1st September.Then I confirmed my place on a six week spanish course there.THEN I looked up temperatures in Quito .... between 8 and 19 degrees, year

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1154358329524283112006-07-31T15:00:00.000Z2006-08-26T14:40:24.266Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 1px #000000; }.flickr-frame { float: left; text-align: center; margin-right: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } neverending staircase But you know what? Things suddenly feel a lot better when you whip out your plastic and buy yourself a one way flight to Ecuador.

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1154027423903167662006-07-27T18:45:00.000Z2006-08-26T14:39:54.120Z

I had forgotten the familiar belly-crunching feeling of frustration life in England provokes.Things that have gone wrong recently:I can't get a bastard flight to bastard Ecuador for the price I want.I can get a spanish course in Quito, but not for a decent price. I'm currently trapped in a bastard bidding war of ten bastard emails a day, saying 'what a shame, because unless you can get round

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1150730862844871892006-06-19T15:24:00.000Z2006-06-20T14:05:24.846Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 1px #000000; }.flickr-frame { float: left; text-align: center; margin-right: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } yellow. I made it back through the wilds of germany to the uk, but the reason my phone isn't yet connected (goddamn passwords) and I haven't rung you or written to you is cos of wild raging feverish

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1156626783102805392006-06-14T20:49:00.000Z2006-08-26T21:20:22.593Z

I'm doing my best, you know. I'm trying to speak German to everyone. Well, as much as I can.I'm good enough to do a phone conversation. (It may be the worst phone conversation anyone ever had, but hey, that's a start.)And I'm dodging into the bogs at Hamburg Altstadt hauptbahnhof, as an American teenager starts down the wrong steps. I'm helpful, I inform him in clear and confident german that

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1156624910062102462006-06-13T20:22:00.000Z2006-08-26T20:45:39.483Z

I went with a friend on a hiking trip around two Skye peninsulas, and Raasay Island (the nearest approximation of Craggy Island I've ever seen in the real world).There was tons of fabulous wildlife to spot - oystercatchers, eagles, hares, seals, stags, dolphins, wild otters. And being this close to the Outer Hebrides, to the great cold ocean that you rarely see in little Britain, is romantic and

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1156623726889483402006-06-12T20:19:00.000Z2006-08-26T20:22:06.890Z

In the middle of the World Cup, even bloody Frankfurt is a crowded place to be. I bought a stein full of flags, that would be worth something in the UK only if England win, and a badge that showed Brazil v Germany, which rather depends on both those teams getting to the final.Which they didn't.But they have funky automatic money changing machines, they were fun. Sort of.

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1156614734927380702006-06-11T17:33:00.000Z2006-08-26T17:55:16.706Z

[I am going to pretend I didn't have to go back through Delhi, because I hate the place.] On the way back through Mumbai, things are surreally familiar. I spent hours in see-and-be-seen cafes (best line, from a waiter: Sir, your mother has telephoned. You may not smoke a hookah), or laughing my soaked head off at the oil slick seastorm between me and the temple causeway. I loafed at my

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1152011401441370592006-06-10T10:54:00.000Z2006-07-04T11:10:01.473Z

I forgot to write about what Rajasthan was like: middle of the desert / middle of a heatwave - hot.I went to Jaipur (pink city), Jaisalmer (golden fort), and Jodhpur (blue city). When your eyes are turned blue-squinty-green from overhead billion wattage sunstroke, all those colours fade to roughly similar sweat soaked bleachy white.Glancing at my diary, I'm reminded of keeping a bucket of dirty

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1148975203039025882006-05-30T07:42:00.000Z2006-05-31T11:29:13.373Z

I think - I think - this is my 300th day away.But I'm too lazy to count.****Thanks to four five days of flight cancellations, and an evening spent watching a lizard rotate the room, I'm actually no longer too lazy to count.If I discount the two weeks I cheated by going back to England ...On 2nd June, I will have been away 300 days.On 2nd June, I will have been in India 60 days.By the end of my

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1148977035957591202006-05-29T08:04:00.000Z2006-07-04T11:11:42.900Z

Three days. Three Four Five Seven fucking days.Delhi airport. Plane is cancelled, madam. Come back tomorrow madam.You want refund, madam?Delhi airport is one of the shittest airports on the planet. Airports in tiny leetle indian towns in the desert are better than Delhi airport. You have to pay an airport tax to sit down. To go near a stall that will sell you a drink of water, and a nugget

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1148976134430482622006-05-28T08:01:00.000Z2006-07-04T11:14:34.170Z

Amritsar is one of those Great Places. Like Varanasi, a holy city; the birthplace of the Sikh religion. I could tell you about bathing in the Amrit Sarovar (pool of holy nectar), at the Golden Temple - in itself a wonder, in India, one pool for all castes? Or the fat koi that play around you as you bathe fully clothed. Or the spicy namkin nibbles I gorged on every day. Or how beautifully my

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1148573465425337042006-05-25T15:45:00.000Z2006-07-04T11:18:14.336Z

So-o-o, I was flying over Maharashtra, see, and the pilot pointed out the window, and showed us Lonar Meteorite Crater.Fifty thousand years old. Give or take six thousand yearsAnd so-o-o, of course I had to go there. Hang the cost. I could pick up a rock! From another planet!I paid through the nose for the 7 hour drive there and back. Turned out being a tour guide wasn't included in the

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1148139346716620032006-05-20T15:34:00.000Z2006-05-25T15:33:07.033Z

Have you seen what the new improved Flickr can do?Edit:Karen said:Yes.Oh.

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1147946474693508382006-05-18T08:33:00.000Z2006-05-30T08:00:32.420Z

Indians! What does the head-wobble mean?Edit:PPQ commented: Speaking as someone from the Indian sub-continent....I can only say that it is similar to the australian inflection...you know when even statements are apoken with the tone flicking up at the end so that everything sounds like a question?I loved this idea, because it actually makes sense. And I think possibly in Nepal it could be true.

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1147603401525229762006-05-14T10:28:00.000Z2006-07-04T11:24:18.240Z

I scheduled myself a week in Mumbai, with no further plans, to see if I could handle the heat before I made any more decisions.India has three seasons: The Cool, The Hot and The Wet.This is the last three or four weeks of The Hot, before the monsoon kicks in, and the contents of the sewers float up to greet you.I had a taste of it in Kolkata, when I first got there - and found that at 43 degrees

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1147245485429199752006-05-10T07:15:00.000Z2006-07-04T11:28:42.473Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 1px #000000; }.flickr-frame { float: left; text-align: center; margin-right: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } we were so bored that ..., originally uploaded by digitalia. My camera keeps dying. Cameras seem to last about three months in humid countries, and this one's been to Everest along the way (I had to rub

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1146923935981961192006-05-06T13:54:00.000Z2006-07-04T11:30:38.853Z

Last time I was in Kolkata, my train took 23 hours to get there (8 hours longer than expected: 23 hours of no fans, no seat, trying to sleep on top of my luggage, the only inhospitable indian family in the whole country, raw sewage spilling through the carriage), I missed my plane, I ended up waving eleven inch knives at strangers, the heat made me vomit four times a day, and everyone - everyone

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1146922419581713572006-05-06T13:33:00.001Z2006-07-04T11:35:10.500Z

From my Varanasi outbox:Sorry for the group email...Hey, you may get a bizarre Indian postcard of Varanasi. It's from me. I was delegating too fast too soon to the two 11 and 12 year old urchin helpers whom I employ to do all my dirty work*.I asked them to check stamp prices, and buy stamps and cards, then leave me a day to write them, and they got over excited after I bought them a fanta, and

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1146923075910711012006-05-06T13:33:00.000Z2006-07-04T11:33:43.820Z

I thought it was the monsoon coming at first. Then I thought it was me being weirdly unsettled because I was staying in a bamboo hut with no door ten yards from the sea, in an area where there were no other women right now.And the packs of wild dogs, they didn't make me feel much safer. First person I met on Havelock had twelve stitches on her calf from the last pack's power struggle. The

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1146921763361737182006-05-06T13:14:00.000Z2006-07-04T11:41:03.730Z

Pfffft ... I still can't even think about Tibet and feel calm.Let me see. What are the scraps?Snowburnt cheeks. Looked so pretty on the local girls, with their high cheekbones. Peruvian, almost.I got snowburns on my bum (my other cheeks) from 8 hour van rides across snow deserts. You drink 4 times as much water a day at altitude, and you can't hold your pee. There aren't any toilets. There

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1146919509035490992006-05-06T12:06:00.000Z2006-07-04T11:45:06.336Z

Trying to contextualise and think of moments that stick in the cerebellum:In Kathmandu I sat watching a city cow eating rubbish in the street after dark, some 8 year old streetkids scrabbled up and asked for money. I was patiently explaining to them that if I give them money it would mean other children come to the city and beg instead of going to school or finding a real job, and halfway

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1146756285600737112006-05-04T15:22:00.000Z2006-06-20T13:56:20.826Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 1px #000000; }.flickr-frame { float: left; text-align: center; margin-right: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } Where next ... India!, originally uploaded by digitalia. Brief placeholder, to fill in the details later ... just to point out that I am accursed. I only have to think of going somewhere for disaster to

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1144598413815924732006-04-09T15:40:00.000Z2006-04-09T16:00:13.846Z

When I got my bag robbed in Nepal, some of my malaria tablets were in there.Because the useless doctor in London hadn't given me any malaria medication, saying it was best to go to the country and ask them what they take, I had to buy them from a pharmacist, so got the wrong stuff.The medication I was taking was Larium, a brand of mefloquine by Roche. It's usually not advisable for divers (or

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1144309047954934512006-04-06T07:02:00.001Z2006-07-04T11:49:46.893Z

I haven't said anything about trekking in the Annapurnas. Days away from anywhere, staring at sunrise at snowpeaks. Watching the King's publicity tour of his country - one of the 40 poorest countries in the world - by helicopter. This is a man who does not understand spin*. About the fantastical range of different faces and races and cultures you find in Nepal - that the caste system's rules

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1144599391548850492006-04-01T16:13:00.000Z2006-07-04T11:50:35.576Z

I got snowburns on my bum.

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1143113888053941822006-03-23T11:38:00.000Z2006-07-04T11:52:36.746Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 1px #000000; }.flickr-frame { float: left; text-align: center; margin-right: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } lion shadow, originally uploaded by digitalia. I made it to civilisation, to Lhasa, Tibet, today. Scariest, most brutal ride of my life. Much to tell, but also much altitude-sickness-lost-sleep to regain.

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1142665662519633272006-03-18T07:07:00.000Z2006-07-04T11:54:22.523Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 1px #000000; }.flickr-frame { float: left; text-align: center; margin-right: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } Himalayan sun setting, originally uploaded by digitalia. They say everybody has a story.Mine, right now, is that I've been stuck for a week in a shanty town between the borders of two countries, stateless

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1142003482590867322006-03-10T15:06:00.000Z2006-07-04T11:55:46.233Z

There aren't many countries in the world where I'd be struck down by a fever for twenty six days, get robbed of most of my Things* (as opposed to things, which are replaceable or inexpensive), be harrassed, have to abandon a trek halfway through because of food poisoning, cramps and altitude sickness ... and still love every single thing about the place.Nepal's like that. Bloody awe inspiring.

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1141401302049163752006-03-03T15:33:00.000Z2006-07-04T11:56:35.493Z

Things I wish this week hadn't brought:* knowledge of what the inside of a nepali gaol cell looks like (europeans couldn't legally keep an animal in there).* eye witness testimony to ritual blood sacrifice, involving two decapitations.* a few hours spent looking at the police noticeboard, by the window to the main street in Kathmandu, the one with the list of 'AMBUSH TIMES' marked in red.* a

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1141018923230909982006-02-27T05:38:00.000Z2006-03-10T16:08:46.080Z

Woke up this morning to dawn chorus hammering at a head that was freshly exploded, eyes that were gummed shut, hollow aching limbs, and a brand new fever.Oh. Not quite that much recovered, then. Still, who needs the home comforts of kathmandu - hot hot showers, soap, edible food, clean water, people who speak english - nobody needs all that stuff when they're ill, do they?Into the

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1140963159764485132006-02-26T14:12:00.000Z2006-03-10T16:07:41.063Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 1px #000000; }.flickr-frame { float: left; text-align: center; margin-right: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } Good gravy jebus, get me out of here. I have been sneezing and staring at the same wall for thirteen - THIRTEEN - days now! Time to run around and end up in grotty squalor congratulating myself on how '

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1140315777919050912006-02-19T02:21:00.000Z2006-07-04T11:59:56.203Z

I know I'm whingeing. I don't care.Crossing-continent-squits. Nightly gut spasms.Climate-change flu. Red hot fever alternating with ice chills and the familiar feeling of hollow limbs and a half memory that the back of your head exploded sometime back in 1983.Getting up to brush my teeth is so much effort I have to puke.I feel like crap. Hi there Nepal. Wonder what you're like?

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1140316281282083622006-02-19T01:23:00.000Z2006-02-19T02:31:21.283Z

Thank you for sending me music. Kathmandu has what they call broadband, but I would call two tin cups joined by string. It takes me 30 minutes to download one song, and three hours to upload five photographs. I now have 5 megs of music on my mp3 player, another 2 megs waiting on gmail to be accessed when I have a spare week to do so, and a really varied selection of music to accompany the

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1140315422380653392006-02-18T02:07:00.000Z2006-07-04T12:01:57.576Z

See, I was on the last few hours of a three day trip up the Mekhong in a longboat. (a slowboat, to be technical; on a river heading towards China - a slowboat to China!) Most people head downriver towards Luang Prabhang. Typical me to head up.After the delights of food poisonin in Nong Khiaw, I spent most of the trip lying on a tatami platform curled up with some hilltribe ladies who'd adopted

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1139844950900476202006-02-13T15:35:00.000Z2006-07-04T12:03:14.810Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 1px #000000; }.flickr-frame { float: left; text-align: center; margin-right: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } So ... I checked mmy mail address in Bangkok, but there was nothing there. So ... I checked my mail address in Kathmandu, but there was nothing there (irritating; I know three people had written to that

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1139844524067640302006-02-13T15:28:00.000Z2006-02-13T15:28:44.236Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 1px #000000; }.flickr-frame { float: left; text-align: center; margin-right: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } killer saleslady, originally uploaded by digitalia. Overriding memory of Laos, sat in mountain mist in Nong Khiaw, shivering and fevering my way through food poisoning, after spending thirteen hours on a

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1139549498275760192006-02-10T05:31:00.000Z2006-02-10T05:31:38.323Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 1px #000000; }.flickr-frame { float: left; text-align: center; margin-right: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } Vientiane graffitti, originally uploaded by digitalia. No, really. And no, I don't want bacon for breakfast. Khawp jai lai-lai.After five days on boats, which can be rapidly summarised as big hill - sandy

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1138520662736455532006-01-29T07:30:00.000Z2006-01-29T07:47:00.030Z

Two things about Laos, a tiny, poor, communist country sandwiched between Thailand and Vietnam.The first, some great advice, from Kfv's P:P says that Laos is very beautiful and the people are incredibly kind and that all you have to do to win their friendship is to listen to their stories. Their stories would be about their colonization by the American and French governments - how their people

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1138338915163931572006-01-27T05:15:00.000Z2006-01-27T05:15:15.206Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 1px #000000; }.flickr-frame { float: left; text-align: center; margin-right: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } Market of Knives, originally uploaded by digitalia. To answer the questions, I delayed my flight to Nepal so that I get there after the elections, after the week long bandh, but not before all the

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1138175284625922582006-01-25T07:48:00.000Z2006-01-29T07:52:34.626Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 1px #000000; }.flickr-frame { float: left; text-align: center; margin-right: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } Ekspres Rakyat, originally uploaded by digitalia. ... all of which deserve the comment again?You know that feeling when the plane starts to buffet as it comes into land, and you feel rather than hear, in

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1137763313641035582006-01-19T13:19:00.000Z2006-01-20T13:24:22.843Z

Best expressed, I think, in an email received after leaving:VanessaYou did not wash the duvetYou did not make the bedYou did not clean the dirty dishes in the sinknor fold the toilet paper at the ends the way Christine does so beautifullyYou did not put the dvd of 'Festen' back in its sleeveYou did not replace the four biscuits you ateThough you did get me some stampsYou also left me with thirty

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1137517527595419192006-01-17T17:05:00.000Z2006-01-22T15:37:29.630Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 1px #000000; }.flickr-frame { float: left; text-align: center; margin-right: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } Mostly I don't bother. Mostly I don't read the FCO updates arriving in my mailbox weekly, along with googlenews keyword searches for every country I'm visiting.Sometimes, knowing you're in danger can prove

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1136815951606795632006-01-09T14:06:00.000Z2006-01-17T17:21:29.830Z

At breakfast in Frankfurt, Riza decides to ask me if I know that I'm beautiful.(Pfffft)And: Does anybody know? Ever ever ever?It seems a little presumptuous, too, when I'd only asked if I could have an apple with my meat feast.He's desperate to improve his English (we chat in a horrendous mishmash of two languages for an hour about whose linguistic skills are worse). He wants me to recommend a

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1136815544968780142006-01-01T14:02:00.000Z2006-01-09T14:13:27.250Z

Ain't that a surprise? I went home for a brief holiday - a holiday from my holiday - and found that it isn't my 'home' any longer.There are three certainties you need to keep up the robust sense of self that allows you to travel. To really travel, rather than tick off sights.1. Know who you are.2. Know why you're going.3. Know where 'home' is.It took me exactly four minutes to realise I'm not a

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1136815290432268482005-12-22T13:57:00.000Z2006-01-09T14:20:21.670Z

Impulsiveness is good. Impulsiveness I can do. Impulsiveness is pre-adolescent, and therefore fits in well with my general solipsistic narcissism.So I SPLURGED a ridiculous amount on three flights today; on 28 hours in a range of aircraft. I went back to KL.To find out I can just about remember the bahasa malaysian to enable me to order a beer at KLIA airport. I know it's 75 ringgits to get

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1135003595575221732005-12-19T14:46:00.000Z2006-01-09T13:54:37.656Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 1px #000000; }.flickr-frame { float: left; text-align: center; margin-right: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } Watching people is slowly becoming the most important thing about travelling, for me. Today I stood on the Thae Phae bridge over the river Ping, in Chiang Mai, northern Thailand. I turned at too-close brake

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1134756767658887972005-12-16T18:11:00.000Z2005-12-16T18:12:47.660Z

Well.Thanks to my silence, nobody really knows what's going on here, do they?Momentously frustrating times. Momentously life changingly good times.All over now.I'm in Bangkok. And I'm not really sure what to do next.

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1136815030705376852005-12-14T13:55:00.000Z2006-01-09T13:57:10.706Z

I went out for an Indian meal. I was bitterly disappointed because the sag didn't taste British.

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1134130134719605642005-12-09T12:08:00.000Z2006-01-09T13:53:56.613Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 1px #000000; }.flickr-frame { float: left; text-align: center; margin-right: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } just checking in to say I'm alive here. I'm in sa pa, 2km from the border with China. It's cold and misty and mountainous - really stunningly beautiful. The hilltribe people here are so alien looking to

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1133522862746574782005-12-02T11:27:00.000Z2005-12-02T17:22:14.313Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 1px #000000; }.flickr-frame { float: left; text-align: center; margin-right: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } orchard road consumerism. Isn't it typical that you meet good people just four hours after you decide to give up having random crushes on people and are abandoning all of your Shag Plans, A through to D. (

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1132379943962896612005-12-01T05:40:00.000Z2006-01-09T13:53:18.820Z

"I'm crap at languages," said the british expat whose hotel I was staying at. "I think it's a national characteristic. Don't you agree?" No. While cheerfully admitting I've no real facility for picking up languages, I don't think we're so bad. In five days in North Sulawesi, I managed to learn bahasa Indonesia for the following phrases:Hello, how are you, fine thanks, ok, good morning (7

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1132896686538321952005-11-25T05:30:00.000Z2006-01-09T14:17:47.226Z

So it's less than 24 hours until the KOTO sponsored bike ride. An eighty kilometre bicycle ride through the still green lakes and hills of Vietnam, to raise money for a worthy cause: the education and training of street children of Ha Noi, by an aussie charity here.I'm all hyped up. Pumped, as Arnie says. I'm ready to kill myself doing this.And kill myself doing this is extremely likely.Did I

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1132749542273531942005-11-23T12:39:00.000Z2005-11-24T14:41:25.040Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 1px #000000; }.flickr-frame { float: left; text-align: center; margin-right: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } disembarkation, originally uploaded by digitalia. I know I should be writing about Indonesia, or at least tell you something of what happened there, or about going back to Singapore, or anything about

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1136814426268857022005-11-19T13:35:00.000Z2006-01-09T14:18:57.456Z

Singapore is lovely. It's like coming home, somehow.I spent a week resting and eating and chatting to tourists, some of whom were interesting, although the most interesting of which were not. Bizarrely.I lay down in a hot hostel, freezing at 22 degrees centigrade, clad in all my woollies, and cursing the acclimatisation, and chatting to a girl from Derry.She'd spent one day in Singapore, and

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1132381101327088302005-11-19T06:18:00.000Z2005-11-19T06:18:21.336Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 1px #000000; }.flickr-frame { float: left; text-align: center; margin-right: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } predictable, originally uploaded by digitalia. I miss my cats

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1133367949837051312005-11-18T16:25:00.000Z2006-01-09T14:16:13.796Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 1px #000000; }.flickr-frame { float: left; text-align: center; margin-right: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } Bahowo Village, Indonesia, originally uploaded by digitalia. With these 'where've you been posts' (and sorry about the number, but all blogspot sites are banned in this fine communist country of Viet Nam,

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1132320766401867212005-11-18T13:23:00.000Z2005-11-18T13:32:46.420Z

I took the best photograph of my life.It was beautifully framed. The colours and textures were superb. The layout was perfectly proportioned. The contrast of the background charcoal blue smoke against the mid ground animals, and the foreground red lighting from the market canopies was delicious.It was breathtaking.And it depicted a scene of gruesome animal torture. A bamboo cage overfilled

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1132111248386030292005-11-16T03:20:00.000Z2005-11-19T05:37:23.760Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 1px #000000; }.flickr-frame { float: left; text-align: center; margin-right: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } sky tower, digitalia. 1. If you want to sponsor me for the 80km bike ride to raise funds for KOTO, please email me at audacity at gmail dot com.2. No, I do not know how you're suppposed to get the money

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1131069777439009132005-11-04T02:02:00.000Z2005-11-04T02:02:57.863Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 1px #000000; }.flickr-frame { float: left; text-align: center; margin-right: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } Hitching sign, originally uploaded by digitalia. that things would be different, this time, that if I was in trouble, I'd say so, instead of keeping quiet and fighting through it like my instincts tell me

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1131033308848653302005-11-03T15:55:00.000Z2006-01-09T13:50:31.800Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 1px #000000; }.flickr-frame { float: left; text-align: center; margin-right: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } uniquely singapore, originally uploaded by digitalia. I'm in Singapore now, at the airport, late at night, after a nine hour bus ride, then a two hour fun filled adventure to find somewhere to sleep. Within

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1130666118353471632005-10-30T21:40:00.000Z2005-10-30T10:29:27.216Z

We believe that terrorists and criminal elements are continuing with plans to kidnap foreign tourists from the islands and coastal areas of Eastern Sabah. Boats travelling to and from offshore islands and dive sites are possible targets. If you wish to visit resorts on, and islands off, Eastern Sabah, you should exercise extreme caution.FCO articleI wasn't that nervous; better to go somewhere

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1130667799358652182005-10-30T10:09:00.000Z2005-10-30T10:36:23.780Z

I love cities, and KL is no different. I'm here twice, and lucky enough to be here at both Deepavali and Hari Raya - 'christmastide' for two big big religions, essentially; the people watching is rich here.My first impression, though, was formed by toilets. It's not like I've never used a squat toilet before. It's not like I've never had to do without paper before.I guess it's just that some

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1130666950913402012005-10-30T09:56:00.000Z2005-10-30T10:42:08.013Z

I love Singapore. I don't give a flying fuck if you, you or you think it's "sterile", think it's "just another city". What, like Rome's just another city? Like Buenos Aires is just another city? I don't care if it's Asia Lite. What, am I on a long hard search to see poverty and suffering or something? Is it not really travelling unless I'm watching squalor? I worry about people. Really.

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1130664016042912152005-10-30T09:20:00.000Z2005-10-30T09:20:16.333Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 1px #000000; }.flickr-frame { float: left; text-align: center; margin-right: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } Shitty book, originally uploaded by digitalia. I keep reading ridiculous books - by now if I'm in a city, I hoard novels people have recommended, despite how much they wiegh [aka a serious craving] so I

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1129958642939625272005-10-22T05:24:00.000Z2005-10-22T05:24:02.970Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 1px #000000; }.flickr-frame { float: left; text-align: center; margin-right: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } ferry faerie, originally uploaded by digitalia. I'm in Borneo now, in a paradisal place. A wooden village on stilts above the ocean, thick wooden pillars crusted with bright soft corals. Gleaming

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1129952117919624242005-10-22T03:35:00.000Z2005-10-22T03:35:17.960Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 1px #000000; }.flickr-frame { float: left; text-align: center; margin-right: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } Buddha's open for business, originally uploaded by digitalia. The Malaysians love to say no, (whereas Chinese Singaporeans seem to do anything to avoid using the word no - give you the wrong food, the n

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1129005975919441502005-10-11T04:46:00.000Z2005-10-14T10:46:53.200Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 1px #000000; }.flickr-frame { float: left; text-align: center; margin-right: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } Turtle Malaysia and Indonesia are proving super duper expensive / super duper difficult to organise for diving. If I dive in Malaysia, at the world class reef at Sipadan, it'll cost me 1250 GBP.If I dive

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1128612105592311532005-10-06T15:21:00.000Z2005-10-14T10:53:36.643Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 1px #000000; }.flickr-frame { float: left; text-align: center; margin-right: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } PHOBIAS ASSOCIATED WITHTHE SEA• Hydrophobia - a fear of water• Ichthyophobia - a fear of fish (or,more specifically, the fear of sharks,elasmophobia)• Nyctophobia - a fear of darkness• Claustrophobia - a fear

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1128610863315482902005-10-06T15:01:00.000Z2005-10-06T15:01:03.326Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 1px #000000; }.flickr-frame { float: left; text-align: center; margin-right: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } Ferry crowds, originally uploaded by digitalia. After a journey that lasted three days with only six hours of sleep time, I felt like a plague carrier trying to bury myself. The difference between big

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1128609561899406842005-10-06T14:39:00.000Z2005-10-06T14:39:21.946Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 1px #000000; }.flickr-frame { float: left; text-align: center; margin-right: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } Waiting for the plane, originally uploaded by digitalia. The last night I was in Atiu, I could barely speak English any more, even to myself, in my head. There were four tourists on the island, and two of

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1128302487065046202005-10-03T01:21:00.000Z2005-10-03T01:21:30.926Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 1px #000000; }.flickr-frame { float: left; text-align: center; margin-right: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } and necessary, originally uploaded by digitalia. Yeah, I was meant to be in Indonesia right now, but as you can tell by the trillions of photos I'm pasting over flickr, I'm neither there nor dead.I switched

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1128142696915584622005-10-01T04:58:00.000Z2005-10-01T04:58:16.923Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 1px #000000; }.flickr-frame { float: left; text-align: center; margin-right: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } Burtonesque, originally uploaded by digitalia. ...alive....Yeah.

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1124944732300945822005-08-25T04:38:00.000Z2005-08-25T04:53:53.463Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 1px #000000; }.flickr-frame { float: left; text-align: center; margin-right: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } I found out today that I'd been mispronouncing the name of the local seafood dish, and asking staff for a taste of their delicious pudenda.Which explains a few of the looks I'd been getting.

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1124943617900957922005-08-24T04:16:00.000Z2005-08-25T04:20:17.913Z

... vary with length of time away. I know people who've been away for years, and their sense of home remains firmly fixed in a jelly of What It Was Like When I Left, or How Much Better It All Was Than Here.I seem, within the space of one small month, however, to have gone from slight feeling of homesickness for accents and speed of understanding (that's the Americans who don't understand

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1124330740494602812005-08-18T02:05:00.000Z2005-08-18T11:49:16.983Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 1px #000000; }.flickr-frame { float: left; text-align: center; margin-right: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } see the world,I just fell out of a teeny tiny plane, 12000 feet above ground, stomach fully lurched, heart fully in throat, eyes alternately squeezed shut or wide, wide wide open ... and freefalled for a

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1123824931581965102005-08-12T05:15:00.000Z2005-08-12T05:35:31.596Z

So I cut myself up pretty badly in Hawaii - six or seven inconsequential lacerations and one big fat chunk out of my instep that's left me without much ambulation for the last week.I'd been splashing on Bettadine and Band Aid Liquid Skin (the US version doesn't peel off, it just slowly biodegrades on your foot - I was unsure, given the surgical care with which they scrubbed up to swab any

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1123734894399511122005-08-11T04:34:00.000Z2005-08-18T02:14:11.836Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 1px #000000; }.flickr-frame { float: left; text-align: center; margin-right: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } Cessna My god, Hawaii has been stunning. If I died tomorrow, I'd feel pretty happy that I'd lived. I climbed a waterfall, without guides or ropes or permission, then swam in icy cavern beneath it, laughed

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1123382451135154212005-08-07T02:40:00.000Z2005-08-07T02:40:51.160Z

.flickr-photo { border: solid 1px #000000; }.flickr-frame { float: left; text-align: center; margin-right: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } Car lot reflections, originally uploaded by digitalia. Sorry. I've been rather distracted. Hawaii is gorgeous. People, places, experiences and things. So much so that I just changed my flights to NZ, so

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1122528936475510372005-07-28T05:32:00.000Z2005-07-28T05:35:36.483Z

One point, if you're trying to travel light, this stuff is fucking fantastic. About half a teaspoon is enough to wash you wholly, which means less shit to carry. And having too much shit to carry is a very very serious matter.

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1122363191373975462005-07-26T07:27:00.000Z2005-07-26T07:33:11.380Z

I left on a Wednesday, but spent 21 hours travelling, so that day wasn't really counting as a day.I'm eleven hours behind UK time, too. If I ring anyone, it's already tomorrow where they are.The date on this post says July 26th, 7am. It's not. It's the 25th, and half nine at night. I'm pretty cure the 25th is a Monday. Or a Sunday.During the course of the next two months, dateline-crossing

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1121925526860957752005-07-21T05:40:00.000Z2005-07-21T06:05:57.596Z

In Honolulu now, after 21 solid ours of travelling - feel very light headed. Have tried ringing you guys but keep getting the number wrong or card not ok for that phone - porbably for the best as it's 4am your time.I entered a children's competition on the flight from SF to Hawaii, to guess the exact moment we got to the middle point of the journey, and won. I now have to carry around 3 tins of

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1121926332694571122005-07-18T06:08:00.000Z2005-07-21T06:12:12.693Z

The day before I leave, HSBC decides to freeze my current account.In case of fraud.They do this at random. The only way to unlock the account is to ring them and confirm the last five purchases.They did this late Saturday night, as I was moving house. Without a phone or a mobile. Two days before leaving the country, without any access to moeny other than through ATMS. All of which these

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216280.post-1121469055903285742005-07-15T23:07:00.000Z2005-07-15T23:10:55.913Z

As zero hour approaches, this new cloak of pre arranged pre planned unusualness is slipping away, and my more normal character resumes. You know, that one that really irritated everybody, the tendency towards waking up a bit late and deciding to pack an hour after I should have checked in.In keeping with this, I excelled myself tonight. The night before I move all my stuff out at the crack of

Lectricenoreply@blogger.com0