postcard from egypt

With only four days in Egypt, and half of day one spent trapped on the world's least punctual ferry, our intentions to explore the less visited Western Egypt have been scrapped.

Finally getting out of port at 11pm, we barter a taxi driver down from ₤5 to ₤2 (we probably could have got it for ₤1.50 if we had really pushed) to take us the 6km drive to some nearby budget accommodation.

Luckily, it (New Soft Beach Camp in Tarabin, should you ever be in the area) is great. Sleeping in beach huts on a gorgeous beach, with a gorgeous spanish omelette breakfast, and only five guests staying in the whole place? Yes please. And all for about ₤4 each? Idyllic.

The next day we find ourselves in Dahab. The reworked plan for Egypt is now to unwind for a couple of days on the beach to round off the first leg of the trip. For this privilege we are paying the cheapest accommodation I have ever been granted: ₤1.80 for the night. Again, as it isn't peak season yet, there's a feeling of having the town to ourselves.

Cairo, then, has been planned so that we arrive early morning (6:30am) off an overnight coach, see the Pyramids, then fly out again the very same afternoon. Neither of us is particularly keen to see the city, it doesn't have a good reputation.

Said reputation seems fairly justified. Most upsettingly, every guy (and it is the men, the women of this comparatively liberal country are friendly and fun) who strikes up conversation with us is guaranteed to eventually try to sell us something.

Again, we've been warned not to expect too much of the Pyramids themselves. Undeniably impressive themselves, the illusion is somewhat ruined by their location not in the middle of the desert, but in a Cairo suburb, adjacent to a big coach park, and swarming with the most sophisticated touts I've yet come across.


The Touts of the Giza Pyramids methodology
"Hello Sir, would you like me to take your photo with the Pyramid?"
"No Sir don't worry, it is for free"
"Sir, the photo would look very cool if you wore this Arabian headscarf in it. Try it on please"
"No Sir, of course I do not want your money"
"Sir, you should come here and climb atop this camel, then the photo will look really good"
"No Sir, it is for free, for free"
Oh yes Sir, this is a good photo. Perhaps we go for a little walk on the camel now?"
"No no Sir, no problem. It is free, it is free."
"Sir did you enjoy that ride? That will be ₤5 please"
"Sir I can not let you down from the camel until you have paid for your camel ride"
"Sir you must pay for your camel ride"
"No Sir I cannot let you down"
"The Police, Sir? (Begrudgingly ushers camel to the ground)"

(please note that this tale comes from Simon, my zero-tolerance policy on touts remained steadfast throughout)

Still, we're glad we did see the Pyramids, and going inside one of them was the most humid, claustrophobic, sweatiest experience of my life.

And then, it is time to leave the Middle East. The second leg of our trip has undergone major restructuring: word on the road is that Vietnam has been spoilt by a massive influx of tourism recently (a predicament I'm content to blame on King Tory himself Jeremy Clarkson, and the rest of his Top Gear goons), and we have less time for our trip after Japan than we had originally planned (just over three weeks) so we've instead decided to see Malaysia and Thailand rather than the original Vietnam > Cambodia > Laos > Thailand route.

That's all in the future though, and first we've got the matter of a flight to Japan to deal with. Aboard a plane on which we are the only two white people, the (half full anyway) aircraft crew treat us first to seats with extra legroom, then to a full second meal after we had just finished our first one. To top it all off, the in-flight movie is Slumdog Millionaire, a film I've been desperate to see since it rampaged the Oscars a few months back.


(Direct Youtube link)

Top flight, Egypt Air, thanks. We arrive in Tokyo jet-lag free, refreshed, and prepared for a major cultural change of scenery.

Wish you were here,
Mark.

Photos: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=68269&id=282401058&l=5615fcdf08
Egypt rating: 6.5/10
Friendliest person: Enjoying a bit of a song and dance with the group of 10 girls at the Pyramids.
Scariest moment: Losing sight of Simon as he got taken off on the back of a camel, hours before our flight.
Most beautiful sight: The Pyramids - from certain angles.
The Soundtrack: Fleet Foxes - Fleet Foxes.
Still to come: Japan, Malaysia, Thailand, Glastonbury festival.

postcard from jordan

Time is in short supply now, and we are not getting to spend as much time in countries as we would like to.

Jordan, we boil down to it's two essential destinations, the first of which is Petra.

Familiar to millions as one of the new seven wonders of the world, and as the scene of a couple of chase scenes or something in the film Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (although I'm one of those people that has never actually seen the film), Petra is a colossal playground of incredible natural colour and ancient architecture.

It's expensive (₤26!) and takes effort - on our second day we walk 20km to ensure we see the essential sights everybody sees, and do some hiking around rarer ventured sections.

Has we not, it would have been a day spent trudging round alongside the masses of tour groups, but Petra is most certainly a location where the more you put in, the more you get out. The result is the most rewarding day from the five weeks of the trip thus far.

From Petra we head to Wadi Rum where we spend 24 hours in the middle of the desert, as guests of a Bedouin family. We sleep in Bedouin tents, go jumping off sand dunes, and bomb around the desert in a 4x4 van exploring some of the more impressive desert scenery. It's all very good fun.

It's hard to tell after such a short stay, but the Jordanians are roughly as hospitable as the Syrians, who I was waxing lyrical about a couple of weeks ago. It's still a joy to be welcomed to a country like this.

The ferry to Egypt is a nightmare. Expensive as well (₤45), the boat takes three hours to leave the port, three hours to cross the sea, and four (!) hours to dock at the other side, a failure for which they bizarrely and unfathomably blame on the 'high' (yet barely existent) winds. By our rough calculations, we reckon it would have only taken slightly longer to walk the journey (were it possible).

Thank goodness then, that we are prepared for entertaining ourselves whilst in transit. I have on my ipod the full first series of 24 (neither of us have ever seen it) and on the ferry we manage to watch the five remaining episodes of the series. I dread to think how the journey would have been without them.

The boat docks at 10pm - way past schedule - and we still have to get through passport and luggage control. There is no chance we are going to be able to get to our intended bed - 70km away - tonight...

Wish you were here,
Mark.

Photos: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=68269&id=282401058&l=5615fcdf08
Jordan rating: 7.7/10
Friendliest person met: The guy who we asked for directions to Irbid bus station, and he walked us the 20 minute route there.
Scariest moment: none.
Most beautiful sight: Petra.
The Soundtrack: Chemical Brothers - Push The Button.
Still to come: Egypt, Japan, Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand, Glastonbury festival.

postcard from israel

We had been warned about two things before entering Israel. First, that the political situation can change very suddenly, so we should pay attention to current events as we enter and explore the country, and secondly, that crossing the border into Israel - especially for those with Syrian border stamps in their passport - can be a time consuming, and sometimes unsuccessful, ordeal.

We hear stories from fellow backpackers of people being questioned for an hour about their intentions, border guards hell-bent on picking holes in plans or making people crack and declare secret Arab loyalty.

A little of this turns out to be true. What we don't anticipate though, is that the border guards will in fact be a flotilla of 18 year old, attractive (and in Israel they are all attractive), uniformed girls. It appears as though this is Israel's national service in action: as the boys protect with guns elsewhere, the girls protect with pens here.

A 90 minute wait is followed by five minutes questioning by two such ladies, and some light critiquing of the Syrian Government later, we are through and on our way to Jerusalem.

After a month of being largely separate from any kind of backpacker scene, in Israel we are thrown right back into the center of one. The hostels are busy and vibrant, and it is good to be back in like-minded company.

Jerusalem itself is an expectantly serious affair, creaking as it is under the weight of 3000 years of religious and political history. It's a beautiful city - particularly the claustrophobic, bustling and ultra-holy old town, and I take my reverential moments with some of the very origins of today's religions by visiting various holy places of Muslim, Judaism, and in particular Christianity - by touching the stone Jesus was laid on after he died.

A day trip to Ein Gedi means traveling 410m below sea level to the lowest point on the earth's surface, the site of the Dead Sea.

Floating in the Dead Sea is perhaps how you imagine it - you're in water but it's impossible to sink, difficult to swim, and perfectly possible to just lay there, reading a newspaper. Care is required, however: a tiny drop of the ultra-salty water that enters your eyes, mouth or any open wound will be an intensely unpleasant experience.

In stark contrast to Jerusalem, Tel Aviv is a party town. Upon arrival we could easily be in an Australian city. The beach is long and inviting, the high-rise hotels sketch along it, and the hostels are packed with hedonistic, self-interested travelers.

It's not particularly a criticism, after five weeks of what I'll perhaps overstatingly call high-brow traveling it's welcome respite. Days therefore, are spent on the beach, and nights are spent with alcohol.

I'm standing at our hostel reception one afternoon, and the receptionist is having an argument with one of the hostel's long-term residents. She's having to remind him that it is against house rules to bring your gun (in this case, a two foot long Assault Rifle) onto hostel premises.

Also in Tel Aviv we get on a couple of computers and create fake-letters from our old universities confirming that we are currently studying there. We use them as 'proof' to get student ISIC cards that will save us plenty of money throughout the rest of our travels. We also spend half an hour in the 5-star surroundings of the Sheridan Hotel stealing a towel, after I lost mine in Jerusalem.

Our main night out in Tel Aviv sees us heading to a recommended dance bar called Lima Lima, before leaving again five minutes later, put off by the Garage music playing within, and the atypical garage crowd that comes with it.

Nearby though, we hear noise coming from the roof of a nearby apartment block - there's a party going on. Drawn by the appeal of raving on the cheap, we gatecrash. At 6:30am we leave - with the music still blaring out across Tel Aviv's skyline - and go for a walk along the beach with new friends.

Our further exploration of Israel is hampered by the country's Independence Day, a two day public holiday in celebration of the country's birth that will see systems like public transport grind to a halt. We hit on an idea of hiring a car instead to explore Israel's Northern regions.

Nervous about the manic local driving style, Simon is taking every precaution possible as we set out. We have been driving for two hours though, when he takes a roundabout exit too tightly, jolts the car up the kerb, and punctures both the (puny new style aluminium, apparently) wheels.

It is five hours later when a replacement car is brought out to us and we are back on our way again, and we would waste another two hours the following morning detouring to visit the rental company to fill out mindless paperwork. Meanwhile at the time of writing we are still awaiting confirmation that the incident was covered on our insurance. The excursion had not started well.

With our newly-thinned itinerary we go hiking down though a canyon in Yahudiya Nature Reserve, the highlight of a precarious hike being a unavoidable decent down a 9 metre ladder into a deep pool, followed by a 30 metre swim to the other side.



Elsewhere, we take a quick dip in the Sea of Galilee, and go exploring the especially politically tense area along the United Nations disengagement zone between Israel and Syria. We stop off at bomb shelters, abandoned buildings, disused tanks and an observation point overlooking the 1000 soldier UN base.

At one point Simon is at the roadside photographing a snake, when the air fills with a wailing sound. We look at each other as we realise: it is an air raid siren. Rushing back to the car we take off down the road with little idea of what to do, except drive. We shortly after pass through a village, and notice that everybody appears to be going about their lives as normal.

The next morning we are driving through more populated areas, and it happens again - sirens start blaring out across the landscape. This time though as we continue, we pass cars pulled up at the side of the road. Beside them people are standing, seemingly praying. As it is the public holiday of Independence, the air-raid siren signifies two minutes silence in memory of the six million Jewish victims of the Holocaust.

Wish you were here,
Mark.

Photos: (coming soon)
Israel rating: 7.4/10

Friendliest person met: Chem the Depeche Mode fan in Tel Aviv, or Teresa and Eva, the German sisters in Jerusalem.

Scariest moment: Air-raid siren.

Most beautiful sight:The waterfall pools in Ein Gedi national park.

The Soundtrack: Bat for Lashes - Two Suns

Still to come: Jordan, Egypt, Japan, Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand, Glastonbury festival.

postcard from lebanon

After being spoiled by the welcome in Syria, Lebanon is (perhaps inevitably) not so embracing.

Beirut in particular won't ever be named as one of my favourite cities. It has a very materialistic culture, and appears divided quite prominently between those that have, and those that have not. If you don't appear as though you fit into the former category, nobody takes a second glance at you.

This is most evident in the rapidly evolving central-Beirut area, where each interesting, war-ravaged building is being torn down to make way for an ever expanding, glitzy, fastidiously clean, Disney-like town center. It looks pretty and probably appeals to couples on a weekend break or something, but we feel out of place and somewhat looked down-upon as we venture through it.



As an aside, Beirut is the first time in four weeks of traveling that I spot a Starbucks outlet. It had been nice walking through cities that don't have American chain stores on every corner.

People pay expectantly scant regard when we attempt a night out in the city. I've got my heart set on sampling Beirut's most famous club: B 018. But it will - of course - be expensive, and we are determined to experience it on as tight a budget as possible. To that end we buy beer cans from a local store (extra strength 9% stuff, we soon notice) and dress to impress.

As backpackers with a minimal wardrobe, that is not easy. Lebanon's aforementioned culture means clubs have a strict dress code, and I have come traveling with no suitable footwear. I do however, remember hearing about a trick whilst backpacking around Australia in 2003, that stretching a pair of black socks on over shoes makes them resemble plush footwear, or at least to the cursory glance of the nightclub doorman.

It works a treat, but I shouldn't have gone to the trouble. After four weeks of sobriety, my hard-won alcohol tolerance has declined steeply. Despite drinking nothing extra once we left our hostel room, 20 minutes after entering B 018 I am vomiting in the toilets. We are invited to leave the club some time later, and the vomiting continues outside the club. And then back at the hostel. For two more hours. The next morning I resign myself to having visited Lebanon's most famous club - and not being able to remember a single thing about it. Apparently the moment when the roof opens is spectacular.

The driving in Lebanon deserves special mention. Across the Middle East it is already appalling, here it is a completely lawless. Traffic lights are - at best - give way signs, and don't ever expect that the car at the junction ahead won't pull out right in front of you. Lanes are ignored, and it is every man or woman for themselves. Despite this, I am four weeks into traveling, but have yet to sit in a seat - in car, coach or minibus - that has a seatbelt fitted.

Elsewhere in Lebanon, we visit the northern city of Tripoli. The atmosphere is edgier. We spend half an hour strolling to the center of a street market before we spot unwelcoming, anarchist black flags flying from the lampposts. On a (hastier) walk back, we spot two propaganda posters in support of Saddam Hussein, amidst the countless others that adorn the streets.

The next day revolves around wonderful hiking near the mountain village of Bcharre. It's the highlight of an otherwise unremarkable Lebanon trip - even the spectacular Roman ruins at Baalbeck (think Athens's Acropolis but far bigger and far better preserved) is dampened by torrential rainfall.

No matter, a day's coach hopping later and we are at a border entrance to Israel, trying to enter despite our passports bearing stamps from their Syrian arch rivals. Convincing them to allow us in will be time consuming...

Wish you were here,
Mark.

Photos: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=67480&id=282401058&l=91c80395d3 (no login required)
Lebanon rating: 3.2/10

Friendliest person met: The most anxious hotel manager in the world, in Beirut

Scariest moment: Walking around Tripoli.

Most beautiful sight: Baalbeck, despite the rain

The Soundtrack: Assorted works by Dean Martin, Frank Sinatra and Sammy Davis Jnr.

Still to come: Israel, Jordan, Egypt, Japan, China, Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos, Thailand, Glastonbury festival.

postcard from syria

After a spate of people trying to overcharge us in Turkey, it's safe to say that we're on our guard as we enter Syria.

In both countries so far we've had a 'baptism of fire' moment where we find ourselves walking through a new city within a brand new country, with our heavy backpacks, everybody looking at us, and we have to get our bearings and find where we are going to stay that night. We very quickly find out about the national psyche of a country in that time.

So we are cynical about early offers of help. In Turkey people (commonly children) would request money after such favours. We find the time though, to speak with two liberally dressed women in their early twenties that stop us in the street. They are English teachers, and are delighted to meet us. Afer conversation they explain that they would love to invite us back to their house, but that we are men and there are Islamic customs that must be adhered to. They then detail that we will need a taxi to get to Qamishle train station, inform us not to pay more than 50 Syrian Pounds for the journey, then change our 500 pound note for us so we can offer the driver exact change.

Hailing a (tiny, clapped out) taxi, we ask to go to the train station, and explain that we will only be paying the going-rate for the journey. He is a nice man, but he shakes his head continuously each time we try to state our price. This is a situation we are already all too familiar with. Concerned, we persist for a while, before moving on to talk about other things. At the train station the driver explains fully: this journey is free, and it is an honour to have met us and had us ride in his cab. We are bowled over and feel more than a little guilty.

At the train station we discover that we have a five hour wait until our train. It's no real problem and we've been in this situation before, so we settle down to entertain ourselves as we are used to, for the duration. Not long after, and a crowd of 15 people has formed around Simon. They are fascinated by the sight of a young western man slumped in their train station, knitting a scarf. They point and discuss with each other this most curious of sights.

People occasionally talk to us, and 20 minutes later one particular young group of men strike up conversation. After a while they invite us to their house (an offer we've been told to accept should we be fortunate that it ever be made), and we walk through the mud tracks (Qamishle has no middle class to speak of, it isn't a wealthy town) for 15 minutes to their house.

At their house we chat and our entertained for four hours, and the women of the house (who are kept from our view throughout) prepare tea and a fantastic evening meal for us. We try our best to adhere to the many rules of eating we've read (e.g. never with your left hand, never double dip anything) but inevitably slip up along the way. Not that our hosts would ever mention when we did. Although they are poor they have mobile phones, satellite TV and shared internet access. They are amazed to have such company in their house, and several times apologise for the meal they have put on for us. "Had it not been dark we would have slaughtered a lamb for you" they say.

Later they put us on the night train, and we ride to Aleppo attempting to recover from such an overwhelming day. Aleppo is far more used to tourists, so the welcome is inevitably not as sweet, but it is still a strong, honest one. Whilst it is not a thrill-ride of a city, we find entertainment in the twisting Souqs (marketplaces), and beautiful ruins at Qala'at Samaan 40 minutes drive out of town. Simon also bumps into an old workmate from Winchester (!), and we spend an evening as guests in their hotel.

You know that beeping sound big vehicles make when they're reversing? In Syria that doesn't happen. Some cars, however play a tune called Lambada that I haven't heard since I was 14.

From conservative Aleppo (female dress code: a veil) we travel to liberal Lattakia (female dress code: skinny jeans), but leave the next morning as miserable weather ruins our dreams of a beach day. From there to Hana, where the 12th century castle of Crac Des Chevaliers is the highlight of Syria. It's a brilliant castle for exploring all day, as if it's come straight from dreamland.

I can't lie, part of the appeal is that if this was in the UK it would be constantly swarming with visitors (think: Stonehenge), and railings and safety warnings would be placed everywhere in a paranoid health and safety frenzy. Here it is a beautiful structure left untouched and untarnished, and there wasn't more than 100 people exploring it's huge innards at any point during the day.

Then to Damascus, which may just be my favourite city I've ever visited. Despite receiving a not-inconsiderable portion of tourism, the Syrian welcome still runs strong through the city. Getting lost in the tiny twisting alleyways that cover much of the centre would feel threatening in many lesser cities. Here it is enchanting.

Damasus combines all the fine characteristics of Islamic cities (the culture, the people, the mosques with their nightly green glow and 'call to prayer' musical harmonies that ring out across the city), with youthfulness, character, and even a christian quarter where it's possible to enjoy a night out.



Night activities such as exploring Damasus's winding back-alleys would be precarious, often ill-advised in other countries, but everybody seems to agree: Syria could barely be any safer to travel in. It's just one more example of the Syrian welcome, and it is truly humbling. I have thought several times about what welcome our hosts would be given should they ever visit the UK, and it's a depressing thought.

Keen to not misrepresent, we do have a few hard-fought battles over money, almost all of which are with minibus drivers. One such occasion is on our final Syrian excursion - to the desert town of Palmyra. The town is graced with a castle high on hilltop, which we undertake a treacherous speed-hike to the top of in order to catch the sunset. Palmyra also has Roman ruins, the likes of which we were getting a little bored by at this stage, but we took the time to explore them at both midnight and sunrise, with beautiful results.

The ride back from Palmyra took a curious turn. All the coach companies were charging 200 Syrian Pounds to get back to Damascus, but one older gentlemen requested just 150 to ride in his rickety old Japanese bus, a vechicle with character to spare. It was an opportunity we jumped at. We must have been offered various food and drink by everybody on board during that journey - each person wanted to meet us and make us feel at home.

All that remained after that was to get out of the country, and as the minibus is about to set off the driver asks if we would mind storing some mystery goods in our bags as we cross the border. We remember our not-getting-thrown-in-jail training and politely decline. It would be a shame to have the trip cut short at this point.

Wish you were here,
Mark.

Syria rating: 8.4/10
Friendliest person met: Ahmed and his friends in Qamishli
Scariest moment: Not once were we unnerved.
Most beautiful sight: Crac Des Chevaliers
The Soundtrack: Elbow - Leaders of the Free World
Still to come: Lebanon, Jordan, Egypt, Japan, China, Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos, Thailand, Glastonbury festival.

postcard from eastern turkey

In an otherwise unremarkable 24 hour coach hopping journey from Tbilisi in Georgia to Van in Turkey, the road leading to the Turkish city of Erzurum astounds. Suddenly we find ourselves driving through a landscape of mountains with only beautiful, untouched snow stretching out for miles in every direction. For 30 minutes all we do is continue to stare out the window as each new permutation of landscape is presented to us.

Later on we would do our research, an it becomes more clear as to how fortunate we've been. This is an area used to relative extremes of weather. A month later and most of the snow would have melted, a month earlier and we may not have taken this route due to road closures.

Lake Van provides a day's perfect camera fodder, before we head out to a popular Kurdish bar for the evening, only to discover we are there on a quiet night and - save the manager's friend - are the only people there. It's becoming an upsetting trend on this trip, despite our efforts to the contrary.

The next day Simon wanders off south of Van to attempt some mountain hiking, whilst I stay in town. My decade old walking boots have become progressively more painful, and I can't possibly face a hard day in them. Instead I spend the day shopping.

Van shopping receipt

New shirt - ₤4
Haircut (long overdue) - ₤2.40
New waling boots (from the only shop in town that sells them) - ₤32
Chicken kebab - 80p
An hour's internet access - 40p

Meanwhile south of town, Simon has successfully traversed a snowy mountain, but has attracted uniformed attention on the way down. Some police are giving him very confused looks.

The area, it seems, is one in which the PPK is active, and Simon ends up being detained for 30 minutes and questioned under suspicion of terrorism. They part on friendly terms though, and before getting a minibus back to town the whole village excitedly comes out to meet him.

On our last night in Turkey we decide we should fit in an authentic Turkish bathhouse (called 'Hamam') experience after all. Wearing just a towel we are ushered first into the sauna room. Simon is in his element in this kind of heat, but I am less comfortable. I stick out the heat as long as possible, aided by Simon's goading, but when I have to leave it becomes clear I've left it a little too late, and back in the main room I nearly faint, cannot stand up, and three Hamam staff have to prevent me crashing into various marble fixtures.

One tea-aided recovery later, and the experience continues. An attendant scrubs seemingly four layers of skin off us, douses us with a bucket of water from the cold tap, then one from the warm, then we lie on a marble slab whilst two middle aged men massage us with levels of intimacy beyond which either of us are comfortable with.

From Van we set out coach hopping to the Syrian border, stopping for a couple of where the Turkish officer attempts to levy us with a fictional 'departure tax'. It's the fourth time in three days that somebody has tried to overcharge us (to varying degrees of success), and it has spoilt our otherwise very high regard for the Turkish people. Talking our way out of that, we walk forward and cross the border into Syria...

Wish you were here,
Mark.

Photos: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=66273&id=282401058&l=ab25ed7210 (no login required)
Turkey rating: 7.2/10
Friendliest person met: A guy called George who helped us with the Tbilisi - Van journey a lot
Scariest moment: questioned under suspicion of terrorism
Most beautiful sight: the road to Erzurum
The Soundtrack: Royksopp - Junior
Still to come: Syria, Lebanon, Jordan, Egypt, Japan, China, Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos, Thailand, Glastonbury festival.

postcard from turkey and georgia

When confronted by a journey of a thousand miles, it's of comfort when you have a stroke of luck in the very fırst step.

I take my seat on the 2120 traın from Nottingham to London St. Pancras. Half an hour later a guy, early twenties, gets on at Leicester and sits across from me. He then gets a guidebook to Turkey out and begins reading.

It transpires that his name is Vishnu and that yes, he is on his way to Gatwick to catch the same 8am plane to Istanbul as me. He's a medicine student, and full of advice on travel health matters. He would end up joining us for the first 24 hours of the trip.

Six sleepless hours in Gatwick airport later, Simon - my companion for the next 80 days - joins us, and we're off to Turkey.

Our first taste of Istanbul is a boat ride across the Sea of Marmara (about twice the size of Sydney Harbour) that also means we are crossing the continental border from Asia into Europe. After settling at a hostel we go off in search of a traditional Turkish bath house experience. Any such place in easy walking distance is likely to be a dumbed down, overpriced experience for the tourist market, so we instead head out after dark through the back alley labyrinth of the Bazaar district in search of an authentic one, on guidebook recommendation. 40 minutes intense map work later we find it, and it's mysteriously closed down.

We then bid farewell to Vishnu as he catches his coach to Turkey's west coast.



One typical sightseeing morning later, we head off to the Grand Bazaar, expecting just another large marketplace to wander through. Instead we are greeted by a sprawling uber-market (the world's largest, or something) full of a complex mesh of pathways to get completely lost in, and (mostly) charming stall owners eagerly touting for business. At first it's an overwhelming headache of an experience, but shortly after it becomes a place to fall in love with, especially after a lifetime being conditioned by the monotone rhino that is Asda West Bridgford.



A 10pm train out of Istanbul (we've decided to travel at night whenever we can, to save on accommodation costs) brings us to Turkey's charmless grey brute of a capital, Ankara. Luckily we only have to whip between transport hubs before getting a coach out of there.



It's on the ensuing 24 hour (!) coach journey through Turkey's arid, featureless northern countryside that the complexities of their language really become apparent. After 60 hours in the country I still had not managed to pronounce 'thank you' properly, and every time I tried would either be greeted with a part confused, part vacant look, or simply ignored altogether. Now, in my life to this stage I had drunk a total of one solitary cup of tea. Sorry England, I just never saw the point of it. But with the translation for 'thank you' being an unpronounceable jıgsaw of syllables, and the word for tea being kind enough to rhyme with tea ('che' or something), by the end of the journey I had drunk sıx cups of the stupid overrated stuff.

Late at night the coach reaches border control between Turkey and Georgia. Based on this experience, I reckon I can claim with fair confidence that I am the first Irishman to ever visit the country. The Georgian border guard spends a full five minutes reading every-single-page of my passport at least once whilst everybody else is waved through after a cursory 30 seconds. Everybody else working the border seems genuinely fascinated by it too, and I hop back on the bus with an odd feeling of mild celebrity about the whole thing.

Georgia's countryside seems more interesting. One particular mountain village we pass through bears a striking resemblance to the the one depicted in Resident Evil 4.

Arriving in the Georgian capital Tbilisi on the morning of what just so happens so be my birthday, we cross the city center on foot, passing two United Nations cars (always a sign you've made idiosyncratic holiday plans) to our bed for the night at Irena's Homestay.

Tourism is such a rarity in Georgia that hostels don't exist, and the only budget options are Homestays where locals pile beds into any unused floors of their buildings, whilst the proper hotels cater almost exclusively to business customers.

Later we head out to sample Tbilisi's nightlife. As westerners, we are exiled from the main form of entertainment - late night restaurants - on the advice that attending without native companions can turn unsavory once things get going. Instead we sample three of the city's bars. The first serves beer at just 85p a pint, the second feels instantly like the ones I have drunk and worked in back in Nottingham, and the third turned out to be one where you are offered a drink, then a table, then a choice of ladies to entertain you for the remainder of the night. We drank up and bolted out the door pretty quickly from that one.

The whole of the next day is spent exploring Tbilisi, seeing beautiful churches, ramshackle neighbourhoods, and climbing a big hill, aided by the city's underground Metro system that costs 18p to travel on.



The reactions of Georgian people to us has been fascinating. Walking down the highstreet half the people would be staring (literally) at us. On three separate occasions Simon had a tiny pebble, then a light punch from a girl, then a piece of rubbish, thrown at his back. (his back isn't particularly incendiary or anything, it just seems like a desire for an anonymous, very mild form of hostility) But beyond that often lay an excited welcome. As no other country speaks their language, a joyful, surprised smile often crosses their faces when you make even the most basic attempt at speaking it. Our local convenience store was seemingly run by a rotating army of 12 women in their early twenties who would flutter with excitement every time we entered. This is certainly not a reaction I'm used to garnering in Nottingham. A tourism student called Mia, a devoted Westlife - and by association Ireland as a whole - fan stepped in to help us navigate Tbilisi's impenetrable underground system, and after I showed her my passport stayed with us for two hours helping us plan our upcoming day trips.

Then there was the minibus ('Marshutka' - the main form of public transport in Georgia) assistant who was so proud to have an Englishman and Irishman in his vehicle that he stopped five minutes into the journey to buy a round of beers for us to enjoy on the journey together. The ensuing conversation was a challenge given that we only knew two words in Georgian (thank you, hello) and he only knew one phrase in English ('okay, let's go', curiously), but through talented miming on both sides we managed to discover that his hobbies include football, women, alcohol and firing guns, and that he once got arrested by the police after taking heroin. We were pretty anxious for the rest of that journey.

Said journey, after also passing through a snow blizzard, took us to Gori, the birthplace of murderous psychopath dictator Stalin. Georgia is oddly proud of him, and we toured the museum, the train he used to travel in (you haven't lived until you've photographed a dictator's toilet, let me tell you) as well as some gorgeous dilapidated old trains in a disused area of the railway station. We also managed to lose each other for two hours, which was a challenge given that neither of us have mobiles on this trip.

By the next day we were getting the hang of Georgian as a language much better than we had Turkish, and had excitedly learned that the word for 'sorry' is 'bodishit' (literally pronounced 'body shit'), which sounds like the kind of filth Boy George, Max Moseley or Jamie Theakston might be into. I used it a lot though, enjoying getting to be polite and have my own little bit of naughty fun at the same time.

A final day trip to the manicured heritage village of Signahi later, and we left Irena's Homestay (her daughter insisted on taking photos of us before we left) and headed to the bus station where we stayed for seven hours to save a whole ₤10 each on accommodation. Come morning our Georgian trip would be spoilt somewhat by the bus companies tactics of clubbing together into an infuriating cartel that means that it's twice as expensive for Westerners to leave Georgia as it is to get there - and even locals pay about 50% more. Simon argues long and aggressively about this, and eventually gets us 30% off the price five minutes before the coach leaves, to take us to Eastern Turkey...

Wish you were here
Mark

Photos: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=66273&id=282401058&l=ab25ed7210 (no login required)
Georgia rating: 7.7/10
Friendliest person met: Mia the Westlife devotee
Scariest moment: Heroin minibus guy
Most beautiful sight: christian church in Tbilisi.
The soundtrack: Guns 'N' Roses - Appetite For Destruction
Still to come: Eastern Turkey, Syria, Lebanon, Jordan, Egypt, Japan, China, Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos, Thailand, Glastonbury festival.

audio/visual update

A couple of weeks I was in London seeing a couple of friends and doing some drinking. This video of one such friend dancing to Leona Lewis's version of Snow Patrol's Run was the brilliant highlight of the night.






Around the same time I appeared on MistaJam's excellent Radio 1 show, The 1Xtra Mixtape at four in the morning. He does a feature called Mission Mixpossible, where he invites listeners to challenge him to mix any three songs in the world together. I challenged him to mix Benga + Skream - Night into The Ski Sunday theme tune, and that in turn into Justice - Phantom Part II. You can hear audio of the whole thing here:

http://www.mediafire.com/?mmtjjqeotyz

the top 10 albums and singles of 2008

A final nice tidy round up then, of my Top 10 Albums and Singles of 2008 - including links to all the writing bits. An act could only be named once in either list. Also take a look at 2007's lists if you like.

Albums

1. Dear Science - TV On The Radio
2. The Seldom Seen Kid - Elbow
3. Viva La Vida Or Death And All His Friends - Coldplay
4. Intimacy - Bloc Party
5. Glasvegas - Glasvegas
6. For Emma, Forever Ago - Bon Iver
7. Strength in Numbers - The Music
8. More Than Alot - Chase And Status
9. Do You Like Rock Music? - British Sea Power
10. All We Could Do Was Sing - Port O'Brien

Singles

1. Time To Pretend - MGMT
2. Human - The Killers
3. Pjanoo - Eric Prydz
4. Death - White Lies
5. Ready For The Floor - Hot Chip
6. Sex On Fire - Kings Of Leon
7. Night - Benga & Coki
8. Busy Bein' Born - Middle Class Rut
9. Meccano - Red Light Company
10. Beat Control - Tilly And The Wall

the best album and single of 2008

TV On The Radio - Dear Science

Oh, Lord. To think that four months ago I had never heard a TV On The Radio album before.

Life has actually improved, thanks to the blistering rants of Dancing Choose and Red Dress, or the touching melancholy of Love Dog and Family Tree.

Every song stops you in your tracks. Each and every one is so different, so set apart from everything else 2008 had to offer. It is an utterly remarkable listen.

Once I finally drag myself away from Dear Science, 2009's first task will be to explore their previous, less commercial works. In the meantime you just go buy this. Now.


MGMT - Time To Pretend

Do-do-do-do-doo-do-do-do-doooooo
Do-do-do-do-doo-do-do-do-doooooo

Take the hook of the year, surround it in a psychedelic pop casing, furnish it with knowing lyrics of escaping the ratrace for the 'dream' of fame (yeah it's overwhelming/but what else can we do?/get jobs in offices/and wake up for the morning commute?), and you've got the unquestionable single of the year.

And what of the hoards of teens drawn to Oracular Spectacular by these tightly woven singles? They were battered by an eclectic waves of music. Not all worked (the NME naming it Album of the Year was a joke), but when it did (The Youth, Of Moons, Birds and Monsters) it lived up to the lead single's promise.

the second best album and single of 2008

Elbow - The Seldom Seen Kid

2008 was undoubtedly Elbow's year. I was lucky enough to see them at the album's preview gig in London back in February, a month before its release, and even then it was clear that this was their greatest body of work yet.

And then the thrilling stomp of lead single Grounds For Divorce didn't garner the attention it deserved, and following a collective shrug, everybody stayed put for a couple of months assuming the monumental One Day Like This would go stratospheric. Again inexplicably, it was only a minor hit.

Then Glastonbury, where those that weren't talking about how good Jay-Z was were more than likely to be found describing the wonder of Elbow's performance instead. Despite that, and plenty of BBC airtime, they remained the criminally undervalued band they've always been. And then the Mercury Prize, of course.

But it's difficult to overstate just what a stunning album this was. The two aforementioned singles grabbed the attention, but each track was a beautifully crafted, distinct wonder in itself.

Sample the majestic Loneliness of a Tower Crane Driver, the literate detailing of love in An Audience With The Pope, or the classy comedy of The Fix. 2008 was a lucky year.

The Killers - Human

Some people just have the knack for creating the tunes of the decade. This perfect 4 minutes can be laid down right next to Mr. Brightside as a track that will be adored for many years to come.

It raised the hope that the album Day & Age might be full of similar indie-electro dancefloor classics, instead of the assuredly silly pop we were left with.

After getting over such a shock, it proved a thoroughly enjoyable listen, better than the remarkably overrated Hot Fuss (has there ever been a greater contrast between a stunning first half of an album and a dire second half?) but not quite as good as the remarkably underrated Sam's Town.

the third best album and single of 2008

Coldplay - Viva La Vida or Death And All His Friends

Their most consistent work since Parachutes, album #4 saw Coldplay successfully better themselves in all areas of album creation.

Cemeteries of London improves upon What If?. There's nothing as instantly skipable as Low or Twisted Logic off X&Y, or Daylight and A Whisper off the oft-acclaimed A Rush of Blood to the Head. And Strawberry Swing would've been the best song on Parachutes.

Violet Hill is a terrific and original track, the aural imaging of a giant robot rolling across the Spanish countryside. Chinese Sleep Chant is five fold better than the aforementioned Twisted Logic, and Viva La Vida very nearly tops Fix You as the best song they've ever written.

A scattergun album that is their most complete to date, from one of the planets' best selling bands, yet that now seem artistically underrated. Curious.




Eric Prydz - Pjanoo

Or: where Mr. Prydz takes the filthy wealth he made from the adequate but horrifically attention seeking Call On Me, and decides that credibility should be his next aim, magically releasing the club anthem of the year in the process.

Repeating that irresistible hook alternately between piano and gorgeous trance strings, it built and crashed over six dazzling minutes (so long as you avoid the castrated radio edit).

More of this sort of thing please, Eric.


I'm counting down my 10 best albums and singles of 2008. An act can only be named in either list once. Also take a look at last years top 10's.

the fourth best album and single of 2008

Bloc Party - Intimacy

The creators of 2007's album of the year return, somehow making much less impact than with their last album.

It's difficult to tell why, as this glorious mix of early Bloc Party urgency, A Weekend In The City ambition, and Chemical Brothers inspired beats should have had students up and down the land foaming at the mouth.

It's the album Silent Alarm would have been if it was all as good as the opening five tracks. Here is a band that get stronger and more interesting with each album.

Bloc Party: the kings of modern indie.


White Lies - Death

Staying on the indie dancefloor, this perfectly crafted single is like (in the spirit of lazy NME journalist cliché) Smile Like You Mean It on crack.

It's the kind of track that makes you want to hijack DJ booths to play. Will be huge in 2009 if they've got a couple more singles this good.

the fifth best album and single of 2008

Glasvegas - Glasvegas

Lyrically the album of the year, its strengths were in its vivid depiction of East Glasgow life, and the honesty of which lead singer James Allen let you see into his own soul.

The utter highlight was It's My Own Cheating Heart That Makes Me Cry, a stunning work where James Allan is the jealous, adulterous, paranoid, womanizing, hypocritical villain approaching his comeuppance.

Superb Christmas EP too, which suggests this class act have much further to travel yet. Exciting times.


Hot Chip - Ready For The Floor

Still sounding fresh and unique 12 months later, here Hot Chip took the mania of breakthrough track Over and Over and had the confidence to strip back, slow down the tempo, and add extra groove.

The album was overstocked with balladry for personal tastes, but this utterly creative, utterly danceable track was sheer joy to the ears.

the sixth best album and single of 2008

Bon Iver - For Emma, Forever Ago

An album where the backstory is as well known as the record itself. Guy beaks up with girl, guy flees to solitary confinement at father's log cabin with only guitar for company, guy writes one of the very best albums of the year.

Simple acoustic tales of heartbreak, then, but this is perfection of the genre. The heartbreak is so very real, the reflection and isolation always apparent.

The perfect album for your own moments of reclusion.


Kings of Leon - Sex on Fire

Something like their 9th classic single, here KOL took a leaf out of The Killers book and by taking the purposeful guitar work they were always known for and mixing in just the right amount of absurdity and radio-friendliness to create their long-overdue ubiquitous hit.

Deservedly so, but if you're thinking of buying the album on the strength of this and Use Somebody don't: just download them, and then either buy Because of The Times or stick with The Killers and buy Sam's Town instead. They are the absurdity/radio friendly masters.

the seventh best album and single of 2008

The Music - Strength in Numbers

How best-song-they've-ever-done Drugs went completely ignored will remain one of 2008's greatest mysteries. It's the standout track on the third brilliant album from the forgotten Leeds band.

Elsewhere there's another bank of solid rock here, tracks like Fire and Vision won't set the world alight, but they add further to the band's increasingly dependable legacy.

And before it breathes it's last, just wait until you witness the new prog destroy-all-its-in-path monster that is the secret track. Think Led Zepperlin crossed with the Muse classic Knights of Cydonia.

Since Elbow finally found success, the country's most underrated band.


Benga & Coki - Night

The pinnacle of dubstep in 2008, despite being released back in February. It's all thanks to one simple hook that had a level of addictiveness somewhere between blueberry muffins and heroin.

12 months ago every underground dancefloor was awash with people wanting to know what 'that' track was. We personally sang it round and round for 20 minutes whilst walking back from seeing Benga at Glastonbury at 3am, much to the amusement/bemusement/occasional irritation of our fellow festival goers. Sorry if any of you are reading this, musical heroin does that to you.

the eighth best single and album of 2008

Chase and Status - More Than A Lot

Let's rewind 12 months. One of my most anticipated albums of 2008 was from Pendulum, following their superb debut album it was reasonably expected that album two would see them rise to become the next Prodigy, not as the turned out, some appalling mashup of their first album and Nickelback.

Kind thanks then, to Chase & Status. The Drum and Bass producers have quietly come to dominate every bass heavy clubnight over the last 3 months, with any of the 12 tracks here going down fittingly well at the peak of the night. Smash TV in the pinnacle - a simple tease and release joy based around a wall-toppling bass hook.

Not that this is a one trick album. Hip hop and jungle are present and strong, whilst the two dubstep tracks (the Bollywood-tinged Eastern Jam, and Running - the track surely to take dubstep into the mainstream in 2009) are exemplery samples of the genre. Pendulum who?


Middle Class Rut - Busy Bein' Born

Superb debut rock single from some bunch of Californians, that somehow seem to have so far gone fairly unnoticed (Only 4,000 Youtube video hits? Really?).

Weird, as to these ears this glorious racket should be playing at every rock clubnight across the country. Simple, brutal fun.

the ninth best album and single of 2008

British Sea Power - Do You Like Rock Music?

The reviews way back in January seemed unanimous, "best work yet", "up there with Arcade Fire", "better than kicking a tramp", and indeed those were persuasion enough for British Sea Power to come along and fill the Arcade Fire-shaped hole in my life.

Highlights drip from every corner of this album. From the glorious single-ready duo of No Lucifer and Waving Flags, through the beautiful building instrumental joy of Golden Skua, to the building climax that is Atom, and alongside every winning track that infects you along the way, it's an album that reeks quality.


Red Light Company - Meccano

Although in all honesty it could have been any of the three Grade A singles they released this year (them being With Lights Out and Scheme Eugene).

On the strength of those, Red Light Company deserve to be as big as Vampire Weekend or Scouting for Girls in 2009. It's classic indie-pop, like a more anthemic, bigger version of The Kooks.

Fluffy, addictive, and with a little kick to it. It's the musical equivalent of lemon and raisin pancakes.


I'm counting down my 10 best albums and singles of 2008, and this year doing a bit of writing about each one. An act can only be named in either list once. Also take a look at last years top 10's.

the tenth best album and single of 2008

Hello. I'm going to count down my 10 best albums and singles of 2008, a pair of them each day until NYE.

10. Port O Brien - All We Could Do Was Sing

Evidence if ever it were needed that great trials inspire great art, this album is based around the lead singer's enforced summers spent on his father's fishing trawler in Alaska every summer whilst growing up. The theme runs throughout the record, as Van Pierszalowski dreams of escaping the alpha-male, 20-hour day environment he finds himself in. Part British Sea Power, part Stephen Fretwell and part David Attenborough arctic special, it's simple tales-of-isolation are of the highest quality.



10. Tilly and The Wall - Beat Control

The best pure pop moment of 2008 (narrowly beating Dizzee & Calvin and Ting Tings - Shut Up and Let Me Go into this countdown), this happy little pop tune would've put a smile on Johnathon Ross's sullen face this winter. Why it didn't bother the Top 10 like the aforementioned modern pop gems is anybody's guess. Bright, bouncy, and makes it's point in less than 3 minutes so that by the end all you want to do is play it again. Ace.


I'm counting down my 10 best albums and singles of 2008, and this year doing a bit of writing about each one. An act can only be named in either list once. Also take a look at last years top 10's.

99 Problems, ticket sales ain't one - An Ode to Glastonbury

[Verse One]
It's half past eight on a Sunday morn
Driven thirty miles to my office in Eastbourne
Get there, switch twelve computers on
Speed dial ready, finger over the F five button
Clock strikes nine engaged tone on the line
Half hour gone, they’ll be sold out in no time
Then here texts dan, from his garden
He’s got tickets for himself always hated that man
Whilst catching a tan, screw my careful plan
Well I've shagged his girlfriend, couldn't give a damn, so
'nother hour in, finally your luck begin
Then you find out everybody else has had a win
Got 3 hours sleep for this, have you know
Could have slept 12 hours an' still be good to go
fall asleep at the wheel while i'm driving home
I got 99 problems ticket sales ain't one
Hit me

99 problems ticket sales ain't one
If there’s Glastonbury problems i'll feel bad for you son
I got 99 problems ticket sales ain't one
HIT ME

[Verse Two]
The year's '08 and last year was not great
In a tractor mirror, an apocalyptic state
Two choices have our men book the same folk again
Or grab the phone, dial sha' boy and ask when
he can come play, be it night or be it day
They'll give a few dollars, half what Radiohead they'd pay
Then he'll... come down rappin' bibblical text
That we'll only hear forward of the mixing desk
It'll rain again and no-one likes The Verve
Are these the real headliners? We've been SERVED.
Why they sellin' no tickets, should I guess some mo'?
"Well it it was rainin' lots last year, and the time before"
"Coldplay won't come, they play every year"
"Bono don't answer my calls" he said with a tear
No matter, I say, Jay-Z doesn't take the piss
I bet Noel Gallagher will say nice things about this.
"Everybody will love it, can't imagine any rage
Bouncing to 99 Problems down at the Pyramid Stage"
Whilst snacking on our seven pound chips-to-go
That got cold three hours back in a display window?
I don't work for Live Nation but I know a little bit, enough that Kings of Leon won't create a sales hit
I don't mind i'm still plannin' on havin' my fun
I got 99 problems ticket sales ain't one
Hit me

[CHORUS x2]

[Verse Three]
Let me say, it’s no fun following the beats
£40 just to get in the top tear seats
To watch some rap group you saw in ninety eight
For seven quid tops and that included your date
I’ll try and blag guestlist, plead for sympathy
Won’t work, two months back same guy fired me
You know the type, tied to the job role
Rather than help a brother fresh off the dole
Here’s the problem, I can barely afford lunch
All thanks to our friend the credit crunch
Land lords on my back, they’ve cut my hours at work
Haven’t paid off my credit card, my dad’ll go beserk
And on top of all of this there’s Glastonbury
But they’re a nice place, they’ll charge a reasonable fee.
No Seetickets hidden fees all up in my ass
Six pound fifty bookin' fee cos' i'm middle class
All because this fool was so desperate
Get hands on some tickets but do you know what?
This ain't my fight I’ll just dance and have fun
I got 99 problems ticket sales ain't one
Hit me

[CHORUS x3]

You're crazy for this one Eavis
It's your boy