26 Albums Later

Digital cameras are fantastic things: they allow you to take as many pictures as you want without using up precious film; you can immediately see the results and can therefore tell if you're pictures have come out OK; you can touch them up on your computer to touch them up and remove blemishes; and they are a fantastic way of breaking the ice that forms language and cultural barriers. The only drawback with digital photography is that once the pictures have been taken and you return home they get downloaded to the computer ... and that's where they stay, gathering virtual dust. I was determined that that wouldn't happen to my travel pics and so as soon as I returned home last year I set about sorting through them, selecting my favourites (about 30%), polishing them up, getting them printed, individually annotated and stuck in albums. It has taken a little over a year but I have finally finished, 26 albums and some 5000 pictures later (the pic below shows all the albums stacked together).


Now I have the perfect torture tool: "why don't you come round and I'll show you my travel pics...".

Well, I won't torture you, my dear readers, too much, but I thought I'd show you a selection of pictures that I'm most proud of (it's a game of numbers: if you take enough pictures you're bound to get a few decent ones).

A gathering of Tibetan monks at Labrang monastery in Xiahe.

The post-apocalyptic landscape of the shipbreaking yards at Chittagong.

A shaft of light in a yakhchal close to Yazd.

Stopping for lunch and midday prayers in Wadi Rum.

A rather lonely parasol on the Red Sea on a cold, Winter's day in Aqaba.

Ancient Christian defacement of an even more ancient, pagan temple in Upper Egypt at Philae.

Two orthodox Jews watching the sunset at Yad Vashem (Holocaust memorial) in Jerusalem.

Vive La Recession

Unless you've been living in a cave you will surely have heard plenty about the meltdown of the housing market and the subsequent collapse in the world's financial institutions (by the way, if you have been living in a cave then well done on your sound financial acumen in avoiding the housing bubble). I'm lucky in that I am not overly affected by the financial maelstrom: I don't have a mortgage (and there are no house-buying plans on the horizon), I have a job that is relatively safe (famous last words...) and I my outgoings are meagre. I can therefore look at things in a somewhat disinterested light.

Much has been made of the irresponsibility of the banks - how they were lending money to anyone like it was going out of fashion, without checking their means of repayment, and then repackaging those "toxic" loans into complicated investment vehicles to be shunted through the banking system. Now their profligacy has come back to haunt them and they expect to be bailed out by the long-suffering taxpayer. All this has already been aired ad nauseum and I have nothing new to add. However, as the famous saying goes, "it takes two to tango".

The bankers were not lending out money to fictitious people they had made up (at least not most of the time) - they were lending to us consumers. As a demographic consumers are pretty much everyone, and collectively we had agreed to become intoxicated by the dream of being able to have it all, and to be able to get it now on credit. We lapped up endless TV programmes about moving house, getting on the housing ladder, upsizing to a larger home in a more well-to-do area, investing in a second holiday home in France, etc, etc. Never mind the fact that we were taking out ridiculously large mortgages often in excess of 6x our gross annual incomes. It didn't matter as credit was cheap and we didn't think it would be otherwise. We were enticed by super mortgages with low introductory rates, uncaring that the rates would change after two years. We could only just cover the repayments with no thought of contingencies should things take a turn for the worse.

Yes, the bankers had a part to play in the whole sorry story, but for consumers common sense seemed to take a holiday and we revelled in our gluttony. Our interminable keeping-up-with-the-Jones's made us blind to the most elementary principles, not just of economics, but of life generally: don't buy what you can't pay for. Owning your own home isn't a god-given right, it's a luxury you have to work hard for and earn, so I find it hard to muster much sympathy for people who over-extended themselves because they watched too many episodes of Location, Location, Location and became obsessed with Kirstie Allsopp.

In that sense the current financial crisis is probably a necessary evil as we seem to be unable to live within our means then this may force us to learn some frugality and good old-fashioned thriftiness (which, back in Scotland, is among the highest compliments you can bestow upon your fellow man). People keep complaining about, for example, the price of gas to heat their homes, but they have only to put on an extra jumper to drastically reduce their consumption (I wasn't heating at all well into October and probably wouldn't be still if my mother hadn't returned - admittedly as we get older we do feel the cold more and those in need ought to be helped). So vive la recession I say, because it looks like it's the only way we'll learn some common sense.

And The (Abridged) Adventure Begins Anew

I've been talking about it for a long time - ever since I got back really - that I want to travel again. I have, however, been spoiled by my travels so that I can't go off for a simple 2 week holiday as I don't feel I'd be able to properly get to see, and in a small way understand, a country in such a short space of time. So I have decided to blow my entire annual holiday allowance in one go on a big, 6-week trip (going abroad only once a year also reduces my carbon footprint, although that's just an added bonus for my conscience). December and January are the slowest months of the year at work so at least I don't feel as guilty for taking so much time at once (plus I can add the statutory Christmas and New Year holidays to stretch my trip out for as long as possible), and to top it all I can escape the dour British winter weather.

My wishlist of places I would like to visit, despite all my efforts, just keeps getting longer and longer, so it was difficult deciding on where to go. But in the end I decided on Mali as I have not seen much of Africa and it is a country with a long and illustrious history of which we hear very little (if anything at all). The name Timbuktu still has the power to evoke exotic images of remote, esoteric cultures and traditions and as far from Western civilisation as it is possible to get, despite the fact that most people wouldn't be able to place it on a map (or maybe because of it).

Anyway, I've been talking about it for so long now that I can't back out and so on Saturday I headed down to Kingston to find some info on flights to Bamako (the Malian capital). Once I had explained to the travel agents where Bamako was, I was shocked by the dearth of flights. I realised that it would be high season, but I didn't expect to only be able to find flights with Ethiopian Airways via Addis Ababa for over £600 one way. Luckily, after quite a bit of searching I was able to winkle out a cheaper ticket via Casablanca on the 23rd of December that would get me into Bamako at 2:30 am on Christmas Eve and so now I find myself, for once in my life, hoping that my flight will be delayed. Now I'll have to start doing some research and reading so that I can get the most out of my time as it is the one luxury I don't have any more. Now I'm just full of nervous excitement now that I know that I will be packing my bag and hitting the road again (if only for a few weeks).

Seasons

Around the world the changing of the seasons is distinguished in many different ways. And so too here in Britain; but no sudden onset of monsoon rains; dulcet, velvety snowfall; full moons or gophers checking their silhouettes for us. No, here the seasons cannot be distinguished by something so simple as meteorology, we're far too subtle for that (plus we have no weather to speak of - although that has never stopped the English from doing exactly that; incessantly). Instead one has to look at something far more reliable than the British weather: the British traffic. Anxious mothers in their unsuitably large Chelsea tractors, carrying their precious progeny, now vie with work commuters for the limited road space and ensure that nobody gets anywhere on time.

Whilst writing this post I've also realised that a year has gone full circle since I returned. A lot, and yet also very little, has happened since then. As always time is adept at playing tricks with your mind: looking forward a year seems endlessly long, and yet in hindsight is as fleeting and ephemeral as the life of a mayfly.

The Dangers Of A Comfortable Life

There is certainly something to be said for the life on the road: seeing new places, meeting new people, learning about different cultures and history, tasting new foods an the general, constant adrenaline rush of the unexpected. It wouldn't, however, be generally seen as a particularly safe way of life. In hindsight my 3 years on the road contained many incidents and adventures that, in the cold light of day, sound like I was just asking for trouble: being caught and interrogated by secret police in Karabagh, being detained by police for a couple of days in Djibouti, riding on the roofs of buses and trucks along some very hair-raising roads, hitching in strange places (talking of which, it's very sad for me to see that the Swat valley, one of the nicest places in Pakistan, has descended into sectarian violence recently) and living off food of questionable provenance and prepared under conditions of dubious hygiene. And yet, notwithstanding all these potential risks, everything seemed to fall conveniently into place, problems were resolved or opened up new, unexpected and exciting opportunities. Even when I did get ill (invariably a case of the runs) it generally wasn't too bad and didn't last more than a day or so (only three times was I ill for more than a couple of days) and not once did I have an injury (though I did try and make up with blisters and stiff muscles after overdoing it whilst hiking).

Now, in the year that I have been back I have been out of action due to injury and illness more often than on the entire trip. My latest incident was the most embarrassing of all. I managed to badly jar my foot just kicking a football, and so this past week I've been hobbling round the house alternately wincing in pain and cursing my clumsiness. But all's well that ends well and I am now back in the saddle (literally) and will resume my cycling to work from next week.

On a totally unrelated note, and only tenuously linked to the preceding paragraph, things aren't going well in Georgia - it's been hard seeing such a beautiful place being inexorably torn apart by a conflict which, in theory is extremely local, but is in fact part of a larger global power-play. Unfortunately it is a situation that has looked inevitable for some time, especially since the Kosovan independence (see my previous post) that set a dangerous precedent coupled with the rising assertiveness of Russia. It'll be interesting to see how things pan out, standing up to a powerful Russia will take a lot more balls and nous than beating up weak international pariahs like Iraq and Serbia. Of course it's easy to criticise from the sidelines, but I think that the West ought to put a lot more effort into resolving so-called "Frozen Conflicts" - where opposing sides are not fighting, but the status quo of separation, hate and mistrust deepens daily - before they turn round and bite us in the ass when we least expect it. Because in today's interconnected world every conflict affects us, though often in ways we fail to realise at the time, and a resolution which reinforces the primacy of force is a huge step backwards for everyone.

Loss

Hi everyone. I apologise for being useless at keeping up my blog. My only excuse (and it's a poor one at that) is that with a routine life you get somewhat stuck in a rut need to force yourself so much more to get out of it. My jolt that brought me back to my blog was the news, earlier this week, that my cousin's partner, who I had met for the first time exactly a year ago at our family reunion in Prague (fourth from left in this picture), died in a freak accident falling down the stairs at home at the tragic age of 38 (the details are still a bit unclear, but it goes to show that the "little known fact" that more people are killed by stairs than shark attacks is quite true). I can't claim to have known Nancy well, but in the short time I spent with her she came across as a warm, curious person in the prime of her life. I was also very much hoping on visiting her and my cousin (who I have still not met in person yet) sometime soon as they had just recently moved closer to us (upstate New York, as opposed to Hawaii where they had been previously). I suppose, along with the feelings of shock and grief there is a great feeling of unjustness - that this shouldn't have happened. I can easily see how people, when faced with such events, that make no sense and seem cosmically unfair, find solace in explaining them away with notions of fate, kismet or some higher power with some ineffable, but ultimately rewarding and benign, plan. But for me it just shows the arbitrary nature of life and our existence. There is no meaning. There is no purpose (only that which you decide to give yourself). And, as the hackneyed saying goes, life is unfair.

That very same day dealt one of those karmic coincidences that people love to interpret on some higher level. I received a card from a friend of mine in France informing me of the birth of her (first) baby boy. It is certainly poetic and shows how all tragedies are personal and are occuring everywhere and yet the world just keeps on going regardless, no matter what those of us who are affected may think.

But, apart from that, what have I been doing over this past month (more actually) that I have neglected my blogging. Well, not a great deal, at least not a great deal that I would deem newsworthy of my blog (when it's not work then it generally involves going down the pub with friends or playing football with colleagues from work, which I have just started doing), but here's the lowdown. After your deluge of interest (thanks for asking Rook) I am pleased to say that my abscess has gone and the only trace of its passing is a slight little dimple in the back of my neck (at least I no longer look as if I had just escaped the Matrix). I've also said goodbye to a couple of friends (John and Emma) whom I met whilst travelling in South America (as did they) and who are now off on an eight-month round-the-world jaunt of their own starting with Beijing and the Olympics and taking in a dozen or so countries. Otherwise Summer is still undecided as to whether it wants to show itself here in London - not that I mind that much as people often spend 9 months out of the year complaining about how cold it is and then when Summer finally does come they switch to moaning about the heat and humidity - and I have begun planning my next trip. Not a big one mind you, although I do hope to be able to take all my holiday entitlement in one go so that I can hopefully see something of the countries I want to visit.

Football, Pus And Treaties (An Ordinary Week Then)

This past week hasn't been particularly great with bad news accumulating wherever I seem to look. First off were the Irish who rejected the EU Lisbon treaty. As a committed Europhile I was naturally disappointed, but also very surprised. I would have understood it if the British (had they been given the chance to vote) had rejected the treaty as they are notoriously jingoistic and stubbornly cling to silly notions of sovereignty that have no basis in reality. The Irish, on the other hand, have been the great beneficiaries of the EU. From being an economic and social basket case from its foundation well into the 70s it now has the second-highest GDP per capita in the world (as a measure of PPP) thanks, in no small part, to access to European markets and EU subsidies. One would therefore expect that the Irish would be huge fans of the EU. Obviously not. Which is a shame as the treaty was supposed to deal with many of the criticisms that detractors levelled at it, such as being unwieldy and nothing but a talking shop. Obviously the EU has an image problem and perhaps needs to spend a bit of money on PR to launch a charm offensive.

The second piece of bad news was slightly more painful, at least for me personally, as I developed an abscess in the muscle at the back of my neck. All last week I had a slight discomfort and then on Friday, all of a sudden, it got really painful. In the end I had to go to A&E to get it lanced which was not a particularly pleasant experience to say the least. In fact I was amazed that so much pus came out of me. So it was on the antibiotics for me this past week with regular trips to the nurse to squeeze out more yellow goo. Better out than in as they say, despite the pain, although it has been hard to get the pus out at home due to its location and so I've had to enlist the help of my mother and brother, although they're not that much help as they can't bear to be ruthless enough to push out the gunk as I'm writhing in agony. But that's enough of those gory details (I'll spare you the photo).

And finally there's the football. Not only have the Czech Republic crashed out in embarrassing circumstances at the last minute, but it also seems that every other team that I support gets beaten. Possibly a handy skill I suppose - if you're planning a little flutter on a game just ask me who I'll be rooting for and then bet on the opposition. Ah well, let's see what this week'll bring.

Changes

Earlier this week I was awoken from my sleep by the sound of the falling rain. Before fully surfacing into consciousness my instinctive reaction was to feel around me to ensure that my possessions weren't touching the walls of the tent and thereby letting the water in. Then I realised that I was in my bed, in my home and not in a tent in a random field trying to look unobtrusive. It was a startling reminder of how my trip has changed me.

Now that I have been back a few months I can see the ways in which I am different and act differently than before. Of course it's difficult to evaluate such things from such an up-close standpoint, but I hope I'm being honest with myself. Firstly I feel I am far more phlegmatic, at least towards other people and external factors out of my control. I am far less likely to let things bother me - a delayed train, torn clothes, annoying kids, shit weather, flat tyre and other minor mishaps I take in my stride. Similarly I think I am less judgemental than I used to be, having on numerous occasions had to change my views of people and places once I had gotten to know them better (this really infuriates my dad who feels he can't get a single opinion out of me as I evade his questions with caveats and conditions).

I also find myself more open towards people and more willing to go to them to try and help them out. Before I wouldn't hesitate to help someone if they came up to me and asked for it, but now I will actively offer if I see someone who I think is in need of help. Not that I am trying to make out that I am some sort of saint, but so often have I been given a helping hand when I least expected it, with no questions asked and nothing expected in return, that I know what a positive effect that can have on a persons day, regardless of how small the act is. The world can certainly do with more random acts of kindness (such as the one at the start of this post).

During my trip I was lucky enough to see first hand some amazing natural landscapes as well as the damage and degradation being done to it. I therefore feel far more responsible towards the environment in my actions and decisions I take (although I'm far from being perfect). I've also become evangelical in trying to persuade people to be more environmentally aware in their everyday lives by, for example, reusing plastic bags, switching off appliances, trying to recycle and so on. However it's difficult to be forceful with people you don't know that well and so my attentions are often focused on my brother who, I feel, doesn't understand the urgency of the situation, which leads to stalemated arguments where I accuse him of being uncaring and selfish and he retaliates by saying I'm not practical and far too idealistic. And this is where I feel very pessimistic about the future, because if people as intelligent and well educated as my brother, who have been educated about the various environmental problems that beset our planet from an early age and have the means to make lifestyle changes still do not do enough, then there is little hope for people who have not been educated, and struggle just to survive, to make those changes. And I am not holding up my brother as some evil or callous person, quite the opposite is true, but he is symbolic of the apathy and dislocation that are far too common in our society. In western Europe especially, we are far removed from either hardship or nature in a pure, unadulterated form. It's a shame because, despite being an atheist (and proud of it), I had several moments that are best described in English as religious experiences. All occurred when alone in the middle of some expanse of wilderness with the only sign of humanity the thin, indistinct trail leading off in front and behind me. It is impossible to fully describe the feeling of awe, and respect, and warmth, but the (natural) world becomes more precious to you (not that this means I will become a hermit and live in a cave somewhere). And since we rarely have the opportunities to make these connections ourselves our view of the world is only half of what it should/could be.

Not that I have an answer or anything - you can't just ask everyone to walk off into the wilderness so that they may find your epiphany. Now if you'll just excuse me, I'm off to be morose in the corner.

Older, But Not Necessarily Wiser

The reunion turned out to be quite a success. In all over twenty of us came down for the weekend, some even bringing friends and partners. Like all good French soirées this one started with an apéro replete with wine, beer and songs. And even though when we were in school we were divided along cliqueish lines (like all schools there was the cool clique, the slacker clique, the basketballers, etc.) when we got together now we got on really well and had much more in common than before. After a good deal of carousing in a park bandstand (the classic meeting point from our days at school) the evening moved to a restaurant, then a bar, and then another. Well suffice to say that the entire evening was great fun and that I wasn't feeling particularly bouncy the next morning.

Apart from the changes in people, the town itself had been given a bit of a makeover with the centre receiving a glitzy refurbishment with lots more pedestrian areas and a bright, new central plaza. In fact, pretty much the only thing that hadn't changed was my French. My friends pointed out to me that me that my slang was rooted in the late 90's and was so "has been". (It took me a while to understand what they were saying as they were pronouncing it 'asbiiin and I wasn't expecting an anglicism to slip into the notoriously chauvinistic French language.) Apparently there's a whole new lexicon (especially internet related) that has come out in the past decade of which I am completely unaware.

Anyway, it was great to renew those old friendships and connections as school days are a special time and there are very few people you can share those memories with.

Auld Acquaintance

Last year, whilst on the home leg of my trip (I think it was in Albania), I was watching the film Grosse Point Blank. In a nutshell it's about a contract killer returning to his home town for his 10-year high school reunion. This got me thinking about my own high school days and how next year (i.e. this year) it would be 10 years since I had left school.

The seed had been sown and soon after returning I decided to set about trying to organise my own class reunion (an entire high school reunion would have been crazy as each year group had over 500 pupils and I didn't know many of them). There were two immediate problems to the exercise: I was now living in London and yet I went to school in the south west of France, so finding and contacting my old classmates would be more difficult, and secondly the whole concept of school reunions isn't very common in France. Nevertheless I started by contacting my high school friends that I'm still in touch with to get their opinions on the idea. Initial feedback was positive and so I went ahead with the task of finding the rest of my classmates, mainly by trawling through the internet. Once I had found a few people it snowballed from there and in the end I managed to find 35 of the 38 former pupils.

Despite my happy memories of Pau it seems that people were itching to leave, with only 5 still living in the area, and some having moved as far afield as Ireland and Norway to get away; but now, this weekend, we are returning again to our old stomping grounds, some of us for the first time in several years. Personally I am curious to see how much we have changed and what we have become in the intervening 10 years (although I don't expect any of my former classmates to be assassins I'm sure there will be plenty of interesting stories). And with that I'll leave you with our class photo from 1997 (see if you can spot me).