The begining of the motorcycle diaries (alternative title: you can call me Che)

Today was THE day. George and I had decided on renting semi’s and were ready to roll. Vietnamese coffee, a heckling by a persistent cyclo driver who remembered us from the day before and shaky nerves wey are all that consisted of our morning. 

By mid-day we had headed straight for the bike shop to get the show on the road. As usual life in Vietnam was running on Vietnam time and we sat around for a few hours. The kiwi blokes came round to see us off (bless their gorgeous cotton socks). Oliver – a young long haired fellow who as Terrence’s business partner had agreed to escort us out of Ho Chi Minh City (with a population of 3.5 million motorcycles) on the way to Vung Tao – our first stop. It’s worth mentioning that it’s probably a 20 minute ride out of the city and again, Oliver and Terrence have thus far made zero dong from their time. Solid dudes and any readers who are capable on a manual should definitely purchase from Ho Chi MInh Motorbikes/Hair of the Dog Bar if they get the chance. The first 20m of my ride out of the bike shop I could barely steer the thing. I was flopping all over the place and MUST have looked like a right dickhead. I had some very strong moments where I seriously reconsidered turning back and crawling into the safety of a night bus. My ego got the better of me and I persevered.

Traffic in Vietnam is absolutely, 100% crazy. Honestly, if someone had shown me a video of what I’d be dealing with on the road I probably would have never jumped on a bike in the first place. It operates like a free for all. The rule of thumb is, give way to anyone in-front of yourself and if you hit someone, it’s your fault, no matter how quickly and sharply they pull out. Oh dear. It’s pulsating and wild and has a very animalistic quality to it; not unlike a school of fish. No one really has right of way in intersections, so motorcycles stick together like schools of guppies. We were dodging lorries and semi trailers, other motorcyclists and pushbikers and the odd cow or dog, but somehow it all works… after a while it starts to make sense? You don’t smash into anyone ahead of you, so when you change lanes or turn without looking behind you, they offer you the same gratitude. George and I both gained confidence pretty quickly. Few minor mishaps – bugs in throats, dust in eyes, near head on with a minibus and me STUPIDLY driving for about 500m on the wrong side of the highway – surprisingly was taken with a grain of salt by the other motorists, it kind of happens all the time here. Bit of beeping and cautious maneuvering and I managed to get back to where I should be with no qualms. Everyone had told us the first day would be shit – pollution, no real scenery and a shitty highway. After a few hours of adrenaline the thrill was wearing off and I though to myself “what the fuck have I gotten myself into for the next month”. And then, in true glorious South East Asian form, the sun started to set – big and fat and RED through the clouds. We reached the outskirts of Vung Tao and watched the orange glow descend over the river and the fishermen. 

Arriving into town we high fived, hugged and decided to consult the guidebook regarding things to do and places to stay. “Vang Tao is not unlike Pattaya for Vietnamese people” (uh oh) “cheapest accommodation starting from $18 per night” (faces of despair). I enlisted the help of an English speaking random, who called a couple of mates but the cheapest room he could rustle up was a pay by the hour sort of deal. There was no doubt in my mind that we were probably two of maybe a handful of other weary travelers in this town. Politely declining his offer of a love hotel, he directed us to the street containing most of the hotels. By this time it was pitch black and we were exhausted. George listened to the directions while I dawdled around and was also in possession of the phone, GPS and guidebook (if this was a film, there would be some serious ominous music playing right now). George zoomed off ahead of me and I managed to follow someone that looked kind of like him in the dark. It took me approximately 30 seconds to realise that the person I was following was NOT my buddy. I screamed expletives and rode around aimlessly, on verge of complete mental breakdown. It was one of those moments where I had to grow up, shrug off my usual coping mechanism of crying and petulance and pulled into a hotel that looked like it might have wifi. Success. Nice Vietnamese lady gave me the password and I wrote to George – even though the situation was scary, the reality of it was, George would naturally go somewhere with Wifi, facebook me and we would meet up. Worst case scenario I sat on the side of the road outside this hotel for a few hours. Suddenly out of the mist I hear three loud motorcycle beeps (George and my pre-arranged universal road communication signal) look up and see the absolute numpty smiling and waving. Screaming, fistbumping, laughter and a quick zip around to the street with all the hotels. We made a man and an old woman haggle each other for our business, effectively taking all the work out of it for us (note: how to do Asia like a bawsssss) and wandered down the road for a few beers and some Pho – my first ever bowl. 50 heads turned as we walked in and we were ushered to a table near the front. A group of men were pouring rice whiskey out of plastic waterbottles into shot glasses, and yelling some sort of drinking chant before shotting. We got excited and started clapping and yelling and were promptly invited to their table to partake in the shots and yelling. Later after our Pho was finished, the family of some of the men came up to us and wanted to take photos of us together. It’s kind of a cool feeling being seen as something other than a nuisance or a dollar dollar bill in South East Asia.

Something about this tiny strange backpacker barren town has given us both a foreboding sense of excitement. We’ve already scratched so much more of the surface of this crazy country than we would have if we were hearded straight on a tourist bus to the next backpacker destination. The feeling of complete freedom/fear/craziness on the roads is indescribable. George and I have already dealt with a pretty intense first day and managed to come out of it with optimism… I feel the begginings of an incredible month bubbling away.

More Motorcycle adventures to come.

 

Holly out. 

Miss Saigon

I was roughly shaken awake by a Vietnamese bus driver once we arrived in the outskirts of Saigon – I was the last person left on the bus and felt incredibly out of my depth. I collected my bags and walked slowly down to the front. I had no dong, (yes, dong is the name of Vietnamese currency – expect liberal penis jokes over the coming weeks) NO idea where I was supposed to be staying and it was 10pm. The french dude I had met on an earlier rest stop was waiting for me just outside, thank fucking jesus. Coming from the chilled out island paradise of Koh Rong to waking up at 10pm in pulsating Saigon was an absolute smack in the face. I haven’t felt culture shock like that since first arriving in Delhi last year. Spasmodic flashing lights all around me, 64 million motorcycles whizzing around… the french guy must have been able to tell I was out of my depth (probably fairly obvious by my gaping mouth) and sorted out some motorbike taxis to take us to Bui Vien, the backpacker district in the middle of Ho Chi Minh. I couldn’t talk or really understand anything that was going on, so followed my friend to a guesthouse his friend was staying at. It was a sterile travel agency downstairs, then up some very steep, very dingy stairs (i’m talking like 8 flights of them) to potentially the hottest dorm I’ve ever stayed in in my entire life. There were 2 fans, 10 bodies and about 40 degrees of humid, sticky Vietnamese heat. Of course my bed had the least access to the fan, so I had a horrible, fitful sweaty half sleep. 

When I woke up the next morning my temporary-semi-catatonia had almost dissipated and I was able to make conversation with a gruff Argentinian in the bed opposite. He decided we would go for a walk and explore the city together. By day Saigon seems much more serene. We walked to some boring church, smoked a joint at the river and the gruff Argentinian was increasingly rude to the locals. I don’t know whether it was a cultural thing or what but it was pretty awkward. Did have my first Bahn Mi experience, did almost cry, did have to go behind the Bahn Mi stand to point out what ingredients I want because the whispers about Vietnam are true – barely ANYONE speaks ANY english. It’s hard out here for a vego. Anyway after navigating the awful heat the Argentinian and I changed hostels, to one I’d been recommended called Hideout, which had aircon, 2 free beers per day and free breakfast. CHA CHING. The Argentinian decided we were seeing the Cu Chi tunnels that afternoon (he made a lot of decisions) so we gathered a little crew from the lobby of the hostel including a solid American babe with a beard and blue eyes. Cue dribble. He told me he liked my style and I batted my eyelashes at him for a while. 

When we left for the Cu Chi tunnels I sat next to Baberaham Lincoln and maybe kinda realised he was a giant douche. He told me he was a lawyer about to go to med school (trepidation begins) and that “gender roles exist for a reason”. Massive boner kill. At this point I realised my only crew of friends in Saigon were a bit of a flop. Part of the Cu Chi tunnels ‘tour’ included a stereotypical South East Asian stopover at some crappy expensive shop so the tour guide can earn commission based on whatever junk hapless tourists decide to buy. I couldn’t be fucked even entertaining the idea so I ambled over to a crew of staff members who were on smoko and playing a Mah Jong-esque game and joined in. We couldn’t really communicate but we smoked cigarettes and I made the appropriate excited noise when someone seemed to do something that resembled winning. 

When we finally arrived at the tunnels I somehow managed to weasel a mild friendship out of two gorgeous English girls, Tallulah and Yaz because they liked my shorts – which were made out of old tea towels with maps on them. I got over my weird social awkwardness and the weird feeling of being the new person in the group who doesn’t understand the dynamics or the personal jokes and stuck around like a bad smell till they accepted me. (like i literally tagged along following them down the road while they were going to eat. i felt like a freak but they were all really rad so I figured I should swallow my pride). The group consisted of the girls, Will and George and Maarten. The first restaurant we went into had literally zero vegetarian options and even though I insisted I was fine to observe, they changed restaurants just for me. Bless their cotton socks. George and I realised we were both doing the same route through Vietnam, then the Trans-Mongolian into Europe so we pretty much planned to stick together for the duration of Vietnam. 

After dinner we went to a Reggae Bar called Saigon Vibrations which was dead empty, bought two bottles of Vodka, consumed them, started a dance circle which ended up in Tallulah breaking her foot. Ooft. In amongst this foot breaking we played some ridiculous drinking games which somehow ended in the invention of a new sex position called “the united cobra”. If anyone has any idea what this could entail I’d be enthralled to hear about it. At about 3am I was 10x drunker than any Australian should be for the amount of alcohol I had consumed so I somehow bullied Will into a Bahn Mi hunt. We ran around the streets screaming BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHNNNNNNNNN MMMMMMMMMMUUUUUUUUUOOOOOOOOOIIIIIIIIIII like only a drunk backpacker would dare, until we found a Bahn Mi stand which was closed. I begged and flashed my dong until they agreed to make us two glorious baguettes made out of vegetable scraps they were about to throw out, 2 wedges of laughing cow cheese and lashings of Sriracha. I had a foodgasm, made Will be on the lookout when I peed in an alley. Will tried to awkwardly kiss me so I ran away and then told his friends about it and giggled, cause I’m an adult. Throughout the process of this drinking and dancing and ankle breaking and urinating extravaganza I was slowly using my powers of persuasion to bully George into buying a motorcycle with me and cycling the length of Vietnam together. The rest of the group had already gone from North to South and were leaving either tomorrow or the day after, so it was just him and I left. I knew I could crack him.

The next morning George and I, very hungover, hightailed it to Hair of the Dog, a bar which by day, was a Motorcycle shop run by a short bald englishman in his late 60s called Terrence. Terrence was incredibly helpful, spoke to us for hours about the logistics of Motorcycling ‘nam, and eventually organised a mid-day lesson with a colleague visiting from the Hanoi branch to get us used to manual motorcycles. (cue 2.5 hours of waiting for a dude to go 200m down the road to grab us some petrol in a bottle… ahh Vietnam time) The man who taught us, whose name escapes me now, was possibly the sleaziest man I’d ever encountered. “Fuck me its hot” he said “I agree” i responded. “that was a request”. I was hungover, grumpy, hot and he continued to make jokes about “punishing me later” when I fucked something up and repeated invitations to “go for a drive round the city later” which i courteously rebuffed. I’m focusing on sleazebag teacher in order to salvage the last shreds of tattered dignity George and I possesed, because George and I were absolutely rubbish at riding manual bikes both lulled into a false sense of security by dirt roads and fully automatics in Hampi (ahhh Hampi). Dejected and sweat soaked, we returned to the bike shop with severe doubts about our abilities to perform this seemingly monumental task. Terrence assured us that even if we decided to rent semi-automatics, he would take us to another bike shop tomorrow, meaning he would make approximately 0 dong from his time investment in us. (and we all know that life without dong is a sad life indeed)

That afternoon we met up with our comrades, including a very crippled Tullulah (who was hilariously not provided with crutches when they put her cast on) for a visit to the War Remnants museum. I’ll spare you the gory details but FUCK the Vietnam war. I cried, and you should too because the atrocities committed by the USA led war effort were despicable and Agent Orange is a horrific chemical. By this stage the group was absolutely solid, again as travel friends tend to become in short periods. Will, Maartin, Tullulah, Yaz and George – so much love for you all. xxxx

Goodbyes were sad but again didn’t feel like “forever” goodbyes.

Notable additions to the crazy Saigon friends I made were Cam and Alex, two 18 year old Kiwi blokes who (as travellers tend to do) seemed years older than they were but were only given away by their baby faces – both incredibly dry in their humor and could give a ribbing as well as they could take it. Theresa and Dorothy – two smokin’ hot Canadians who were as sexually explicit as they were hilarious and intelligent and the usual additions of crazy European dudes.

Saigon – originally hit me for six, soonafter had a big fat place in my heart as one of the best cities I’ve ever visited.

 

KL is a strange place

Day two in KL has been pretty weird so far. Koo and i went out for breakfast to a Mamak restaurant – which is muslim indian food. we had 3 different types of roti (plain and egg with curry and one sweet banana one) for breakfast. we chatted about the usual traveller fare – the evils of monsanto and the difference in the way rain smells here compared with in sydney. the rain was pretty torrential so we were stuck inside the mamak restaurant for quite some time.

After the rain cleared, we drove into the city and explored the shopping metropolis. don’t get me wrong, i love big, dirty, filthy pulsating asian cities, but this one didn’t grow on me. something about KL is creepy… there is a very constructed feel to it… i can’t really explain what i mean without going off into complete la la bullshit land but if KL was a person it would be a robot with human skin. no aura/soul/chakras/whatever it is that makes people human and cities alive. KL has a facade, and what is underneath is incredibly un-nerving.

dinner that night was street food. i have no idea what koo ordered but it showed up infront of me. it was all unrecognisable, with none of the frills normally associated with westerners dining “authentically” whilst travelling. i borderline shat my pants and ate, and was surprised. the food was delicious, despite looking like garbage bin slop. the rainy streets of KL set a gorgeous background both in sound and smell. radioactive green formica tables, radioactive green plastic stools and matching radioactive green chopsticks in tubs a kitch relic of 70s decor which was clearly kept out of sheer not-give-a-fuck-ism of the stall owners was seriously enough to impress any instagram food blogger worth their salt.

the next day was action packed despite my intense

cue hours of non-sensical KL traffic, a cheap/horrible hollywood movie and late night restlessness in the heat. day two fin.

the following morning i woke up sick, exhausted, sweaty and grumpy. couch surfing is cool and that but i like my own space too much. despite feeling like a bag of dicks, Koo had organised 1000001 activities for us.

We went to the Batu caves, a Hindu shrine nestled in amongst limestone caves. The shrine is dedicated to Lord Murugan, son of Shiva and Parvarti and brother of Ganesha. Indian hindus make up a large proportion of the population of Malaysia so unsurprisingly the place was packed to the rafters with Hindu worshipers. being surrounded by them stirred in me an undulating desire which is generally reserved for emotionally unavailable men, modernist poetry and the crowded streets of the land where the heart is king. (you know, when you get that big fat juicy plum tasting heart that feels like it’s so ripe the skin could split and the juice could go everywhere?) whatever holly shut up – i started to get THAT feeling. it was the smell (overtones of incense, undertones of hot filth), the adult men holding hands with one another as a show of brothership without shame, babies with freshly shaved hair and freshly vibhuti’d foreheads. it was cheeky teenagers winking and head wobbling at me and young families extending a namaste for no reason other than i was walking in their path. i remember in india, arriving in Varanassi after an overnight train. the rickshaw dropped us at the edge of the old city – a cobbled labrinth centuries old and too narrow for anything other than cows, motorbikes and thousands of Kumbh Mela pilgrims. we walked the dizzying streets, the raindrops were so fine they were almost a fog. two faces peered out at us, and greeted us with a Namaste – the light in me, recognises the light in you. my soul is greeting your soul. we were invited to walk around an ancient temple to the Mother Goddess of sex, death and destruction; Kali. the temple was ancient, the idols crude and red mouthed – not the modern blue skinned incantations. i can’t really describe the feeling, but it was the first time i understood the meaning of namaste – my first proper invitation into the culture and my first true understanding of my place in it. later that night after settling into the hostel and smoking some hashish with the owner, a big boooming man in a tie-dyed tshirt – he laughed and told us “varanassi is like a psychadelic, you either love it or you hate it.” he swiftly left the table, as though this were a perfectly rehersed part he had played many times before – leaving two very stoned travellers to weigh up that pebble.

i actually don’t remember where i was, but yes. batu caves made me realise i might choof off back to India straight after eastern Europe. India, the land of the heart, the land where the heart is king. ahhh.

anyway, cue further KL adventures, a hidden waterfall which i was unable to enjoy properly due to my weird sickness inspired by substance abuse in sydney. the dip did actually soothe my fever which was nice. surprisingly for such an incredibly shocking person at being sick, i’m actually keeping the sooking to a minimal level. yay team growing up.

sweaty nap, long drive to a hill full of monkeys. the sun was setting on a river delta and Koo pointed out to me the monkey sitting in the crest of the old fig tree, enjoying the sunset. watching him watch the big fat orange sun (oh asian sunsets how i’ve missed you!) was one of the coolest experiences i had in KL. he was full on maxxin relaxxin with his hand on his chin staring out wistfully. what a little dude.

we had an arduously long dinner at a seafood restaurant, which was open air on a riverbank. i nearly fell asleep at the dinner table.

i sat in a little boat and a boatman paddled me up and down the banks to look at trees glimmering with fireflies. it honestly didn’t look real at all. my mind was kind of warping with non-comprehension. it was one of the most beautiful and glorious things i’d ever seen in my life. i caught what i thought was one, and lay it in my hand. i held a light over it, and it was actually two freaky fireflies copulating on my hand, underbellies flashing intermittently with synchronised pleasure. i took it as a good sign.

the next morning i was 110% ready to leave KL. my flight was booked for 3 in the afternoon. Koo took me to a morning market and my patience was tested. i’m never good when the finish line is in sight, i always collapse and dig my heels in and demand to be carried over it. not a great quality. I was also taken to a closed badminton court because it’s the national sport (?).

the journey to the airport was sweet – i reveled in my own company, despite a consistent trickle of sweat down my butt crack and 20c headphones i stole off the aeroplane. my flight was another air asia cheap as chips one, which i had to ask an ex lover to buy for me because my credit card wasnt working (i do have some dignity, i swear it). the plane was full and cramped and literally everyone on it had bad breath. at one point the turbulence was so bad that my malay row mates and i all held hands and screamed in unison. i looked into the eyes of the woman next to me and i literally thought she would be the last person i would ever see. i always thought a near death experience would be more terrifying, but the adrenaline was kind of sexy.

stepping of the plane and outside into the dusty, hot, khmer streets kind of fucked with my head a bit. the last time i arrived here i was with two of my best friends, i was high off the tail ends of the most blissful summer ever and headily intoxicated with Pristiq, the only pharmaceutical anti-depressant that has actually worked for me. this time i was alone, lost, sick, fat and trying to conquer said loneliness by spending six months in foreign solitude. running headfirst through the storm, as Tripodi accurately put it. the cab ride consisted purely of me spinning out in my own head. being alone for such a long time has really given me the space and ability to unpack and analyse these thoughts without being overwhelmed by them. when eric or flat sam pops up, the best way for me to deal with it is acknowledge the thought, name the type of thought, then set it aside. i’ll stop with my new age guided meditation bullshit now.

(this is becoming very stream of consciousness, but you’ll deal with it)

i got to the hostel and all the tuk tuk drivers remembered me from when i stayed here 18 months ago – clearly i am a minor Khmer celebrity.

my weird fears about not making any friends turned out to be bogus and some english chick invited me out for dinner within about 20 minutes. nothing from dinner was noteworthy, except my serious power spew in the toilets upstairs, fevered cab ride back to the hostel and passing out into a hallucinatory half sleep.

i gathered all my worldly electronic posessions and hightailed to The Blue Pumpkin with the big white couch seats, fast free wifi and siiiiickballs food.

so, here i am. daydreaming about india, writing down my thought processes and trying to make sense of my crazy journey.

Holly out.

Day 1 Kuala Lumpur

Hello friends – just a quick update cause I am exhausted. Just met my first couch surfing host Koo, after my Air Asia flight.

the seats were TINY but the plane was 80% empty so an entire row for me! For what I paid I can not complain. Staff were great.

I was flipping between nervous excitement and nearly
vomiting my croissant on everyone I met. Arriving in KL was awesome. Everyone was so friendly – a girl approached me on the train and we became chums straight away. She asked if I was a model (Holly Quin: apparently 80% hotter in Kuala Lumpur) and proceeded to walk me to my next train station, paid for my ticket and then we took selfies together. Too cute.

Koo met me at the station and then showed me his home! We decided to head to the markets for a quick bite to eat – fried mushrooms, peanut pancakes and this weird half fermented sticky rice. Koo is an absolute legend and filled me in on the customs of the country, a bit of history and some personal stuff. We are definitely on the same wave length. After some market snacks we headed to the city to drink tea and look at the petronas towers, which are fucking HUGE and AWESOME. I was seriously in awe. My iPhone snap doesn’t do them justice. Big glittering monstrosities, but so much more incredible than I expected. Good on you KL you’ve been wild so far.

Xoxo Holly out

diary entry from Khao Sok National Park – 3rd of November 2013

love love love. today we met a mahout and his elephant. he was in charge of a mama elly and a baby. he’d known the baby, HaHa, since she was born. he spoke no english but showed us a photo album of her life. I’ve never seen such love. his face was that of a man talking about his newborn child – moreso. he told our guide that he wished he could speak english, so he could explain it better to us. i don’t know he needed to, his face said it all. he lives in a bamboo hurt above their pen. he goes back up north once a year to see his wife. love, love, love. i was thinking, that i want to love something that much, but i think i do. i love everyone that much. i love and love and love. i want to take place in someones heart so purely that they have a mahout smile when my name brushes past their lips.

 

 

Russian Visa: sorted.

 

 

i always seem to count my chickens far, far before they hatch, and am prone to massive bouts of the dissapointments. so much hope for the poor little chickens who end up fried and scrambled into a protein-y mess on someones plate.

 

anyway, enough about my lifes problems, lets talk about my Russian visa. Due to either incompetence or spite related to the argument i had with the reservations woman, my invitation letter into Russia was only till the 24th of July – meaning I would disembark from a 5 day train ride, have two days in Moscow and would subsequently have to VAMONOS. not ideal, really considering i wanted to stay til the 30th. i decided to try my luck in the visa office anyway.

as i was walking into the russian consulate i nearly vomited in a potplant out the front. probably NOT a great impression, but figures of authority make me feel like a naughty school girl sent to the principals office.  i walked inside and everyone was surprisingly pleasant. the young man at the counter took one look at my application, one look at my invitation letter and told me i didn’t have doccumentation to stay till the 30th. i begged. i fluttered. i pleaded. i casually mentioned that i might overstay my visa anyway? he was stopped in his tracks. “no, you do that, you spend at least 3 weeks in detention centre” i told him i didn’t have time to go get another invitation letter and then come back. i was leaving the country in a week! he eventually relented, signed off on the 30th and with a half smile told me he was “breaking many immigration laws” for me. also allowed me to pick up my passport + visa the very next morning – instead of the usual 4 working days. redhead charms at it again.

 

Holly: 2 – Staunch Visa Officials: 0

so, the plans are changing

last night i had a shnitty and drinks with Barra, sales rep from my all time favourite touring company. in my first week he whisked me away for coffee we talked shit and exchanged travel stories. i took a liking to him straight away, and he soon made a smooth transition from “industry pal” to real life “OH MY GOD BARRA IVE HAD THE WORST DAY GET ME DRUNK AND LISTEN TO ME WHINGE” friend. he kind of made the really good point that i probably need to haul arse and get my visas done BEFORE i leave the country – which is an incredibly valid point. cue drunken googling and endless meandering tripadvisor posts and no solid answers.

 

i know the visa struggles, i foolishly decided to apply for my Indian visa in Cambodia because “it only costs $50 there instead of $100 here.” any stingy traveler will relate. what ensued was perhaps one of the most frustrating 3 days of my life, but easily one of my proudest moments. the first day in the visa office, i sat around with a bunch of other travellers in an eerily frigid room (which looked exactly like a diningroom, not a waiting room in a consulate, but anyhow) unsure of exactly what is going on. whispers filter round – “he’s a nightmare to deal with” “his visa was denied cause he used the wrong pen” “a woman who has lived in india for 15 years was just denied cause her marriage certificate was in turkish” maybe it was true, maybe it was traveller-lore, either way, for the first 8 hours of this ordeal, nothing. happened. every hour so i’d leave for a cigarette (sorry dad) and ask at the front desk what was going on – “computer down madam, system in india, you wait”. by the end of the day, nothing had happened and we were sent home. day two was much of a muchness. my girlfriends hated phnom penh so headed down to kampot – i stayed by myself. a few people gave up their plans to travel to india, few more people joined us in the dining room.

by the third day in the dining room, the system was running, one by one we were called up to submit our visa forms. the cute german couple got rejected first and left, told their form was incomplete. people kept coming back into the room, all being rejected. we realised that all of us had the same error on our computer generated form. when i went to speak to him myself, i was told i couldn’t submit the application without the form fully complete. the form couldn’t be fully completed on their online visa system, and the office was in india so we had no idea when they would fix it. we were told it could be days, maybe even a week, which didn’t exactly work for my life plans. there was nothing he could do and we would all have to suffer and keep coming back every day with new applications to check.

i walked back into the dining room boiling with raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaage. i single handedly used my boiling rage to stir up the rage of every other frustrated backpacker who had sat in the fucking dining room for 3 days straight. the 15 of us stormed down to the visa counter. i started banging on the counter with my fists and yelling some shit or other. visa man relented. backpackers win. indian visas for erryone (side note: in his last ditch effort to overthrow me, he did only issue me with a one month indian visa, when the standard is 6. you win some you lose some)

back to the issue at hand (much like my life, my blog will probably be constantly punctuated by asides about india, but you’ll get over it) i planned to leave sydney on the 1st of may, but with china and russian visas unable to be processed in time i may have to push my trip back slightly. i’m considering cutting out indonesia all together and starting in malaysia, focusing mainly on vietnam and china, rather than spreading myself too thin. i dont know i guess i just need to get this visa crap processed and then i’ll figure it out?

i’ve used a company called vodkatrain for the trans mongolian, i’m doing their genghis khan trip which is 14 days and starts in beijing, ends in moscow. i am so fucking excited i could jump out of my skin. 4 nights on a train, what the fuck have i signed myself up for?